I find the land and nature's creatures calling to me.
They called out to me this weekend as I moved leaves with my rake, through the singing birds and the blowing trees and the scudding clouds above my head, later followed by the shining sun.
They hold me enthralled every time I feed the rabbits, who give freely of their affection (on their own terms, of course!) all in exchange for some hay, food and carrots, water, and love. You have not fully experienced animal affection until you been kissed by a rabbit, felt the soft quick touch of their tongue (like and yet unlike that of a cat).
They sing to me in their absence; I miss the bees. I miss their buzzing, their industry, watching them work throughout their hive.
If I become excited about things in my life, it all comes to have to do with creatures and the land: planting a seasonal garden, taking joy in the mundane practice of cleaning after animals, looking at the brown-green of a yard in disrepair but raked and picturing what it could look like, picturing what could be done even with this small plot of New Home ("Quail? Yeah, I could probably make that work too!").
This gap becomes more visible to me year by year, sometimes even day by day as I confront the sterile office environment in which I work with abstract concepts versus the concrete world that is around me.
How does one bridge this gap?
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