|Windowseat in Willow Cottage, Hedgebrook|
I startled at the sudden buzz of a fly, so deep I was in the writing. I've been killing flies all week, merciless and decidedly un-Buddhist. Where in the hell did that one come in? I thought. Had it slipped through a hole somewhere or been asleep and woken? Do flies sleep? It sounded frantic and beat against the glass of the window-seat. I opened the window a crack, and it made its way out.
Have you ever seen a bird climb a tree? I watched a small one make its way from the ground, up the pine outside the window, skittering up the bark, navigating the whorls and sappy spots and hopping in increments at a diagonal. When he reached a particularly large knot, though, he stopped and flew up to a branch where he perched in ease.
Happy Fourth of July. At risk of offending someone, I must admit that it's nice not to be waving a flag but to be deep in the greeny woods in the company of birds and bugs who know no country.