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Winter Completed
You think winter will never end, and then, when you don’t expect it, when you have almost forgotten it, warmth comes, and a different light. — Wendell Berry Last night before bed, I let the dogs out into the back yard. I tracked them with the flashlight, wary of what might scamper away from them in the dark, setting up a chase and an opportunity for noise. In the beam of the flashlight, I saw what looked like little snowflakes. I stuck out my arm and tiny white crystalline dots clung to the fabric of my sleeve. Huh, I thought. Two days ago, it was almost seventy degrees. That can’t…
- Bluebelle, Church Life, Daily Life, Holy Days, Jinx, Lectio Divina, Mrs. Orr, Photographs, Reflections
Daylight And Other Things Saved
An almost-spring rain has been falling most of the day, and the birds have been very busy at the feeders and in the birdbath. The daffodils are up, along with the grape hyacinth. The Virginia bluebells are getting ready to bud out, the forsythia is daubed with yellow up and down its slender branches, and the peach trees are blossoming out as well. A near neighbor’s pear tree is a perfect pink lollypop in the distance, and all the colors are set off by the silvery mist in the hollers. And tonight we move the clocks forward into Daylight Savings Time, and the tone and tenor of the days will…
- Bluebelle, Books, Daily Life, Holy Days, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Jinx, Movies, Music, Photographs, Poems, Prayers, Quotations, Reflections
The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Salmon patties for supper, and it’s not even a Friday. Ah, deliciousity…. *** It was too frigid and windy to do much outside today, though I did prepare the beds for Mrs. Orr’s new roses. Not just any roses, but certified Tyler, Texas roses. And climbing roses, at that. Tonight it will frost, and then we’re supposed to have at least ten days of no-freeze, so I’ll try to get them planted tomorrow, and then I can cover the tender leaves. They’ll run up the side of the old goat shed if everything goes well. I never could have thought I’d have to get out the San Angelo bar…
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Night, On the Feast of Saint Patrick of Ireland
First thing I did when I rolled out of bed this morning was to confront Mrs. Orr and see if she was wearing green. Foiled again. I usually do some sort of Saint Patrick’s Day post, but after reading Laura Wood’s collection of recent Hibernian posts, I decided it would be better just to link to what she’s written. First, a thoughtful and reverent entry about a prayer some say was written by the old saint himself. Next up, a grim and needful post about the state of Ireland today. And then finally, two items to leave a lighter feel in the heart, here and here. This day has been…
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39 for 35; or, 25 or 6 to four
Our maple reawakens The dogs awakened us extra-early today, which annoyed my beloved wife to no end. We let them outside, but made them wait for breakfast while we went back to sleep for a while. Mrs. Orr never really did get her sea legs the rest of the day, though, and felt groggy. Worse than toddlers, trust me. When I stepped out into the back yard, I saw the maple was decked with tiny pink blossoms. As quick as the moon changes, it will be covered in suncatching leaves. It’s hard to believe that it was a slender sapling, smaller in diameter than my wrist, when we planted it…
- Bluebelle, Church Life, Daily Life, Holy Days, Jinx, Lectio Divina, Photographs, Prayers, Reflections
First Friday In Lent
These last few months, I have felt like the tip of a bullwhip, yanked back and forth, snapping and popping with violence that almost tore my spiritual head off, then easing back to a casual, flyfishing rhythm for a few weeks, then back to the crack and snap. Being able to leave my former job and start a new one has helped immensely. It is a truly good thing to be able to work from the home that I love so much. Mrs. Orr enjoys having me here, and the dogs all seem to like it, too. The new job is not without its own set of stressors, but most…
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And So It Begins
And just like that, the weather turned warm, the faeries beneath the earth’s crust pushed their backs against the grass and weeds, the greenery sprung up, the winged insects flew sorties off the decks of their craft, the world became filled with song, and here it is again, time to cut the grass. I couldn’t have asked for a better day to start this half-a-year activity. Seventy-two degrees, breezy, titanium-white clouds courtesy of Bob Ross, a stare-worthy sky of most regal blue. The morning wasn’t even halfway over when I looked outside my window at work and decided that today would be the day. Once home, I prepared the mower…
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A Capital Spring Day
Rarely have I seen a season on this spinning earth make its entrance with such perfect, almost stereotypical grandeur. Yesterday was gray and raw and sparse, the birds and beasts and even the rocks themselves seeming to flee from the scudding clouds, riding the wind. The night came, and all was silent. And then this morning, it had all changed. Remarkably warm, the day began in the dark with the birds gathered in a holy choir loft that very much resembled a bowl of trees and fences. They sang the sun into the sky, and they spent the day announcing their joy, their intentions, their meditations, their feathered vocations. When…