That Must Have Been The Sun

This is my sanctuary. I come here to hide from disappointment, I suppose. Or to re-fuel from the frenetic pace of New York. Or simply to remember the intrinsic music of water moving swiftly across rocks. It is the most beautiful in the spring. I watch a mallard and drake waddle up the creek bank in search of food ( or adventure). There is a fox in the meadow who marches right past me as I sit by the stream. And a great blue heron who fishes in a shallow pool carved out of the stream that is filled with small bass.

I love the sunrises at my home in Pennsylvania. First the meadow to the west begins to glow yellow-green. Then the light starts spilling over the north lawn as the sun moves higher. the angle of light now is softer than last month, its glow more golden.

Emily Dickinson chronicles the sunrise, too.

I'll tell you how the Sun rose--
A Ribbon at a time--
The Steeples swam in Amethyst--
The news, like Squirrels, ran--
The Hills untied their Bonnets--
The Bobolinks--begun--
Then I said softly to myself--
"That must have been the Sun"!

I bought this land in 1999 just about this time of year. When I walked on to the property, there was overgrowth everywhere. The faded grey paint on the house and torn screens on the breezeway made me wary of the overall stability of the house. Walkway slabs teetered when I walked on them, and there were giant ant hills in every crack in the worn driveway.

I walked to the back of the house. Across the stream, I could see yellow iris, wildflowers, growing on the very edge of the water. I turned to my friend and realtor: "This is the place, Jay."
He eyes widened. He scratched his balding head. "Jesus, Mary. You don't even know if this place has electricity. It's a wreck. It'll take a year to rennovate. It's two acres, for god's sake."

"I know. Let's get the paperwork started," I said, as I walked away from him back up the hill to see if there was a fuse box.
M.C.