Grinding of a trash track in action entered my dreams. I awoke to hear them for real, bothered for a moment at the early dissonance. Then I turned and opened my eyes, looking out my sliding door. Snow was coming down, light flakes covering the branches. Birds were about, fluttering around, the chickadees serenading while checking for bugs or seed. A raven croaked in the distance, then again farther away. It was cold last night again, and so I was not surprised to see a squirrel jumping on my balcony rail, eager for an easy and quick meal.
I feel the same anticipation I had the last few days, the unknown sense of something bearing on my soul. I want to stop and stare for long periods of time, letting the calm of the beauty outside fill my inner being, though that is not something I allow myself to do. Days could be lost, weeks. I awake not feeling like chasing after spiritual pursuits, though certainly not content with the mundane. Despite my feelings, I kneel outside, face west and pray for freedom, for guidance, and the same for those I know.
My fingers are a little numb now, it is cold in my room, I see my breath. I honestly don’t mind, this is likely the last taste of winter, it now peeking its way into the blossoms of spring.
I went to bed last night watching two fat raccoons climbing the cedar outside. I knew we had raccoons up here, I just haven’t seen them yet. Larger than the usual, their tails seemed shorter. They weren’t bothered by my stares, and I wasn’t bothered by their late night foraging.
Back to the tasks which have enveloped me these last couple of days. More writing, more praying, more hoping.