I’m both fortunate and grateful to be living in such a stellar abode. It’s located in town, yet peacefully situated directly adjacent to a 300+ acre park filled with a dense assortment of towering trees, and enhanced with babbling brooks, waterfalls and wildlife. My back yard consists of a bit of lawn nestled against a huge, Audubon-protected pond that’s filled with cattails and inhabited by a wondrous assortment of wetland denizens. It’s not unusual for several species of said wildlife to visit my back porch looking for a handout. Their uncanny instincts are renown for helping them determine who the most likely suckers are.
Across the pond stands a huge, deciduous tree that is home to a breeding pair of bald eagles. During this time of year, their nest is clearly visible, and observing the comings and goings is always an exercise in fascination. On one very fortunate occasion, I was blessed with a photo-op I can’t imagine ever being able to duplicate. During the nest-remodeling season, I witnessed an eagle carrying in its talons what appeared to be a small tree, several times the size of the bird. I was in my car, sans camera, so all I could do was watch in silence, awash with reverence.
Two weeks later, while outside photographing flowers, I heard an unfamiliar sound in the sky that caused me to glance upward. There, directly above me was another eagle, hauling an enormous branch to its nest across the pond. I quickly hoisted my camera and fired a few shots at the rapidly receding tail feathers. I was sure my camera hadn’t achieved focus, yet hoped for some sort of image that would, at least, prove I wasn’t imaging the spectacle.
Luck was with me, as was some awesome camera gear, and I captured one remarkable shot, which you can see in my Flickr photo stream by clicking right HERE. My undying appreciation and thanks will forevermore be extended to the maker of all avian wonders …and Canon photographic equipment.
I’m grateful for teachings that stretch both my mind and my character. I’m currently involved in a situation wherein, legally, I am right and They are wrong, and I’m trying to decide the right action to take to resolve the dispute. Ego is a powerful force. I would slam-dunk them in court if it came to that. But, in the long run, are the residual ill-feelings worth it?
The last chapter in the Tao Te Ching offers wisdom for me to contemplate. “Wise men don’t need to prove their point; men who need to prove their point aren’t wise… By not dominating, the Master leads.”
With regard to my personal, regularly scheduled programming, I am:
lazy
unmotivated
undisciplined
cantankerous
other
I’m not sure who I inherited my stubborn streak from, but my mom used to tell me I was born belligerent. The juicy goodness in her proclamation lies in the realization that, thankfully, I’m not just another maladjusted victim of learned behavior. The point being that no matter how often or how insistently I tell myself to write regularly scheduled entries in my blog, the demon talks me out of it.
Enter NaBloPoMo. National Blog Posting Month. Inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month phenomenon, the folks at NaBloPoMo strive to inspire those who, like me, are conformity challenged. And I am grateful for each and every one of them.
This month, NaBloPoMo has kindly and magnanimously bequeathed upon we reluctant writers the theme of Thanks. And I am going to attempt, with my very best efforts of attemptingness, to impart On A Daily Basis my gratitude for the never-ceasing wonders of my world. Astute readers will have noticed how I’ve begun warming up for the event by using the words “thankfully” and “gratitude” in the two preceding paragraphs.
Wish me luck, and check out NaBloPoMo yourself. If you dare…
Sadly, my legs aren’t lifting, walking around or climbing stairs very wonderfully these days. I was in a motorcycle accident that (although not nearly as dreadful as it could have been) left me scraped, bruised and limping. Someone’s vehicle leaked a six-inch wide, several-hundred-foot long slick of oil down the center of the lane we were riding in. A tiny squeeze of the brake, to slow down for a traffic signal that was turning from yellow to red, was all it took to twist the front wheel and dump the bike squarely on top of us.
We slid I don’t know how many feet; enough to first tear holes in my pants and sweater then chew up my exposed flesh. Fortunately no one ran over us from behind and, in fairly short order, two stellar human beings stopped and leapt out of their vehicles to see if we were okay. They kindly provided much-needed assistance by helping to lift the bike off us, since we were having limited luck doing so ourselves while splayed horizontally on the road.
At first, I thought my injuries were quite minor, but after the adrenalin wore off, the pain began and kept increasing. A week later, I’m still limping, and new bruises continue to appear in the areas where the bike laid on my lower leg for so long. My scabs are entering their itchy phase, but are still quite tender to the touch. My riding partner was not so lucky, inasmuch as his arm was scraped a lot more than mine, and became infected. He’s now taking antibiotics and pain meds and applying some sort of topical ointment that’s supposed to help, but is far from a magic cure.
Sigh….. It’s all so depressing. We’ve been riding together for 12 years, and have never even come close to having any sort of accident. It sucks that we’d encounter disaster in one of the safer driving situations — 25 mph on paved city streets.
Here’s a photo of my best bruise. Ever. I didn’t think anything could top all the injuries I received when I was growing up, from falling out of trees to being thrown off horses. But, this one’s a show stopper, for sure.
