Perfect Day

It only took eight months and 18 days, but Murphy slept until 6 A.M.                      (Wanna know why they’re named SPRINGER spaniels?)

Warm enough that the morning fire was only for pretty                                                       (And last nights embers didn’t need precious kindling  for the logs to catch)

French press coffee and my favorite cup was clean                                                                   (Frig. surprise: dear Steve had stopped late after work to pick up 1/2&1/2)

Two days of rain, and the unmeasurable snow–and hooray, the ice–are melting (Poof: Fog disappeared during cup #2 and the thermometer hurdled to 40 degrees)

The dying fir–too many rings to count–landed perfectly                                                        (I know He knows how to drop a tree safely, but worry and love are permanently bound)

Impossible not to check out Gili Springs                                                                                     (Foot path turned to melty creek but narrow enough to straddle)

Listening to one of my three mandolin heroes                                                                               (On cue , “Up in the Woods” set my pace)

Waterfall noises masked the increasingly distant, chainsaw-limbing-the downed conifer-racket                                                                                                                               (Plashing, splashing, maybe loud enough for my almost perfect Steve to hear)

Stood smiling at my snowmelt gushing gift                                                                                     (He discovered the spring first used 10,000 years ago by the real stewards of our 40       acres. I marked “living by a burbling creek” off my life list when He artfully carved 50 meandering yards to a hand dug pool, checking again and again to be sure I liked the sounds of three small waterfalls he couldn’t hear)

Cross-country hike home shared by returning deer                                                                       (Thank goodness Mr. Puppy-face was headfirst in a hollow log and missed them)

Pushed my luck: did any of my beloved garden survive the -14  winter low?          (Yes! 42/75 garlic shoots, lots of strawberry plants and maybe even the raspberries)

It gets better. The Paper-Bark maple, which has no business on Soda Mt., has buds (Dad and I planted it Year Two–while he was still here–so glad we did)

A few daffodils and crocuses, at least, are alive–for now, anyway                                    (They have earned their frost cloth coats if winter sneaks back)

A perfect day, and it’s not even noon                                                                                                (So needed after stepping on last nights dead mouse cat-gift left on my bedroom floor)


3 thoughts on “Perfect Day

  1. Thanks Brian, I enjoyed writing it in a kind of a “what I’m saying/what I’m thinking” format. When I started writing, the phrases just seem to sort that way and I decided to go with it and have fun with the structure


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