Slogging

It has been almost a year since I started “blogging”, a word that sounds just a little too much like “slogging” when I think about it.   Which is, of course, sometimes the way a writer feels facing the blank screen: all set up for erudition or lyricism, but with a brain refusing to embrace either, much less both.   To those who “Follow” me on this website, and enjoy my words, I apologize for my scarcity of posts.   To others, who would just as soon not have many messages in this all-too-much-screen-time year, you’re welcome.

This is what I am seeing  – a year on…

Remember the liver-lobed hepatica? (April 30th, 2020) Here they are again, emerging from under the snow – although not-quite-yet-in-bloom.

Like our lives.

Our lives are not quite in bloom either, as we begin to emerge from our household bubbles or pods, unsure of our safety and the safety of those we love.  Translating and individualizing CDC guidelines is a challenge, particularly when you need to respect differences in interpretation, trying hard not to fight with the very people you love the most and wish to hug again.  

The pre-occupation is sometimes exhausting. And yet, here I am, so blessed to be in a small, safe household in a small, safe town on the edge of a huge state park.  Complaining seems incredibly callous and selfish.

Instead, we spend time watching the bluebirds checking out those boxes that looked so deserted just two months ago (January 19, 2021). The males are first at the home-hunting game; the arrival of the females ups the ante for them. We hear their chortling, quiet songs in the relative silence of the late winter soundscape. There is a bit of desperation as the males flitter from the top of one birdhouse to another. This one?  Or, how about this one? When they actually go so far as to duck inside to check out the interior, we are thrilled.

Maybe it is we who are more desperate. But now, little bit by little bit, as we check out what is coming out of the new administration, we are offered strands of hope. 

With regard to environmental concerns, unlike during the Trump years, we agree with almost all of the policy decisions of the new administration.  Not all, but most. There is a wonderful feeling: an adult is at the helm, surrounded by experts who are listened to. Science and compassion are back in style and “climate change”is no longer barred from the lexicon of government. Indeed, every piece of legislation that is emerging from the White House these days has at least some items explicitly addressing the climate emergency. The passage of some of these comprehensive moves, entirely necessary as part of our efforts to save the planet, may require significant slogging on the part of the administration.  But the thrill of knowing that someone among The Powers That Be really and truly gets it gives us hope.  

And so, as the blessed spring progresses, (and as put off finishing this post), sunny days warm the air, bringing on more birds – phoebes and swallows alongside the bluebirds, enticing the yellow patches of daffodils from the brown network of last year’s dead grass, and warming my face as I turn sunward, I thank all of them individually – the birds, flowers, sun, and, because it works for me, the Maker of all this beauty.