From Where I Sit

By GrahamLewis · Jul 6, 2021 ·
  1. A beautiful July morning, bright sun, pale blue sky, soft breeze through the screened porch, verdant green lawn, looking out from beneath a cherry tree, chickadees and finches at the feeder and bird bath. The steady subtle pulse of freeway traffic just underlying it all, sort of like the pulse of the sea, though either ocean is thousands of miles away. Dogwood leaves rustle, now the birds squabble. My latest resident rabbit ambles by.

    I "know"-- my intruding monkey mind speaking -- that this tranquility is an interlude. Buddha reminds us that all is transitory, that the key is letting it be and letting it go, that clinging is what brings ultimate suffering. But there is always, and there is only, this infinite now, underlying it all.

    I heard a siren go past, a rescue squad or ambulance. It was Eric Burden who sang about hearing a distant siren, suggesting "someone else is in trouble." Not him. Not me. Not now. I think of people who are gone, especially my father, I recall him on his retirement farmstead, planting trees he knew would long outlast him, mowing a pathway up the big hill behind his house, so grandkids could climb up there and play in the dancing prairie grass. He lived, he loved, he left. I like to think his spirit moves with that prairie grass, and in the dappling leaves atop his trees.

    That all relates to all.

    Now a goldfinch drops to the birdbath. Amazing how brightly colored birds can be the hardest to spot; same with the cardinals. But they are not the only hidden jewels. This morning as I dragged the hose to water some new-planted hostas my eye caught a faint motion along the foundation of the house. A fat toad who'd been hanging out in the dampness created by the leaking faucet; he was only slightly visible, and I couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity for him, he seemed so desperate and so vulnerable, a pitiful attempt to hide or escape. Yet I also note that he has something else going for him, his drabness and what I suspect is a general lack of appeal for most carnivores. And as I moved along the garden I saw a couple other smaller toads. And of course their presence is a bit of Hell for insects and earthworms.

    So all relate to all.

    Yesterday a large red-tailed hawk settled onto our backyard archway. An awesome sight for me, no doubt a spot of terror for the rabbits and squirrels. He reluctantly took to the air when he noticed me watching him, disappointed I think to be dislodged from a prime vantage point for a quick lunch. Not long after he left my rabbit friend returned, spared the hawk, and ready to resume wreaking havoc on our gardens.

    All relate to all. This moment, those that were, those that will be.

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