Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Back In the Swing of Things - Outside

A hummingbird feeding at one of my parents' feeders in Louisiana.

I feel like my life is getting back to "normal" now in the wake of an eventful winter and spring successfully fighting cancer, and recovering from surgery in the summer.  I managed to do some writing this year despite the setbacks, and my agent booked some speaking events for me this fall.  Most days, I feel like I'm operating at or near 100%, although every week or so I'll have a day where I don't seem to quite get it all going up to speed.  Maybe that's normal.  Probably so.

I'm spending a lot of time outside these days, even more so than usual.  I've always been sort of an outdoors person, preferring to do whatever the task at hand may be outside rather than inside.  Grading papers, reading an article or book, listening to a podcast, returning phone calls (back when I used to return them - email or txt me now if you want a response), writing, or taking a nap.  As a kid, even in the wintertime, I would drag a sleeping bag out into the yard, crawl in with the dog, and take a nap in the chilly, bright day.  As I write this blog post, I'm sitting outside on the patio.

I like to be outside.  To see the sky, feel the wind and the sun, smell the breeze, and see whatever else is out here.

Last week, I was standing outside in the yard, again taking a break from writing, and I heard the sudden shear of wings overhead.  I glanced up to see a hawk chasing a pigeon across the sky over the lake.  The pigeon veered and careened sharply over the water and over the houses on the far side, curving back toward our side of the lake, and finally lost the hawk with one final sharp turn directly over our neighbor's house.  The hawk flew off for other prey and the pigeon rejoined the flock waiting for it on a distant roof.

A few days before that, I was dove hunting on an overcast, windy afternoon.  I sat by a nearly empty stock pond and watched for doves that ultimately never came that day.  Instead, I saw hundreds and hundreds of monarch butterflies.  They flew overhead and around me all afternoon - one even landed for a few seconds on the end of my gun barrel.  The flew in singles, pairs or in small strings, from 3 feet to 20 feet off the ground, orange and black flittering spots in the sky.  For several hours.  I'd never seen the monarch migration before in person.  I'm glad I was outside that day to see it.

I don't know what any of these things mean, if anything.  I don't have anything profound to say about them really.  In themselves, they are fairly run-of-the-mill in terms of what goes on every day in the natural world.

Perhaps, that's just it.  Our world is a thrilling place of wonder and mystery, even right here in the suburbs of one of the country's largest cities.  And it's going on all day every day.

Yet, sometimes it's so easy to miss.