Life Is Sweet

"Wonder - is not precisely Knowing." Emily Dickinson

Sitting at my desk, writing, I glance up at my portrait of Emily Dickinson, Saint Emily to me, and it's as if she is telling me: That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.

Outside - an April shower. Rain sluices from the roof.

This morning, I worked in the garden.

Though it really started with these interior words:

Wake up!

Open your eyes!

This is life!

This is your only life!

A kind of poem or warning - a definite wake up call of the spirit.

What will I make of it? What do I see? How will I live - fully live?

My birthday draws near. As it does, I am asking myself so many questions, reevaluating my life, my dreams, my desires - everything.

I envy the Black-capped chickadee at the feeder. He does not question life. He simply lives it. “Consider the birds…”

What do his fill his brief time with (as he will live less than two to three years)? Nesting. Mating. Feeding. Flying. Living.

It’s overcast while I’m outside.

Birdsong fills the air.

I am tending to my garden.

Digging. Uprooting. Pulling. Weeding. Removing - is this not, also, what I am doing in my own life?