To Everything There is a Season
I’m exploring the vast number of custom settings on the new camera that came yesterday, but will have to leave that soon to get my head set for Warm Hearth today at 1:30.
The best thing towards that goal this morning was sitting on the front porch at 5 am, just listening: trying to extract layer upon layer of sound–wet-white noise in the blue-black darkness. Rush of tumbling creek, the slight sizzle of a predawn storm, lightning barely visible far away; fat drops falling leaf above to leaf below, cascading finally in a multitude of soft splats to web ground. After a while, I could distinguish the voice of drops coming from one particular tree across the creek–a large tall tough-leaved thing, a big oak perhaps, whose percussion was distinctive enough to know it from its voice in the rain.
The porch in the dark was an attempt to escape the anxiety of a workday for her. On a morning before one of my occasional small presentations, I need to get in touch with my voice–to know what I think by seeing what it is that I say to myself, in particular with regard to what it is that I want to share with the unique gathering, in this case, of retired folks.
It’s funny how, living with this much solitude, I am surprised in quiet moments like this one, to become reacquainted with my deeper conversations. Most of the time operating in base-brain, I suppose, my thought bubbles are small and contain small uninteresting kibble.
It takes the occasional urgency of an audience with an audience to fill those bubbles and to have them stay up on the surface of intentional consciousness. I rather enjoy it while it lasts–enough so that I seem to take these things on every few months or so, just to help me remember who I am when it’s dark on the front porch, in the rain.
There is a place for both of these ways of being. To everything there is a season.
CAPTION: Cabbages growing at SustainFloyd’s demonstration farm whose produce is available at the Floyd Community Market under the label Blue Valley Farm. Read more about the “Pocket Farm” classes,Â for which Blue Valley serves as a working model.