The day was beautiful, the rhythm restful. I finally began clearing the raised bed in the garden. The thistles are very persistent, the dandelions prolific. I have given up on the brome grass, and am letting it take over the yard. But I draw the line at the burdock: I want it dug out. I will try to pickle the roots.
There are two trees in the narrow space between the house and the neighbor to the north, which I am told will begin to damage the house if I do not let them take them out. I am sad to take trees out, even skinny and harmful ones; and I do see that the tree guys are right.
The days of the week have taken a certain shape over the years.
Shabbos rules the rhythm of the week, including the preparations before and the catching-up with the outside world after. I am grateful for what seems, by now, the natural tidal energy flowing into that day, and back out.
Tonight, I flowed back out: "Jewish Broadway", the annual fundraising performance for the Jewish Renewal shul, was superb; it gets better each year.
This is the first year I did not participate. (I was asked to sing a song I found inappropriate, and my countersuggestion was not welcomed.) We'll see what happens next year.
I feel a very small itch to sing again; the urge to shape the writing into something real is stronger.
We'll see what next year brings.
Heavens, we'll see what next week brings.