Today is one of those golden ones that make me wonder what I’m doing up here in the loft in front of this computer. Outside is where I should be, but I have a responsibility to meet and a deadline besides. Copy editing is a discipline to which I am poorly suited. A writer who makes very few errors presents a challenge to me. Not much to correct. I get caught up in the great story the writer tells, the style she uses, the seamlessness of her work. Commas, grammar, spelling? Meh. She’s too good to keep me awake. I’ll get to it shortly.
Low humidity, soft breeze, cloudless blue sky, glorious day could be sullied by the news out of Turkey, the Benghazi report, the failure of government, whether ours or that of Britain, or Brussels. Yikes. No place to go, there, but down, and that would ruin this perfect summer day.
I won’t lose it in the kitchen, either. No cooking today. Eating. Out on the deck, overlooking the laughable little pond, watching the mallards as they argue with the Canada geese. Listening to the huge green bull frogs whose loudness is amplified by the surround of the pond a good length below me so that they sound like elephants as they chatter to each other. They lie submerged but for their huge eyes peering up at me, just above the water line. Out of the sparse little woods comes a wobbly fawn, its mother standing just within the tree line as she monitors her curious baby nosing in the manicured grass. The fawn is delicately magical, beautifully made, calling to my mind the wonder of the Creator, the same Who made the butterfly fluttering in the butterfly garden, and the hawk climbing the sky as she teaches her youngster how to hunt. I love where I live. It is serene here, gentle, soul soothing. The world intrudes through this computer screen, inviting me into the turmoil. I will get about my task so that I can get about soaking up the glory right outside my sliding glass doors, working my way to a light lunch with a good glass of wine to go with. Which should tell you I skipped breakfast to expedite the work that waits for me.
I’m hoping for a productive day, but with this weather, I’ll be just as content to wallow in the wonder.. Well. That is the best kind of productive. A day to squirrel away for memories called up in the winter when snow falls steadily in front of that expanse of glass. Oh yeah, ready or not, that will be coming.