A Perfect Day

What constitutes a perfect day? Individually we all have our criteria. Mine, and I suspect your does too, varies with the day, the climate, responsibilities, needed accomplishments and especially what we choose to observe about the day.

In this post I choose to concentrate on observations.

With a cup of coffee in hand, I chose to walk the Buddha garden yesterday morning around 5:30. The rain had ended the night before and the rising sun filtered through the tall Oaks, Maples and a Shaggy Bark Hickory splashing its rays on the potted flowers and arbors of miniature Wisteria and Trumpet vine.

There is a ridge maybe a mile away to the East that holds back the bright light to my little indentation of a valley so the treetops are the first to reflect the brilliance of the morning and then the light shinnies down the trees to the flora and fauna below. You can see its molasses movement if you stand and watch.

There was a cacophony of tweets, chirps, caws, coos and warbles as the flying kingdom burst into active life. The Mourning Doves cooing filtered in and out of the symphonic melodies of the songbirds. Finches, Wrens, Robins, Jays and Blue Birds took their turns as nature conducted the score for anyone who would listen.

There is always an anomaly: the Mocking Bird. He or she decanted every song they’d ever heard and mixed them up into a chirping loop of tunes that praised the morning light. I was ecstatic.

Late morning to late afternoon was filled with variegated sunshine. Soft Westerly breezes with occasional puffs rustled the leaves providing a harmony to the intermittent silence. A cool front was approaching. The high cirrus clouds gave way to the pillowed cumulous that passed reluctantly. They give context and form to the landscape and proved that shadows do create the mottled contours of a magnificent day.

As I sat on an elevated porch overlooking a meadow far below and gazing at a blue dream of sky, I heard the snap of a twig or branch about thirty feet below me. I stepped slowly to the railing. There clothed in her golden russet brown of summer was a doe munching on Sumac leaves. We shared eye contact and Shakespeare’s line came to mind; “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.” She apparently was comfortable with my intrusion for she shortly bedded down for an afternoon rest in the bramble and bushes.

The evening was a culmination of the day. Golden light festooned the gardens; zephyrs tweaked the quaking Birch leaves and the throng of the flying ones again sang for their supper. I have several feeders around the house and the birds flit in and out, choose their prize seed and dart to a nearby tree to enjoy the feast. When twilight approached the songs became vespers until the sunset across the valley and it was momentarily silent.

Not to be outdone and seemingly happy that the warmth of the day had abated, the Crickets, Katydids, Grasshoppers and the Bull Frogs from a meadow pond took over the night sounds. Their sounds advertise their whereabouts for a mate. It’s loud. It’s wonderful and it attunes you to the nature you are.

It was a perfect day for me. I hope yours was too.