Sometimes, it seems like you’re supposed to wax poetical about the balmy weather, the kiss of air on the skin, like a rogue and erstwhile lover who can’t be relied upon. Spring is coming! –Dramatic changes ought to spur dramatic feelings!
But the bedrock of delight is peace, and I am deeply satisfied and calmed and held by my emptied paper trays at work, by the brochure finally finished and printed, by the invoices folded and sent, by the dozen little niggling problems addressed and solved.
Delight is not only the “wild” kind of wild we indoor-dwellers think it is (that we often want it to be: Something Special Out There!). The fox and the pine marten and the raven and the red squirrel are each magnificent, majestic: leaping, skulking, singing, scenting: yes.
And they return to nests and dens for the night, night after night. Paws pad familiar ground. Stores of food are cached and later withdrawn.
There is such a thing as wild obedience to the safety, the wholeness of the body and soul; and as I burrow in for the night myself, tuck nose to tail and pull last year’s dry leaves on top of me, I stubbornly relish the marvelously unremarkable, and the clean slate that awaits me tomorrow: my gift from myself from Today.
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