Cinco de Mayo

The earth rolls back into its own shadow. It has been a day worth celebrating.

Not for sums. Not for swelling bank statements or for another Mason jar of coins buried under the fence post. This day has been an accumulation of natural wealth. On the fifth of May at this latitude, the beauty of the surface multiplies.

Miss a day in the woods, and it's not the same world. Yesterday we were busy with accounts, not of our own choosing. But today we have our feet on the earth, immersed in the ancient cycle of something new each hour.

We walk to the cabin to replace the window in the storm door with the screen, a Cinco de Mayo tradition of one.

Ragwort stands tall in the corner of the field, appearing as if by sorcery.

In the woods, the waxy blooms of May apples are attracting the pollinators under their full umbrellas. And overhead, the sky is a brilliant blue lace draped over the fresh green crowns.

Let others squander their afternoons scheming for geld. We have more important business to attend to. We have fields and woods to walk in.

copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved