A cup of coffee with two dogs, black and yellow ankle up, thinking about the day. Stumped around outside first thing on wonderfully cold wet grass and leaves, up the hill only a little because it is Molly’s first day in this wild place and she does not yet respond well to her name. Jack wants his walk through the fields and the woods but not now, my boy.
Looking at the time we have before January, it seems we should prepare the best we can for something most of us have never known. A United States of America we have never known.
I will start this week by feeding the birds, then feed the bees, tidy and till the gardens, put away the last of the summer, prune the fruit trees, load firewood from the barn, and clean the house completely. In that work, the path of the heart will be revealed.
Make things bright and warm for the coming winter of our souls, says my heart. Call everyone I love, says my heart. Put very good food on the old persimmon table and listen to every friend’s words as they sit there together.
Be quiet and look at their faces, says my heart. Pour wine, pour champagne, pour spring water in their glasses, says my heart.
Thank California and Florida for their oranges and limes and the strong, overwhelmed backs of the immigrants who grow and harvest them for me, says my heart.
Do not be afraid, says my heart. Do the work right in front of you, the good important simple work right in front of you that must be done and do it well, says my heart.
Chop wood, carry water, listen to your good hearts.
