I make the pumpkin coconut soup and the Bohemian saves the seeds.
He’s got a little collection stashed – bush beans, watermelon and now, pumpkin.
We don’t yet know where we will be living in November, but we’re storing seeds and dreaming of that future garden.
I hope there’s plenty of room to grow. So far, current starter crops are stretchers – all tendril and vine.
It appears as though change is, truly, inevitable. I learn that even my little pocket of protection from all things Progress, has been sliced down the middle.
The California country road where my father lives (and where I’ve spent much contemplative time over these last 40 years) has now been deemed, two-lane, with a fresh yellow stripe to prove it.
Here was the road before.
And according to a recent post from my dad on his Dry Crik Journal blog, this is the latest brush of development.
(My dad’s full post can be found here.)
A yellow line painted on an asphalt road might not seem like much of a big deal. But it signals that changes are afoot and more traffic is expected. It’s telling that even the wild life are suspicious of this day-glow harbinger.
Just makes me wonder what’s down the line.
Hands poised at the keyboard, I search for the simple.
What few words can convey something worth saying?
This morning I don’t feel like an artful dance to weave a way into the telling. I want potency in a small dosage.
And as I seek and come short, the Bohemian sounds, as if on cue. From his early morning shower, where he must be peering out that little rectangle window looking East, he calls his line.
“Sunrise…”
Ah, of course. I step out to soak in rising light.
Sunshine elixir in a single drop.
For the Archives 