Untitled Midnight Thoughts

It’s early yet. The night is still deep, yet as I step into the freezing fog to grab a few more logs for the fire the patio is washed in a pale glow. Looking up, a nearly full moon peaks through wisps of silver and I wish the cold weren’t sucking all the heat out of my feet so I could stand and watch a little longer. It’s quiet now, but earlier the frogs were calling out so loud it seemed as if they could fill the pond to Egyptian-plague-like proportions. Stepping back inside, wood in hand, it dawns on me. This is my last night in the stillness that can only really be found at the base of the mountains.

Tomorrow instead of watching the geese and ducks diving into the water it’ll be cars speeding through a street they should be more cautious on. Bass solos will replace the birds’ chorus, and competing television programs and the occasional wail of an emergency will take the place of the midnight chirps and croaks.

And surprisingly enough, as I add one last log to the fire, I find myself ready to go home.

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing — Day 15: Pitter Patter Go the Raindrops…

I woke up at 4:30 this morning to rain pounding against my window. It was far too early to get up, so I just laid there waiting for it to lull me back to sleep for another couple of hours. With the exception of a few breaks it hasn’t let up much since. Rain is one of my favorite sounds in the world, which is probably a good thing because it pretty much falls from November through May where I live.

My brother (who I meet every Tuesday and Thursday for coffee and a walk) and I decided that we would continue this activity rain or shine through the winter, so I packed some extra clothes to change into when I got to work and drove to the meeting point looking for songs my wipers could move in sync with. Fortunately, we caught one of the breaks and were able to enjoy our weekly ritual without getting drenched and because we had the time, paused a little longer at the duck pond than normal.

There were two females wood ducks we enjoyed watching in particular. As one would beat her wings to catch up with her friend, the other would do the same to stay just ahead. They zigged. They zagged. And I wished I had a camcorder to record their game of tag. After a while the lagger decided to do a little diving. Down she went and my brother and I watched and waited for her to bob back to the surface. One minute. Two minutes. The ripples had completely disappeared when I finally asked where she went. Then plop the leader was gone.

We spent the next several minutes theorizing that some sort of creature had found its way into the pond and was grabbing them from below. It had been nearly ten minutes and all the other ducks were just bobbing along grabbing their breakfast, but our two little ladies were still missing.

Thank goodness for smart phones. We asked Siri (my brother just upgraded to an iPhone 4S) how long ducks can dive for and discovered that they can stay under for up to fifteen minutes. Sure enough we found our girls surfacing on the far side of the pond moments later and they immediately started up on whatever topic ducks converse about again.

What does any of this have to do with thankfulness? Absolutely everything! I am amazed by creation every time I step outside my door. I'm thankful for the symphony created by each raindrop as it hits the leaves, the roof of my apartment, and the surface of the duck pond. I'm thankful for how effortlessly and gracefully the ducks move (and that there really was no hideous beast lurking in the muck). I'm thankful for the intoxicating aroma of damp earth and foliage when mixed together. And most of all, I'm thankful that I was born with not one, but five senses to enjoy it all with.