It’s been a lovely weekend here, spending a lot of time outside: planting a few veggies and flowers in the garden, appreciating the greening trees, walking in the woods where the globe cactuses are blooming. Seven months with the new hip and I’m finding joy in movement again.

Holding the ten thousand joys and the ten thousand sorrows. We lost another friend yesterday to the inevitable ravages of age. I baked blueberry scones for comfort, my own and for the family’s Easter morning breakfast. There is nothing to do but keep waking up each day, and finding what joy there is in all the places where it hides out just waiting for us to notice it.

I thought I might have found a new friend for Topaz. Last week when Wren went out for midnight whiz I saw eyes reflecting from the headlamp, down by the back gate. She didn’t notice, so while she did her business I observed a large and largely white cat with some patches of color as it observed me and incrementally slinked away. ‘Are you our new kitty?’ I asked. But I haven’t seen it again. Yesterday when I opened the front door to let Topaz out first thing, a small, silvery long-haired cat streaked away from the patio up through the gate and into the woods. ‘Maybe you’re our new kitty?’ I asked.

This morning, sitting on the patio looking down toward the pond, I saw the small silvery cat slip through the bottom gate and glide toward the pond. Only then did I realize it’s not a cat at all, it’s a young fox. And this evening, sitting down at the pond, I saw it approach the fence unaware of me, Wren, or Topaz. I moved slightly to make it aware, to avoid a potential kerfuffle or entanglement. Had I been alone, I’d have sat as still as possible hoping to watch it come in for a drink. It ran a short distance and turned back to look at me. I took the pets up to the house to give the fox an opportunity to drink in peace. Not our new kitty after all, but a spark of joy to see the little fox and know it finds refuge here.