On other days, recent days, we would have pointed our faithful Jeep down the hill toward Ontario for one more radiation treatment, perhaps a short stand-in-line at the pharmacy, or a visit with one of my doctors. Not today.
Today, I recover. This morning I sat for awhile on the cement steps leading to our front deck. I watched. I looked and listened. I have blisters under my right arm, a sore, decimated chest wall beneath which is a grateful heart, and today I have a head that reels. I’m a follower of the news, one who listens much, who is interested in the election that looms before us. I’m aghast at our world. How can we humans speak as we do? How is it that we slaughter each other at such a rate? How.can.this.be.so?
The steps, though. Where I sit. I watch as two lizards dart before me. My camera is beside me, lens cover removed, and as I lift it to my eyes, the couple spatted, I guess, and in a flash one is gone. This one, though. This brave critter stopped quite near me. He posed, and held. Steady, he displayed his long “fingers.”
Behind him stands a frog. Well, a replica of a frog, who is of green metal, and who appears to be holding a clarinet or some such instrument. I laughed when I noted these two critters in this juxtaposition.
And it was better than police shootings, or blatant lying, or coarse, vulgar language. Or the utterly ridiculous question of whose lives matter.
Hummingbirds rushed by Jerry’s face today as he watered plants in the front.
Bokeh, they call it. Light, unfocussed light shines through the scarlet bird feeder.
The bigger birds have scratched about and their food is scattered on the railing, and this morning there was a dead bird in our driveway.
And God knows. He is in charge. Still. Capable. Not in trouble. I rest. I recover.