Friday, March 9, 2012
Yesterday was a tantalizing taste of what is to come. As I opened the stall doors to let the horses out this morning, it was at least 20 degrees colder than when I closed them last night. The wind is blowing, which makes it seem like March again. As I brushed the great globs of horsehair off of Silk and Siete yesterday, the sun was beating down on us warming our bones. A sweet bird was singing its heart out, and I gathered all that soft fluff and dropped it at the base of the tree so our little feathered friend would have some good material for her nest.
The daffodils are peeking up, and I’ve become very protective of them this year. Stella is used to racing across our barren flowerbeds in wild pursuit of tennis balls. Suddenly, I won’t let her since I’ve realized that all my flowers are going to be trampled and crushed by those big puppy paws. This is the seventh year that I’ve watched our front lawn joyously explode with white daffodils – a hybrid developed by the grandfather of the lady who used to live here. They come up a bit later than the traditional yellow harbingers of Spring, but are so delicate and bloom longer. It’s as exciting to see them as it is to pick our wild raspberries in July. So, I feel a sense of celebration that we’ve made it through another winter, and all the pleasures that warm weather brings are ahead of us.
By Sunday, the temps will be back up in the 60’s, and I can put my chair back into the pasture to sit with Silk and Siete and begin practicing “the Waterhole Rituals” again. This summer, I am determined to start dancing with my horses. For the first time in my life, I have a strong sense of enjoyment of the cycles of the seasons in this beautiful place we call home. We’ve been here long enough to sink some roots, and I don’t see us going anywhere for a while. With each season, there are certain rituals and gifts that are now familiar, giving me a good sense of happy anticipation when I wake up each morning and come out to feed the horses.
Why I Wake Early
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –
best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.
Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.
~ Mary Oliver ~