So does he. I take this to be a bull, anyway, grazing at some distance from the cows in the background. This charming scene was one of many I encountered on my walk this morning. And that walk may have been the longest I’ve ever made from my home here in Lowell.
I was so primed to go walking this morning,
I wrote a poem about my state of mind:
PRIMAVERA
PRIMA DONNA
Since I am free,
I choose to be
outside in spring
where skies are clean,
where creatures sing,
and nature
wakes up green.
* * *
Today instead of walking to and around the park, I walked through and past it, venturing much further down the road. First, though, I quacked a bon voyage to some ducks flying overhead. I also photographed an empty picnic site near the lake. Emptiness at the park is a winter phenomenon that is about to end… a mixed blessing.
* * *
Residences south of the park range from regal to ramshackle. There are family farms and at least one commercial farm, mostly devoted to livestock rather than crops. The commercial farm is diversified; I saw chickens, goats, cattle, and what looked like a rabbit hutch. At a smaller place, I noticed a horse lying on a bed of straw, sunning in the welcome spring warmth of the morning.
A bit further up the road, a loud huffing sound startled me and I turned to see five large fluffy animals grazing some distance away. “Llamas?” I wondered. When they approached I saw that they were ponies and, after visiting with them awhile, I learned that the smallest one, the rusty-colored one, was the character that likes to huff.
* * *
This is a view of Hickory Creek Road from the point at which I turned home again. That row of cedars on the right provides good shade and its fence line makes an intriguing graphic design.
As I passed park, lake, and marina on the return leg of my excursion, the beauty of the world and my gratitude for it felt overwhelming. That gratitude included thanks for my good fortune (approaching greediness) in claiming it. I recalled certain ecstatic poetry in which the poet claims to be a hole in the flute through which God plays… or the eyes through which God sees. That recollection inspired this second poem, finalized on my return home:
IF I AM GOD’S EYES
Let me watch the cheerful boats
that sail, sail back, and dock.
Let me watch the vibrant birds
that nest and soar and flock.
Let me view
(through God’s good grace)
just one aurora’s blazing trace;
let me know that shock.
Let others watch the clock.
* * *
There’s a difference between punching a clock and watching a clock, and God (a.k.a. beauty) can be found everywhere. Still, spring is special and I hope you have plenty of chances to enjoy it… outdoors. ♥ ~Jo
* * *
Photo Credits:
All by Jo Lightfoot
Awesome Jo, just awesome!!!!
Obviously, I’m wired differently . . . though I’d half say that I suffer from the same. You’re doing a good thing by coming forward with your symptoms; and, please, keep us updated because we worry about & love you. John recently posted.