Rituals

THE LITTLE POND in the back appears neglected when we return.

This morning I finally went down to add water and to clear some of the minor debris. The summer temperature is so welcoming at this time of day.

Once the water is going, I skim the surface in a slow rotation around in a figure eight here and there with a net, imagining I’m a worker in Monet’s water lily pond

Continually -and this is so soothing, it feels like free therapy Because I think about all the sadness that is going on around the world, and here too.

This could become a ritual of sorts.

At the little pond each day, a routine designed by nature starts with Birds of all mountain varieties, including the bold stellar blue jay and sometimes pesky woodpeckers, stopping by for a drink and a fly by.

The coveys of quail are my favorite. They make me smile as they swarm together in organic lines and patterns around the rocks then take a quick dip.

The chipmunks and lizards, too, take their turn by the water.

The deer often come by, tentatively in the darkening hours, unable to resist, taking their sips and eating my plants.

The bears are visually undetected by me so far, only by our neighbors But they leave evidence of their fur in the bottom of the pond.

After finishing with the task at hand and going inside I hear a blue jay squawking at me. .

Looking down I see, he just wanted his space back.

Jane Oling-Greenard July 15, 2016