My dear Ruthi,
Tonight, it is already dark. Two days have past since the rain frosted your window at sunrise. Since you’ve been attentive to Joy. Since I’ve shifted my focus in the same direction. Our intention, for this month. Between us. Between moons.
She was beautiful yesterday. They both were. Joy, and the moon.
We tried to chat, the moon and me. But neither of us had much to say. I said, thank you. She said, trust. We kept silent company instead. In the silence, a pair of massive birds called out as they circled the lake, maybe fifteen feet off the water and twenty feet from where I sat. A full lap and more. They stayed with the moon and me for a while, somewhere at the water’s edge. Their occasional shriek making the crickets seem muted. Too dark to see. But there nonetheless. A curious joy.
I fussed about and managed to capture my first semi-focused moon shot. That was a joy. Liz arrived for some Sacred Sunfish. Another joy.
I know what you mean about goldenrod and asters. About fiery trees. Joy.
Do barns or horses in fields speak to you too? Sometimes joy in motion. Sometimes joy in stillness. Oh, how I love that.
What about the lemon scent of black walnut skin? I had no idea they could smell so delicate, so fresh, having only ever crushed them underfoot and been slammed with their pungent stink. Who knew they were so different if handled gently? How could that surprise me?
What a joy to be middle-aged and still be surprised. To still be learning. To still be graced with Joy in wonder. The wonder of the moon in focus.
Of the colour palate of nature.
And the blue canvas of the sky.
And this tree Ruthi. Oh, the joy of being focused on this tree yesterday. This forest growing on top of a dead tree sprawled across the landscape like a giant dead spider. Its leaves small and elongated like the weeping willow we visited under. Each base trunk about five feet in circumference. The main base of origin easily over thirty feet around, my spread arms barely curving around that fraction of her girth.
And today, the arms of Ben’s mom in our own embrace, always a joy, but all the more so as a hugger in the time of COVID. Her blessing at birthday lunch referring to Ben as a joy, to her and to his family. Truth. About the birthday boy. About Joy.
The wonder of it all.
Joy in focus.