Do not be surprised that the return of the light lifts your spirits. Do not be surprised that warmth on your back calms you and makes you glad. Feel your spirits lift as the sun rises higher in the sky: this is part of you, this snaky gladness, part of who you have been for a million years. Find the warm places; do not expect them to come to you. When you find them, stay there and be still. Be still and watchful. In this quiet, taste the air. Lick up the taste of it. Listen. Listen with the full length of your body against the ground.

~

The earth offers gift after gift–life and the living of it, light and the return of it, the growing things, the roaring things, fire and nightmares, falling water and the wisdom of friends, forgiveness. My god, the gift of forgiveness, time and the scouring tides. How does one accept gifts as great as these and hold them in the mind?

~

Failing to notice a gift dishonors it, and deflects the love of the giver. That’s what’s wrong with living a careless life, storing up sorrow, waking up regretful, walking unaware. But to turn the gift in your hands, to say, this is wonderful and beautiful, this is a great gift–this honors the gift and the giver of it. Notice the gift. Be astonished at it. Be glad for it, care about it. Keep it in mind. This is the greatest gift a person can give in return.

“This is your work,” my friend told me, “which is work of substance and prayer and mad attentiveness, which is the real deal, which is why we are here.”

~

Walked out to the bridge early in the morning. Kestrel in the maple, cow parsnips beginning to bloom. Every person I passed said, “Morning.” Not “Good Morning.” Just “Morning!” It didn’t have to be good. It was enough that it was morning. Morning! an army guy running. Morning! the lady with the cocker spaniel. Morning! a young man jogging. Morning, morning, morning, three white-haired women. Morning, morning, morning, I said back.