The wild winds this spring have torn down many limbs in the forest, and I’m sure some whole trees, but I haven’t rambled the deer trails since last fall so I am just beginning to discover the changes. This morning I was grateful for rambling with Wren and Topaz, starting off on the Typewriter Trail but veering onto a deer track at the bottom of the first hill, then heading southwest. A freshly broken limb blocked the trail which of course didn’t stop Wren, though I walked around rather than under it.

It’s been awhile since I’ve simply wandered the woods as I used to with two dogs and two cats. Those were the halcyon days, and I’m grateful that I recognized that at the time. How everything has changed in two years. Sometimes it truly feels like living in the end times, and I won’t be surprised if that turns out to be the case. Whatever happens next, I’m keeping focused on doing the right thing in the moment. Often that is simply bearing witness to what’s left of this astonishing, spectacular, living planet.

I am perpetually grateful that I made choices going back three and four decades (or six, or lifetimes) that caused me to end up here, living among these ancient junipers, at this precarious time.

And I’m grateful for the tiny, ephemeral delights that each day brings, like the swooping sound of nighthawks, a cool evening breeze, the first fingerling zucchini, and a tiny predatory beetle on the coriander.

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