Whippoorwill

In which I arise very early (and still, time vanishes)

Eastern whippoorwill

Hello, dear readers.

How are you?

I am all right. I’m fine, but I’ve been remiss; I haven’t written in too long. I’m sorry. My excuse: I’m busy. Too busy right now, but that is life. I think of you often and hope you are well.

I woke at four this morning and went outside. A whippoorwill sang from the woods nearby, insistent and energetic. It is a sound from my childhood, from summer evening car rides with my grandparents and my sister and brothers. Listening, I tumble back in time. I have bare feet (dirty) and wear cutoffs and a t-shirt. My hair is likely snarled. I am young, content, curious, and probably bickering with my 5-years-older brother. My grandfather slows to a stop on a dirt road and rolls down the window, and we all listen.

This morning the song reminded me of all the times in the last month I meant to stop and write and say—

I saw a perch swim out from under our dock this afternoon!

I watched an eagle watch the water—and me in my little red kayak—from the top of a dead tree in our neighbor’s yard tonight. Time stretched deeper and wider for the few minutes I was out there drifting near the eagle.

The rhododendrons we planted late last fall have bloomed! Their dark lavender blooms are exotic in our shady front yard.

What else?

Lots, but I have run out of time to type it. Time, time— Always racing away from me, a feeling I don’t enjoy. So I will close, with the intention of sitting for a few minutes and not rushing toward or away from anything. Instead I’ll listen to the wall heater rattle. I’ll breath, and accept my dusty, challenging, interesting, and often satisfying life as it is for at least one minute. The sky grows lighter; the dog dozes; my coffee grows cooler than I like it in a big mug that was my mother’s. It advertises French Market coffee, which for many years I sold in the diner I ran with my husband. It’s long ago, now. But closer as cradle the mug in my hands. The cup, like the whippoorwill’s song, carries depth and resonance in it.

You stop and sit for a minute, too. We’ll stop together.