I love it here.

The wind is my constant companion in these last glimmers of day.

The skies turn from utter bright to shades of blues and violet that will shimmer right past unless you hear their call.

And so here I sit in my very own backyard with dear Ysabella next to her neatly piled stack of bones.  I have a glass of wine at hand from my most recent field trip into the local vineyards.

I've just picked up my second CSA delivery - what a fabulous way to procure your produce.

http://www.localharvest.org/csa/

You make a contract with the farmer to purchase a share of their harvest, usually for a growing season.  It helps the farmer even out their income stream and it educates you as to the bounties and the transient tragedies visited upon those who make their living upon the land.

Unless you grow them yourself, you will never have vegetables so fresh or delectable.  And as  I am an inveterate lifetime gardener, I can tell you that the farmer always exceeds the boundaries of what I would have undertaken to plant for myself.

And so here it is that I sit - thankful for all that has been given in my basket of gifts.

I used to wonder, is love a transitory verb.

And somehow, here I have learned the answer.

No, it is not.  

The love of those that we love and who love us back, that is immutable and constant.  It may be that some relationships are transitory, yes and absolutely, but love is not a transitory verb.

So here I sit and listen to the winds that blow at this time of day.  I hear the last calls of the birds before they lay claim to their boughs.  I am so grateful for all of the gifts that I have been given and for the ability to recognize them.

I am listening