I just got out of the shower and despite scrubbing vigorously there remains a hint of 2 cycle fuel on my hands.  Angela & I were blessed with a late season trim job in Williamsville on an unseasonably mild late autumn day.  We cranked it out trimming, pruning and shaping overgrown trees and shrubs in an affluent subdivision, my shoulders stinging from wielding the heavy mechanical trimmers and a sour stomach from a brunch visit yesterday afternoon that turned into a “drunch.”  I think it was the IPA, an uber-hoppy variety at that, which did not mingle so well with the lining of my tummy.  In any event, after grabbing a bite to eat we parted ways with intentions to catch an open mic, or some sort of social outing in the near future.  Before hopping in our respective vehicles Angela shared with me her lament at all the “lost souls” in the world, the homeless, mentally ill, incarcerated, who may never know the life so many take for granted.  She proposed a vision of transformation through music reaching out to youth and forever altering their destiny. It is crazy folk like us who are changing the world in subtle, yet profound ways.

On the drive home, exhausted and yet inspired by the glorious weather, I listened to a Daniel Lanois album my friend JP had burned for me some time ago.  As a hawk flew overhead while speeding along the interstate he was introducing one of the songs and talking about how we all have immense potential to do great things, and that no matter what one has accomplished, invariably we all come from “unpromising beginnings.”  I smiled as a tractor-trailer caught up to me and hammered down on the accelerator sliding over to exit the thruway.  Indeed, even the most promising seed will not amount to anything if it is not sewn in the proper conditions to germinate.  In a half-drunken stupor I wandered the beach last night through an eerie fog thinking to myself, “Faith like a mustard seed.”

I was delighted upon pulling into the driveway that there was sufficient daylight remaining for a trip down to catch the sunset.  I fired up the quad and cruised along the storm-saturated sand, pausing to snap photos of my “mistress” as she revealed herself upon the murky horizon.  Hues of blue were most prominent as I parked by the mouth of a small feeder stream its fluvial deposits fanning out to merge with that of the lake.  A woman sauntered by with her chocolate lab thrusting into the chilly water to play fetch.  She commented on the contrasting appearance of the stream’s final destination as compared to just yesterday before the latest round of rain.  Indeed, from one day to the next the earth is transformed by the elements reminding us how we too may be altered by the wind, rain and change of seasons.

In common wealth,

SjK

 

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