Seek the Sunny Places

I saw my first spring snake today.

Thorne and I were out for a 3:00 Friday afternoon run--he, dashing in front of me with puppyish glee,  bouncing from scent to scent with flopping ears, I slogging on behind with pounding feet and flapping hair.

For some reason or other, the snake did not catch Thorne's attention.  I suppose the hound in him was much more interested in the deer tracks imprinted deeply in the trail ahead, or the pointer half more entranced by the turkey droppings deposited along the edges of the two-track. In any case, by the time I reached the snake, a little Garter, Thorne had already hopped over him, oblivious to the little life below.

The snake was a slender fellow, about 15 inches long, a thin ribbon stretched out full length in a patch of sunlight.  His head was reared up, his tongue flickering about his lips, his eyes unblinking.  He did not move as my feet thumped closer to him, or even when I, too, had sprung over him.  He was enjoying a patch of warmth and happiness and apparently he was not going to move for much.

I couldn't resist.  Stopping and retracing my steps, I gently touched him with my shoe.  He didn't budge.  I nudged him a little harder.  And then it was as if he was suddenly awakened out of his reverie--beginning a rapid slither out of his sunshine and into the shadows of the swamp several feet away.


During these unpredictable spring days when we might yet have a few flurries in the air or when, a few minutes later, the sun is strong enough to cause the temperature in my greenhouse to rise into the 80s, I often find Thorne, as well, in the sunshine.  He doesn't mope around in the cold dark corners of our log cabin, whining and shivering.  He seeks for the bright places, the cozy places, the golden places.  He basks there, soaking them in, relishing them, contentedly snoozing, his whiskers and toes twitching as he dreams of wild squirrel hunts and tantalizing bunny chases.

And so with the snake.  It is a little early for him to be out, weather-wise.  It frosted every night this week except for one.  Sunday and Monday were days of cold rain.  Thursday was warmish but whipped about by a cool breeze.  But he certainly hasn't gone around grumping about it.  He follows his nose to the happy spots and stays there, peacefully enjoying the moments and moving only out of mere necessity. He finds the haunts that delight him and rests there, not startled in the least by distractions, disruptions, or disagreements.

Oh, that I might learn from these little creatures!  May my instinct be to search for sunlight, not shadows, for joy, not sorrow, for contentment, not resentment.  May I too seek the sunny places--and may I determine steadfastly to stay there.

A Seed for Living Twice

This will not be the normal "oh-no-I-haven't-written-in-two-years" kind of blog post.  Not because I can't manage to catch up on all the happenings and intricate inter-weavings of the past twenty-four months. Not because of a sense of burdensome guilt about my lack of communication with the world at large.  After 8.5 hours of pondering on the matter, I'm now beyond all those emotions. What's left is the very core of it all--the very center where the seeds are and from which new life can sprout.

It all began this morning when one of my students mentioned something about stickers.  Now you should know that just a week or so ago, this particular student had found some stickers in the trash, pulled them out, and proceeded to stick them about the classroom--on the clock, on the turtle tank, on a classmate or two, and then, of course, on her own desk.  Why?  That is a question that still begs for answering.  But in the meantime, it has all become a fabulous joke.  So when she mentioned something about stickers, I couldn't help giggling with her.

And then I remembered this post from my past and couldn't resist the temptation of sharing it with her or her word-loving brother.  We all laughed.  But when they went back to their desks to eat their lunches, I remained riveted--perusing one year after another of memories, of words, of musings. A thought began to come, one which, at first, I could not pin down and talk some sense into.  When I tried to explain my ruminations to my coworker over recess, I still had not figured it out.  It was on my twenty-three minute drive home from work--after the goodbyes, after the grading, after the mental wind-down--that the thought finally emerged from the rainy fog figuratively and literally surrounding my car.

In those years and months and days of being a faithful blogger, and more importantly, being a writer, I was living each moment twice--the first, as the protagonist, and the second as the analytical bystander, sometimes cheering myself on, sometimes calling out criticisms, sometimes laughing at the ridiculous character I saw before me.  My life was a reflective one--chewed on constantly by my imaginings, mulled over obsessively in my quiet moments, and digested through the act of wordsmithing.  My life was, in those years, an examined life, "one," to turn Socrate's famous quote around, "worth living."  Not because it was seen by everyone.  Not because it was plastered all over Facebook (which I didn't even have).  But because every moment was lived until it couldn't be lived anymore.

That, indeed, is a life worth living, a seed worth sowing.  And April is as good a time as any to begin anew.