Recently a couple of people have commented upon my extended absence from these pages. Maybe I stopped writing here because every time I opened the page I saw my boy Wyatt smiling at me. Or maybe I ran out of things to say. I am under no illusion that what I have to offer is unique or necessary.
I talk of the seasons and goings-on in nature because these are the rhythms I live by. I have no illusions that you follow these flows as avidly as I do.
Yet sometimes I just feel the need to get ideas down in print. Usually I procrastinate until the need goes away. I've become quite good at it.
So. What shall we talk about?
I'm looking at the full moon out the window. It's huge! So I'm wondering if the conspiracy theorists who think there's alien spaceships hiding on the back side also still believe there's boogie men in their closets.
Wyatt showed me time and again that one should live life fully and with joy. He was a most loving and kind dog. I love him so.
The flowers are just starting to bloom in the woods. Winter has passed and nature is quickened. Wyatt loved spring. He loved every day.
We found a little knoll and made a final resting place for him. From there he can watch the wildlife and smell all there is to smell. He was in awful pain recently. I felt so bad for him. Now he is at peace.
Those he loved got to spend time with him the last couple of days. To say goodbye, to share a memory with us. I so appreciate how those he loved became a part of his life.
So I have a favor to ask of you all. Please say a prayer or whatever you do for Wyatt. He was diagnosed with bone cancer in his left foreleg. There's really nothing the vet can do to heal this. We feel bad for him. He's only 4 and just a sweet guy.
Thanks for your kind thoughts.
Not to get all alarmist or anything but, there are bluebirds checking out the nesting boxes in the yard this morning. It's February 4th for Gods sake. That's two or three months early.
It is bright and sunny and a balmy 35 degrees already so I guess they're a tad confused. I know I am.
Because I was raised in an English speaking household I understand you when you speak to me in English. Were you to chat at me in Swedish I would have no clue what you were saying. You might think I was particularly dense or some such.
Normal for me is not normal. There may not be a "normal" at all. A group of like-minded people could have a fairly broad consensus, but in the end each individual thinks they define what is normal; not "that idiot". He's a bit out there.
So let's agree that we don't. Agree. It would take away lots of reasons to argue.
As a child growing up near the shore of Lake Ontario I had the joy of spending endless summers wandering the beach and the woods and marshes that were my playground. One of the more interesting, though unsavory, occurrences was the gobs of storm tossed seaweed and dead alewives that lined the water edge from time to time. Seagulls soared and scrapped over the beach in a riot of noise and stink.
Things change. The zebra mussel came and altered the balance. The alewives and seaweeds declined. Now along the shore there is much less food for the scavengers.
Today I live 20 miles south of the lake. A few miles south of me is a major landfill, a dump. Every afternoon I watch as the seagulls fly back toward the protection of the lake from spending their day foraging on our trash.
What was the lake shore like a hundred years before I was born? What will it be like a hundred or thousand years after I'm gone?