March 27, 2024
Calling Cadence
The forecast called for rain all day and I woke up feeling tired. After washing up, I looked out of my office window and saw a herd of deer bedded in the pasture in front of my house. I joined my wife for coffee and we drank fresh lattes on the living room couch. Mine had a smiley face design.
After my wife left for work, the rain started pouring down. I sat in my office, writing for about an hour. After, I downloaded photographs and videos from my camera and worked on editing them. There was a nice shot of a female cardinal perched on a mimosa tree. The sky behind the bird was bright but overcast, making a perfect white background behind the cardinal. I liked another shot, this time a bright red male cardinal up in a tree, with a vivid blue background from a clear sky.
Yesterday, I shot a photograph of a deer in the pine grove. It was already dark, so the photo was grainy, but when I brightened the exposure, it was clear the doe was very pregnant. It looked like Lady. Lady was a doe that I had seen over the past year that always took an interest in me. Last year, she had two fawns, and anytime she spotted me, she would stand tall, stamping her hoof to the ground, warning me not to approach. Once her young grew, she always stuck around a little longer than the other deer. A herd would see me and spook, but Lady would remain, just watching me from a careful distance. She never approached closer than a few hundred yards, but it was close enough for us to recognize each other.
Does often have a single fawn during their first pregnancy. After, they commonly have twin or triplet fawns. Last year, Lady birthed two male fawns, and I wondered if she was carrying twins again. The deer here were not tame, and they would probably never trust me, but I had enjoyed seeing Lady over the past year and looked forward to spring when she would walk about the forest with her young.
Work was busy, but it was much calmer than the week before. On most days, I kept the shades in my office drawn closed to keep out the sun. The bright background affected the camera sensor on my laptop, causing me to look like I was sitting in the dark during online meetings. A metaphor perhaps. Today, however, I opened the shades to watch the rain. The skies were dark and the light entering the room was soft, making the ambience feel calm. I found the rain relaxing, and it made work more tolerable. While I don’t mind spending time outdoors in the rain, that wasn’t practical in my work clothes, so staying indoors felt natural, and not like I was missing out on something. During the storm, the whole of nature seemed to have the day off while the forest rested, drinking in water from the sky. That was nature’s way, movement and stillness, work and rest, sun and rain.
By the end of the workday, the rainfall had slowed to a drizzle. I grabbed my rain jacket and boots and headed into the forest. Everything was just as I expected. The forest was still, breathing slowly like a yogi in the savasana corpse pose after a hard practice. I strolled through the woods, imagining all the growth that would spring forth from the rain and upcoming sunny days. True to its character, the forest was changing daily, moving slowly but perceptible if you stopped and paid attention.
Yesterday, I learned the importance of not allowing my mind to fall into routines based on expectation. While what happens repeatedly is likely to happen again, I reminded myself that changes happened, serendipitous experiences occurred, and unexpected opportunities arose. I just had to be ready for them. What a concept; what a skill. To embrace reality as it is and go through your day prepared for what always happens, but still be at the ready to seize a change in the sea, to catch a rogue wave and ride it closer to your destiny. I walked carefully and quietly, paying attention to what the woods held in store for me. And even though no surprises occurred during today’s walk, I felt pleased I had readied myself. Unexpected changes could occur within us, too.
On my way home, I enjoyed the freshness of experience that came with the dropping of expectations. The cool wind blew in my face while drops of water fell sporadically on my hood, whispering to me, calling quiet cadence to stay with the present moment. A flock of geese flew overhead, their wings flapping in unison, calling cadence too, as did the waves of wind, the chirps of birds, and the quiet sounds of my soft footsteps. They were all reminders to stay here where life was happening, and to avoid being pulled into my head where my mind concocted a watered-down version of reality that was wholly incomplete.
When I arrived home, my wife was ready for dinner, so we jumped in the car and drove to the Cracker Barrel in Wilson, where we sat down, debriefing our day. We were both off work on Friday, so tomorrow was our last day of the work week and we looked forward to spending a long weekend together. We gassed up the car on the way home and then showered and went to bed. Lying in bed, I could still hear the forest calling out.