The weekend after

This morning started with ease, first reading a wonderful letter from Angela in Toulouse, France sharing her Saturday morning activities and filling me in on her calligraphy group that I had asked about. With the weather outside sunny along with a chilling breeze, I remained in bed, contemplating today’s entrée, while a reply to Angela needs to wait just a little longer.

The day after thanksgiving was spent emptying the dishwasher, washing the remainder of the dishes, finding room in the refrigerator for all the leftovers, putting the dinning room back to the way it was prior to the festivities, and then a trip into the garden to collect the many piles of leaves that have fallen in the last two days. There were also the remains of a twelve-foot tree, which needed further cutting up. The smaller pieces liked twigs and small branches were recycled with the rest saved to the woodpile for use in the fireplace on cold nights.

During my time spent outside, the weather was like an unpredictable card game, with dashes of grey clouds sprinkling a fine rain now and then. Before the heavens opened up again and reveal a warm sun against a blue sky, it would disappear only to reappear twenty or so minutes later. When the work had finished and front door closed, I sat at the kitchen table looking out the window at the bird feeders hanging from our cherry tree. I watched the bird’s social interaction with each other, when our returning scrub jay made a racket and chased the other ones away.

While picking at the feeder he continued to sound off a warning that was only broken up by a sudden loud rolling thunder. Within two minutes, a torrential downpour began drenching and flooding our neighborhood. It lasted several minutes before passing on, returning our area to a peaceful calm in the remaining ten or so minutes of dusk before the sky was cloaked in darkness.

Now the sounds of crows are heard as fresh morning air enters through the open sliding door, awakening the spirit and I embrace a new day. I reach for my small buff coloured Moleskine notebook that is the size of a 3 by 5 inch index card, the one I carry with me at all times. I flip through its pages of scribbled down thoughts, potential ideas for a post or a few lines of a possible poem that rests between a to-do list or two, until I come to my pages of lists.

Only two posts ago I was languishing adrift without direction on various levels since my post ‘General Update’, which now feels like a distant memory. It helps to write things down, working out obstacles or the lack of direction and along with a little patience, ones own writings offer possibilities. My list of potential topics emerges over the days and begins to define the blogs goals and eventually its purpose.

There are still other things requiring my attention, such as selecting a noteworthy blog to recommend for the month of December, along with a museum exhibit by Sunday. Then there is the phone call that I received last night, asking for my help with a family matter in Southern California that would require my driving down in a couple of days. It seems that when one thing is completed, another challenge emerges, for now I will enjoy an early afternoon winters day visiting with neighbors and in the evening site down and answer a few emails before retiring for the evening.