Sitting on the patio

This is an older post, perhaps 7 years ago, but I never sent it out. Now in the depths of winter I'm thinking it is a good one to send.

I’m sitting on the patio two and a half miles from anywhere, no traffic noise, no loud music, no saws, no yelling, just the sound of a gentle breeze, a melody of birds singing, walnuts falling, thumping a drumbeat for the midday serenade. The woodpeckers chime in, changing the key of the orchestra.

Trees are slowly changing colors. Virginia Creeper shows scarlet in the tree top canopy. Life seems good at the moment and right in the midst of this splendor, a Bald Eagle flies south to north across our little piece of the sky.

I silently thank my God for ears to hear and eyes to capture this portrait so I can store it in my memory. I think how lucky I am to have this in my backyard and not to have to drive to some nature center miles from home only to tramp down an already beaten path to see what others have viewed all week long. This theatrical production with full orchestra only performs for me, the lucky steward currently in charge of the manor. Some go an entire lifetime and never see what I see in a weekend here. I know I miss out on trains, planes and fast cars. I no longer see nightclubs and exotic foreign lands. I miss the thrill of aircraft recovery onboard a mighty warship, but I have my memories of all those things. None of those activities ever really felt the way this does. Here things are alive, growing and peaceful. There, things are noisy, decaying, preparing for death.

A crow just broke in to interrupt the refrain of the current tune. I return to observing to find a lone Monarch butterfly feeding on Dianthus in bloom. The Monarch can just about take my breath away. They are the most beautiful of all butterflies I know.

I’m sitting her looking at trees that either I’ve planted or they were saplings an inch or so in diameter when I came here and are now mighty oaks, stately elms or arrow straight walnut trees. They give me a sense of connection to this place; something I’ve never felt before. Joyce and I never lived in the same place together for more than four years, before being here. We were both raised in stable homes for our first 18 years of life, but I never felt like my parent’s home was mine, the way this place is.

The sun is high in the sky; the temperature is near ninety degrees now and the orchestra has completed its show. The players have returned to their nests, staying cool for the afternoon. Now all I hear is the sound of grasshoppers flapping from plant to plant, their menacing jaws devouring the beauty that was mine just minutes ago. A lizard scurries across the patio, sans tail. He is lucky; that tail breaks away when predators latch onto him trying to turn him from insect killer to meal. The nice thing about it is, everyone is ok. The predator gets a nice piece of tail; the lizard grows a new one, and the insect population is kept in check around my home.

Life is good.