Contemplation

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Two fawns play outside the protein feeder while their mother gets a snack. A small plane flies overhead in a westerly fashion and three coyotes strike out across a field passing by the cattle guard. I imagine the catfish are swimming with joy after a tropical depression passes, dumping twelve plus inches of rain over the ranch. After years of drought, all the ponds are finally full, the grass grows thick and tall, and the cattle, having all had calves, don’t seem to have any complaints.

As the mud turns back into moist dirt, snakes both poisonous and non seem to have returned back to their dens and hiding places. Mosquitoes fill the night air thicker than a briar patch and grasshoppers line the front porch as if they have overpopulated the fields. Squirrels have returned to outsmarting the designers who made the bird feeders and the mother of all rabbits seems to have taken up residence in the bushes. What is left of the Spring wildflowers sway in the wind and shadows move beneath the trees. I don’t think the temperatures have reached over a hundred degrees, but the humidity in the nineties makes up for it when outdoor work must be done.

Over the years I feel very fortunate to have seen the passing of the seasons, to have had time to observe the movement of the sun across the horizon throughout the year, to still see the stars and planets at night, to have watched satellites pass overhead and to have witnessed so much wildlife come and go.

Sometimes living life outside the cities can make one as contemplative as living within, but the focus of that contemplation changes.