Kathleen's Korner at TheStidhams.com

I have today, now, this moment to treasure.  And then nothing.

This time, this place, these people (or this person) — or never, nowhere, no one.

What do I value?  See what surrounds me, where I am, what I do, who is with me.

What do I believe?  My work, my life, my heart express the essence of my in-most thoughts.

Do I do great things?  Or little things?  And who decides what is worthy?  Do I count as success only that which brings accolades — or that which pleases me?

I walked out in the garden this morning, pulled a few weeds, admired that last rose on the persistent shrub with its self-made nosegays, counted the spiderwebs hanging like solar diagrams on the buddleia (four) and threw a ball, a stick, a toy for the dogs.

I picked up the litter from the drive.  I wandered through the house, putting this thing away, setting this other aside for later.

I checked through the mail — a note from a friend, unsolicited recycling materials, a bit of news.

I deconstructed a little more of the water-damaged wall in my office and disturbed a small (maybe a few month’s old) ant nest when I removed a bit of insulation.  I set the window open to push the dust outside — or does it push it further inside?  No matter, the house was cooler.

I read, I played, I cleaned, I  rested, I dreamt.

Today, here, with my dogs at my side, I waited for my family to return home.

It finally rained.  A good, long soaking rain all Wednesday.

I sat inside and worked on projects.  Putting the story I have been writing online mostly…

It rained, and the ground was damp with moisture.

I stepped outside and the air was clean — no smoke, no dust.  Just air.

The rich smell of good soils and the sound of the water pushing the air out of the ground were intoxicating.

By yesterday, the skies had cleared completely.  And the bright blue over the sparkling clean leaves gave life a crisp new look.

We drove up the Olympic Peninsula to Port Townsend and took a ferry to Whidbey Island for the kite festival.  The winds were brisk and constant out of the west, shifting to a more northerly breeze in mid-afternoon.  There were kites of all sizes and shapes flying, floating (and only occasionally falling) as demonstrators and contestants enjoyed the first full day of Autumn.

And soon, I hope, we will have rain again.  But not until I spend some hours in the garden…

They promised me rain two weeks ago.

Not a drop.

Then they said rain one week ago.

Nary a sprinkle.

Then they said rain this week.

It grew cold and cloudy and threatened all manner of precipitation.

Most of which, predictably, fell to the north, east and south of us.

Still, over the last three or four days, it has drizzled enough to keep the surfaces of the plants moist through the day, and already the grasses are beginning to perk up. It hasn’t even come close to soaking the ground though — a few millimeters down and it’s as dry as if it hadn’t rained at all. I am still waiting for my promised rain…