An hour earlier, sun is brighter this evening as I settle onto porch. Today was cold and windy. It was the same a few minutes ago, but it is calm now. Maybe it’s direction of the breeze and break of the house between, or maybe it’s really died and lessened down.
My cigar is like a chili or stew—better the second day. Where the meals let the flavor greater take in longer of the waiting, cigar was dry and leaving outside for a morning frost and dew, it’s absorbed from sky the moisture humidor lacked.
First Sunday of Lent, my typical “just a little late,” I’ve settled on a Lenten resolution—to be better at putting things away. I have a tendency to clutter, and unaddressed, clutter spreads and so becomes a general dishevel and disorder of living.
There is a snow sled still beside me on the porch where I smoke. To put it away will be my first proof of will.
Done! And doing so, I discovered there were two—an orange stacked on and into a green.
Baby step of progress…
In a month and a day, we will have two permit drivers. That means: I have a month and a day to clean the car we bought for their first driver and that I’ve used for a few months as a farm vehicle to and from (and a month and a day to fix the back left tire on the van which is the reason the other was driven in the first place.
Owen and I went adventuring today. In the spirit of “putting away,” we went to the field where we set up a deer blind last November (we will be dropping nitrogen on the field and its wheat this week). We found an old tree stand from a friend that is now passed, and in shared time in rest atop its relic, I told stories of my friend as my son whittled with new knife, glad to be in the woods—and with me.
I intended to do some work on the farm, but Owen wanted to fish, and who in their right mind would tell a child “no” when they want to live time with you, and to fish?
We bought minnows at a stop just down from our home. Seeing my son’s excitement, we were gifted a “ten-year old’s dozen.”
We tried two ponds. It was cold, and the fish were deeper than we could cast from bank, so we audibled on in our adventure. We shot .22s. He shot magazine on magazine as I remember doing as a boy, Gatorade bottles we drank for treat the targets that we used.
I’ve put it all away—rifles, poles, hunting blind, and more amassed and gathered in vehicle’s trunk.
Baby step of progress…
I like the golden sun, even if it’s cold. I like the way it catches on the top of the storage sheds across the street—as artful as storage sheds of sheet metal could ever be—on the yew bushes and porch pillars, the lawn’s become of more visible green since even this morn, veil and head of the statue of Mary that looks onto where sun will set.
It’s been a beautiful day, all’s a gift, and unpacking in thought and word—I order it away to written memory.
Baby step of progress…