Outdoor World

The ducks were beautiful landing on Greg's pond today when we went to feed our chickens.  I was concentrating on the ones floating and bobbing like little Mallard decoys when a great V of them swept in with wings stretched high as they touched down on the sparkling water. They were followed by a second wave of ducks, the first scattering out of sight to the far reaches of the pond. 

Howard walked down the hill to the edge of the water for a better view, but I was content to watch through the car windows on this bright, chilly afternoon. Climbing back up the grassy slope, when he got to the car my husband remarked, "I think I found a good place where we could sit and fish."  We had heard the large pond/small lake was plentifully stocked with bass. I can see fishing equipment is in our future!

The rustic, autumnal view was pulling me out of the car's confines.  "Let's walk over to the rocks," I suggested.  There were slabs and ledges of rocks behind a weathered old shed that formed a slight cliff tumbled with other boulders below.  It reminded me of  "The Big Rocks," an area behind our house where I played as a child with my siblings in eastern Oklahoma.  Jutting out of the mountain and verdant with a carpet of moss,  the rocks made a perfect playhouse, lookout tower, or dreaming spot for our childish fantasies.

"This is therapeutic for me," Howard said, gesturing expansively at the peaceful scene below.  We watched a burro chasing a goat on the neighbor's property at the far side of the pond, the bucolic sounds of braying and baa-ing wafting across the water.  A lazy wisp of smoke curled from the ashes of  fallen trees and branches burned in an ongoing clean-up project by our son's family.

I was noticing the many small cedars and  evergreens that were revealed by the seasonal thinning of leaves and undergrowth.  Snuggled next to a tree trunk, growing at the edge of an old shed, or rooted firmly in the cracks of a rock, they were Christmas trees in the making.  Since my sense of smell has gone south, I had Howard pinch a lacy, green frond to release the pungent spiciness I knew was there.  He said it smelled like Christmas.

The blue of a jay flashed through the bare limbs of a giant oak, a Christmas ornament in the near-December wood.  We pulled our jackets closer and headed back to town, refreshed by nature and the non-commercial, unmaterialistic world that God gives us free of charge if we just take the time to notice.