It is late spring in Texas. The temperatures average eighty degrees. The Bluebonnets are in full array. The roses outside my window are in full bloom. Birds are raising their new babies as are the squirrels and the many other creatures that make their home near mine. And it occurs to me…they are outside thriving in the beauty of nature while I am on the inside, beating on a keyboard, struggling to put thoughts and words into a hard-wired computer that has become my only friend.
There is something off about this picture.
Yes, I love being an author. And while it isn’t always easy, there are certainly more difficult ways to earn a living. While I can’t say with any certainty, I would imagine working two miles below the earth in a coal mine would certainly have to be a contender. At least I have a window. I should not have any reason to quibble over the profession I worked over twenty years to attain. And I don’t.
But it sure is a pretty day.
Okay. Put it in perspective. I’m also sitting in the same spot when old man winter encroaches and the temps drop into the teens and snow covers the ground. The little birds and animals are still out there. Cold. Shivering. Accepting their circumstances and probably not griping one little bit. Would I want to switch places with them then? Well…okay. No. Not really. I mean I’m all about corn and nuts, but the cold I can do without. I tend to go for warm slippers and some hot chocolate in front of a fire. But it isn’t winter right now- it isn’t even fall.
And it sure is a pretty day.
So…why don’t I take my laptop and go outside? I rummage around my junky garage that I meant to clean out a few years ago and find a lawn chair. I plop myself down in the shade of a tree, prop my feet up and continue to write my story. With one hand I shoo away the bugs suddenly zooming around my face, ignore the screech of the Mockingbirds on the limbs above me – apparently not liking me trespassing of their turf – tune out the neighbor’s dog barking incessantly at the postal person – never quite sure when the letter carrier is gone. That little pooch must have a really boring life.
I ignore the private planes and crop dusters overhead that sound as though they are about to crash land in my back yard; the traffic from the highway a few blocks away, the neighbor mowing his lawn. I try and lend patience and understanding to the cat who insists on sitting on top of the keyboard and refuses to take ‘no’ for an answer. I determinedly ignore the neighbor kid who is learning to ride his motorcycle – which has no muffler – in front of my house. I can even stop myself from counting the number of trips he makes up and down the street. Twenty-two…twenty-three… twenty-four.
Then thirst hits and I realize it’s not quite as cool outside as it looked from my window. As the beads of perspiration run down the back of my neck I have to wonder why a dirt dobber would even consider building a nest under my chair. Before I can contemplate further, the sound of water being forced out of a sprinkler head reaches my ears- about 2 seconds before I get a stream of water right in the face.
I grab my laptop and head back inside to some semblance of normalcy. Ten minutes later I’m back at my desk, a glass of iced tea within easy reach. It is quiet. It is cool. It is minus bugs. Ahhh. Sweet relief.
It sure looks like a pretty day.
I hope someone is out there enjoying it. Me, I get to stay inside and work on a story.
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