Backyard Healing

You might be surprised to learn that, for all I like to preach about the healing properties of nature, I seldom believe them, myself, when I really need them.

Like yesterday. It was a bad day. "Bad," as in (1) I am desperate to find time to go visit the friends in Baltimore whom I terribly miss, (2) I've reached the point in the semester when nothing I write has any future beyond the paper shredder/compost bin, and (3) we received notice from the county yesterday telling us they're changing our house number (... since it hasn't been functioning properly for the past twenty years?).

I took a moment from the Essays That I Wish Would Write Themselves to go to the kitchen and refill my water bottle, when I realized it was 6:00 and almost sunset. I hemmed. I hawed. I reeeeeally needed to work on those essays. I reeeeally didn't feel like taking off my slippers. I reeeeeally wasn't in the mood to put on extra layers to go outside, after the past four or five months of the cold. In the end, I left my water bottle on the counter, my Microsoft Word window open (it was blank anyway, not like it's going anywhere), and pulled on a pair of boots and a jacket.

The black-capped chickadees behind the garden shed welcomed me with chirping, and the hill of neighbors' lawns behind the house are greener by the day. It was cold, so cold, but after moving around the yard for a little bit, I felt warmer, and I thought of the line in Die Lorelei: Der Luft ist kuhl und es dunkelt (the air is cool and it's growing darker).

The wookiee, thrilled to have someone outside with him, popped out of a bush and grabbed my ankle before running across the yard. He's getting older now, and I'm not in very good shape either, so we gave up the game of tag after a few more minutes. I took some veggie peels to the compost bin and watched the clouds puff across the eastern sky like exhaust from a steam engine, tried to find the source of a unique bird call, and eventually returned to the house when it got too dark and too cool to merit remaining outside.

What's more: I felt better. Whether the essays write themselves or not, they'll get written. They may not be any good by finals week, but they'll stick around until I'm ready to revise them in another year or two. My friends will always welcome me in Baltimore, and the end of the semester (and along with it, some free time) is coming nearer so I can afford to see them again. And you know, even if they're changing my house's identity, they can't change the house. The yard is not defined by the number on my mailbox, and this weekend, that is the most important part of this little wedge of land.

:45°:
:partly cloudy skies: