The Good Days
“There is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by. A life of good days lived in the senses is not enough. The life of sensation is the life of greed; it requires more and more. The life of the spirit requires less and less; time is ample and its passage sweet. Who would call a day spent reading a good day? But a life spent reading - that is a good life.”
ANNIE DILLARD
I walk today, heading towards the postbox. Yes, this is becoming a ritual again. Building up over the weeks from one walk to two, and hoping for more. The habit of sending things via post is reactivated by going out for the walk. I am striving to move that bit more each day. On this trip I consciously remember to look for the dandelion of last week, but it now gone. No trace of the bright yellow anymore. Not even a trace of a feathery clock.
It is a bright day, a breeze with strength enough to move the leaves on the pavement, but not powerful enough to force anymore down from the trees. The sun is out and I can feel the gentle warmth on my back.
It’s my birthday this weekend and as one is inclined (or at least I am), I think about the passing of time. Of a year ago, two years ago and how life has shifted. This year I am not at home. Instead it is time away with friends, good friends, seldom seen but who have a richness of spirit that I am lucky to have found. I’ve not disclosed that it is my birthday, and I wonder why? And I reason, because this weekend is about an us, and I have a desire not to be singled out. To spend time among souls that are abundant in all that is good in the world is celebration enough for me.
Once back from the walk, I place the leaves I have collected on the table. A walk seems such a grand misnomer as it is a short distance, a matter of a few minutes, but it is outside and walking under my own steam. After lunch I paint a leaf again, slightly disappointed with the results but know that I just need to regularly show up at the table with the materials and see what happens.
Interspersed throughout the day is reading and listening. I have read so much this last year. Stories fill my head. When I am too tired to hold a book, I listen. The voice of an audio book being paramount to its success. I switch readily between genres and titles. Always loosing myself in the words.
There have been occasions over the last few years, since a Covid infection ravaged my body that this was not even possible. It seemed that the virus seeped into the brain and took the words away. A place without words, there is no way to describe this. There. Are. No. Words.
As an antidote to this, I fill my days with stories. My life is spent reading. It is a good life.