The Gift of a Day

I'm reading The Barn at the End of the World, The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd by Mary Rose O'Reilly.  It was referred to me by a good friend; otherwise, I might have passed it up on the bookstore shelf wondering what it was all about, but not interested enough to decipher the title.  The author is at a mid-life junction, much like many of my friends and I, searching for an answer to her question, "How should I spend the second half of my life?"  To help discern her direction, she attends a retreat at Plum Village, a Buddhist monastery in France, founded by Thich N'hat Hanh, a well-known and respected Zen  master.

One day, after working in the kitchen with another retreatant, preparing squash soup with apples, black-eyed peas and greens, Mary says, "I had no expectation that this would be a happy day.  I have never been one to anticipate a sunny wedding or a birthday party; the best days come without expectation."  The best days come without expectation. . .  I underlined the quote, placed the bookmark on page 175 and fell asleep pondering that thought and an unexpected day of my own.

Monday, January 10

A winter storm was forecast to begin on Sunday afternoon and by that evening, our yard was covered with about 3 inches of powdery whiteness.  With snow plows almost as alien in Arkansas as an actual UFO, the state shuts down until a thaw sets in.  I was alone in our house, at the end of a hilly, icy, rural road, with the nearest neighbor's houses only vaguely visible through snowy branches.  Silence surrounded me.  No cars starting, no dogs barking, no school children chatting along the bus route, not even a rooster cock-a-doodle-dooing.  The weather had sequestered us like a jury huddled behind doors closed to the world. 

I loved it!  My To Do List was filled from top to bottom with errands. . . 

  1. Take coat to cleaners

  2. Check out book from library

  3. Mail packages at post office

  4. Return shoes to Penny's

  5. Get new driver's license

           etc.

But, I tossed it to the winds, joyfully unable to do a single one.

Instead, I piled on hat, coat, scarf, gloves, boots and went for a walk, snapping pictures of one beautiful scene after another. 

Footprints in the snow alerted me to the fact that I was not as alone as I might have imagined. Rabbits and deer had hopped and pranced by sometime during the night, leaving their imprints for me to find.
Gray squirrels jumped from branch to branch then scampered down tree trunks, pawing their way through snow drifts to treasure troves of buried nuts.

A flitting blur of red caught my eye and perched on a nearby branch, appearing as a brilliant ruby on a white canvas.  He took my breath away!

(Look carefully in the center of the picture for a red dot -- the cardinal!)

Coming inside, I brewed a pot of chai tea and sat in my favorite writing spot, the red couch in the upstairs study, and continued my poem, "Light in Arctic Darkness."  Pausing to gaze out the window or warm my cooled cup, I spent the rest of the day in hours of silence, which perhaps only a writer can fully embrace.    

An unexpected day.
A day filled with pleasures as simple as Mary's squash soup with apples, black-eyed peas and greens.
A gift for my soul.