The wind has been whipping around all morning, blowing gray clouds over, shaking the yellow and orange leaves off of the maples and sending them hopping along the ground in great hurrying crowds.  Wind chimes are tinkling all throughout the neighborhood, and the sound of the tossing, bowing trees is nearly covering up the sound of the nearby interstate.

I planted daffodil bulbs out here today, moved some thyme.  My rain barrel fills up so fast that I’m going to probably have to start watering plants all year round … isn’t that weird … to have fifty gallons of water just sitting in a barrel, when some of my garden perished in the summer for want of water.  This rain barrel is one of the coolest things I own, and I sometimes daydream about the sort of person who would decide to pay me for house-sitting by buying me a rain barrel (and one for herself) and paints and brushes, and inviting me to come over and paint it with her in her garage.  I’m talking about Marshall’s brother’s wife, whom I like so much, and hope to be fast friends with.  Because I daydream about her, for heaven’s sake.  Surely.

But anyways, I got on here to say that I’m taking a lunch break after pickling & canning the last of the jalapenos, and am on the back porch being washed up in the surf of the day.  Everything’s moving so quickly — the clouds, tree-leaves, shadows, birds.  The year is turning over into my third fall since college, second fall since loving Marshall.  First fall of the rest of my life, which I declared I didn’t like in the last post, but which is being blown of its wrinkles, this afternoon.

I’m reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoirish book Eat, Pray, Love and finding it both welcome and obnoxious.  Obnoxious mostly, but no matter how irritated I am by her style and attitude, I’m relieved to find an amount of wonder in her voice, an amount of realization that one’s life is larger and longer than it seems in seasons of suffering or confusion.  Things carry on without your attention and anxiety, even your own life carries on.  Or, especially your own life.  Whoever may turn out to be master of the universe, there is someone who wants to answer your desperate prayer, and who often answers it even if it hasn’t been prayed.

For instance, I bring my coffee outside into the morning leaf-devils in my yard, and sit perfectly still in the midst of the winds, and end up inside my own heart, being at peace with it and with God.  A place I’ve been too busy and distracted for, and which I’ve been suffering terribly for avoiding.  For instance, instead of worrying about my car trouble and finances, or working on money-making projects, I shed it all and work with a shovel and dirt.  With jalapenos and Ball canning jars, daffodils, turning the spigot on the rain barrel on and off, bringing my scarves out into the open & pinning them up on a ribbon.  Doing all these things with the sound of wind in my hair, and the living fact in mind that I am being actively cared-for.  Like the birds, lilies.

I remember how I used to have an office job and couldn’t really have this kind of day, especially not on a Tuesday.  Isn’t it strange how life changes?  Or — am I missing my own point? — how God draws out the miracles so slowly, one by one?  Every single miracle, today standing as a single tall miracle, and still …  I don’t know why I should make much of a miracle.  “Every hour of the light and dark” — all miracles.