Saying Thank You

I am doing so much better lately, and I'm delirious with gratitude. In the mornings I drink  my half-caffeinated coffee, look out at the v of blue sea, feel the summer breeze through open windows, contemplate the lozenges of sunlight on the wood floor, and say thank you.

On Sunday one of my dear bicycle friends, Christine, came all the way from Santa Rosa with a beautiful tandem for me to borrow, a way for me to get back into cycling, with Monte as my captain, and to restore my balance and bike fitness. This means a lot to me, and I was touched by her graciousness. Also, I recently made a new ranch friend who appreciates the wonders of being here and doesn't mind stepping out spontaneously for a walk now and then. And I have a writing project taking shape in my head. The world seems to be opening up for me in so many different ways.

Yesterday I watched an acrobatic lizard playing in a succulent plant, sometimes hanging upside-down like a tiny circus performer. I saw mute rocks bearing messages for those willing to hear, the sea wall melting into art, and noble trees with ancient souls. At this very moment two cowgirls are riding up the canyon, moving the cattle, and there are hawks and hummingbirds and flustered bursts of quail, and later we may see our little friend Virginia, whose first day of kindergarten was today.

August 27th will mark six months since the surgery, which is the halfway point in what I have come to think of as a year-long recovery. And I admit I'm not helping the world or doing anything significant, but  climbing out of darkness took most of my energy, and now I'm getting reacquainted with life.