I've only been at this project for two weeks. And yet somehow--slowly, bit by bit--I can feel it changing my outlook. Changing how I approach the world. Every day holds surprises now. What will my moment be? When will that unlooked-for moment of joy come to greet me? It reminds me of the memoir that CS Lewis wrote, Surprised by Joy (which in turn always makes me think of his wife, Joy Davidman/Gresham, even though the memoir isn't, in fact, about her). These days, I wake up knowing that joy will greet me somehow. Even in its smallest, most inconsequential of forms.
Today brought me three moments of bliss. The first moment came en route to town. I had to go in to Cayuga to get money and make my weekly trip to the library, and I had a heck of a time with the radio cranked. I love driving. I love driving while good music is on the stereo. More often than not, getting myself behind the wheel is a surefire way to bring on bliss.
So that, well, that was awesome. And then, later in the day, while I was out planting trees with my maman, she stopped for a moment and pointed to the other half of the property, which has been growing wild these past few weeks. (Seven acres is a lot of grass to cut.)
"Have you ever eaten clover?" she said.
I had not. So she waded into the tall grass and scooped out a few of the blossoms, then brought them back and showed me how to pick the purple bits apart and suck the white shoots underneath. I didn't taste anything in my first two attempts, but in my third time around that sudden burst of sweetness was there and unmistakable.
"We used to do this," she said, "when we were kids. Go out climbing in the fields behind the house and just eat the clover, and stare at the sky."
And then I got a photo of a daisy, just because I liked the way it looked ...
Today brought me three moments of bliss. The first moment came en route to town. I had to go in to Cayuga to get money and make my weekly trip to the library, and I had a heck of a time with the radio cranked. I love driving. I love driving while good music is on the stereo. More often than not, getting myself behind the wheel is a surefire way to bring on bliss.
So that, well, that was awesome. And then, later in the day, while I was out planting trees with my maman, she stopped for a moment and pointed to the other half of the property, which has been growing wild these past few weeks. (Seven acres is a lot of grass to cut.)
"Have you ever eaten clover?" she said.
I had not. So she waded into the tall grass and scooped out a few of the blossoms, then brought them back and showed me how to pick the purple bits apart and suck the white shoots underneath. I didn't taste anything in my first two attempts, but in my third time around that sudden burst of sweetness was there and unmistakable.
"We used to do this," she said, "when we were kids. Go out climbing in the fields behind the house and just eat the clover, and stare at the sky."
And then I got a photo of a daisy, just because I liked the way it looked ...
Later that night, my mother came and knocked on my door and asked me to come outside. I was almost asleep, but stumbled out of bed and followed her onto the porch.
And there were fireflies, all over the yard. Blinking madly in the trees down in the ravine next to the house. Shining soft in the air round the porch. I've never seen so many fireflies in my life. We stood there without speaking for almost ten minutes, just listening to the crickets and the bullfrogs and watching these little bits of light dance around us, all around.
