Yesterday morning I had a wonderfully loving conversation
with my dear friend-collaborator. I expressed concern for his and his wife’s
safety in the Hurricane Matthew surge. He offered reassurances.
That already counts as
at least six blessings: waking up, a loving friend, commitment to work
together, deep communication, love that is big enough for concern, love that is
big enough for assurance.
Toward the end of our conversation, I happened to look out
the far window and saw a flash of red in the yellowing apple tree in our
backyard. Then I saw the telltale huge bill and black/white feathers. A
pileated woodpecker (a guy of a species with whom I have been well acquainted
for decades) has never landed in our apple tree. I watched him bob and hop,
excitedly reporting the sighting to my friend on the other side of Skype.
Add at least three
more blessings: visit from Pileated in a way he has never arrived before, the
beauty of his red crest and contrasting feather colors, being able to share it
with my friend-at-a-distance.
I made my weekly hospice visit to a very open-hearted woman.
Just before that I met with a client who is really on the
upswing with great opportunities.
And just before that, I had a compelling call with my writing
partner.
That is so very much
more than three more blessings.
All the while, I was watching the wind tousle leaves and
branches; clouds gather, scatter, reform, and drip. I noticed dozens of trees
on my usual-traveled pathways that have gradations from olive green to yellow
to orange to red…hundreds of combinations. Actually, I was stopped in my tracks
upon seeing a few of these tree individuals: random pull-overs in order to take
a photo; or a long, deep inhalation at the gaspingly beautiful leaves; I, the
recipient of odd looks in the middle of parking lots, as I smiled up at trees. I
had oddly lovely conversations with total strangers as I ran errands. I noticed
how the piles of spilled cat litter in my exceedingly clean car (because the
bag I just purchased had broken open on the seat - cascading down into the narrow
crack next to the console) became a forty-minute-clean-up opportunity for
patience and gratitude. And then in the darkness of three in the morning, I was
awakened by the sounds of torrential rain and rackety winds; I smiled again as
I pulled the covers up to my chin.
Blessings?: I’ve lost
count!
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2016 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
