Moments like these…

are why I believe in gods and goddesses and leprechauns and squirrels.

Tucked in against the house on the back deck, legs stretched out to capture the tanning power of this late afternoon, early spring, blazing sun –

I am in heaven.

5pm on a mid-March afternoon and it must be 75 degrees out here, maybe more.   Blissful.

I have gleefully abandoned my earlier “courtroom attire” for little more than nothing.

This time of year my defense for idling just to soak up cancer-forming ultraviolets is that I need to be warmed by this sun until my bones are finally warm again after a long, cold winter.  (Thankfully they are heating up nicely.)

But in truth it feels more like a genetic force that pulls me out into the sun.  And a sense of coming home.

And that is only the beginning of how lovely it is out here tonight.

Mark has gone off to enjoy an afternoon of golf with his friends, Seth has gone to pick up his Dad who is here for the weekend, and I have this moment all to myself and even that is an understatement.

In fact as I write I can hear huge bees buzzing nearby (they are probably Carpenter Bees and someday will have eaten away the whole deck.)
Help yourself.

The quacking of the ducks on the pond is broken by the two new geese who must have their noisy say.

And there is the sweetest bluebird perched on the fence railing next to his “house”.

Be still. Close your eyes and just listen. How many sounds can you hear?

I love that game.

Right now? About six different bird calls, the ducks, the geese,  a jet somewhere, and then there is my squirrel.

He has decided I am harmless enough to do his busy work (whatever the hell that is) in spite of me, so he is here, then there….then gone and then back. What’s most fun is when he stops to stare at me, eye to eye.

I have a love/hate relationship with squirrels.

After Hurricane Fran a friend rescued a baby squirrel outside her door, whose mother had died in the storm. We used to go by and play with her. She would run around my shoulders and what I remember most is how sharp even her baby claws were, and how able she was to hang to me on at all angles. Little by little they let her out on her own, and when they finally released her, she came back often to check in with her surrogate parents.

Most winters they move in – to somewhere above the ceiling in my bedroom – and their antics keep me awake at night.  I could figure out where they are coming in, I’ve been told, and block them out once and for all….but that would only reflect the hate part of the equation.  And where would they sleep?  After so many years I hardly hear them, like the now silent newspaper carrier who drives in and out each day to throw a paper on the driveway at about dawn.

So here I bake, binoculars in reach in case this morning’s woodpecker stops by. He was a new one for me and I need another look to know who he was.

Maybe later, after the sun goes down, I will crawl back to my inbox, and to the fight against global warming. And remind myself that for all the good the sun has brought us, there are complications with having had the hottest decade in recorded history.

I had coffee with a friend yesterday who sees the world through a slightly different filter than mine. Her take was that all this ‘climate change’ is predicted in the Bible, and we have no way of changing that.  Which is in some ways a relief, and may mean I can save money on such frivolities as sunscreen, and the tedium of recycling.

But I digress.

From the deep heat of this sun on my arms and legs and face….

And from giving in and giving up.

The new 10K solar array we put out in our field last fall must be slammed with rays this afternoon.

I know I am.