I can't remember the last time I made a fresh peach pie, and John would say the same thing. Anyway, this was his birthday treat yesterday, one day early. He got a pie, since there will be quite a bit of cake-eating at work this week. Happy Birthday, John.
After he left at 5:00 am, I opened the bedroom window and listened to the first real rain of fall, a beautiful sound falling on parched grass and plants. And perfect timing to water in the transplanted tree rose and all those bulbs.
I worked hard all weekend. For some reason I find garden cleanup more satisfying than spring work. It's nice seeing some open spaces again after a summer of rampant growth. I'm just a housewife at heart.
This poem was on the Writer's Almanac:
The Shining Moment in the Now
by David Budbill
When I work outdoors all day, every day, as I do now, in the fall,
getting ready for winter, tearing up the garden, digging potatoes,
gathering the squash, cutting firewood, making kindling, repairing
bridges over the brook, clearing trails in the woods, doing the last of
the fall mowing, pruning apple trees, taking down the screens,
putting up the storm windows, banking the house—all these things,
as preparation for the coming cold…
when I am every day all day all body and no mind, when I am
physically, wholly and completely, in this world with the birds,
the deer, the sky, the wind, the trees…
when day after day I think of nothing but what the next chore is,
when I go from clearing woods roads, to sharpening a chain saw,
to changing the oil in a mower, to stacking wood, when I am
all body and no mind…
when I am only here and now and nowhere else—then, and only
then, do I see the crippling power of mind, the curse of thought,
and I pause and wonder why I so seldom find
this shining moment in the now.
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