Where the Wild Things Are

I have been galomphing along at a frantic pace. All the things I chose to do, I enjoyed. I don't regret a single one, but saying yes to things inevitably means saying no to others. That's what I regret all the things that had to be set aside as I moved at what seemed a snail's pace through a whirlwind of activities.

In a bit of a pendulum swing I have found myself now saying No nearly as often as a petulant toddler--or at least that's how it seems. I don't like saying no to people or things, so I console/encourage myself by becoming more aware of the things around me that I have been too busy to notice.

The cats noticed them first. As I held the door open for Solomon and Sheba for their early morning promenade, Sheba stiffened, hunkered down, and sniffed energetically. I followed her attention and saw a deer--the white tail of one and then a quartet of them loping off unhurriedly in the uneven ground of the moss across the road. I didn't see them moving across the hill, so I thought they might have snuggled in for a morning's nap. Sure enough later as we walked by the moss, we saw a deer trot off into the far distance. Again, with no particular urgency.

As I walked up the hill to the loch, I noticed the cattle in the field have been replaced by sheep. You may think that this is because their wooly coat protects them from the cold. That is half right. Actually, it is their wee feet. The cattle poach the earth with their large hooves. This time of year we have wet ground. We get an occasional frost and some snow, but mostly we get wettish and coldish.

In the field across from me as I type this are sheep acting as gleaners in a field of oats, I think. It has not been that long since harvest, but already I lose track whether this year the field was full with the golden flowers of rape or the translucent heads of grain. At any rate, the sheep are hard at work nibbling bits of something. The tranquil agrarian scene was interrupted by something dark moving in the field just at the edge of my peripheral vision. After two or three tries, I caught the spectre in action--a pheasant helicoptering above the rows. Apparently he, too, is gleaning in the field.

Even if I had not spent a childhood watching Roadrunner cartoons, pheasants wouild make me laugh. They don't fly well, so their flight is at best ungainly and shortlived, but, poor things, they also have a walk that Monty Python and their school of silly walks might well have imitated.

But all of us--deer, cats, sheep, pheasants and others nestled in the grass or in the air above the loch are enjoying a day of sunshine, mild temperature, and relatively calm winds. We all know it is to be treasured.