A morning in paradise

Woke up in paradise this morning.

OK, that is a relative term. There was a little bit of dust and a few wasps. There were no streets of gold or no luscious green fields in which to run. But there is no other place on earth like the little cabin on the lake.

I try to get up here as much as I can. It's my Walden -- the one place I can clear my head, relax, and remember what life is supposed to be about. I don't do much. Watch movies. Work a little bit on the novel I'll never finish. Cook steak dinners and enjoy the company of visiting friends. It's enough.

Sitting out on the back porch there yesterday, I watched the sun dance across the water, making little patterns that will never again be replicated. A red-headed woodpecker spent his time banging on one of the trees. I couldn't help but picture Woody in one of those old cartoons. I halfway expected to hear that raucous laugh.

A squirrel jumped from tree to tree. Every now and then, the wind would stir around the leaves. It made me think of a sad old Seldom Scene tune: ("And you hear a sound that she used to love/Through the rustling of the leaves.") It made me think of a dark-haired girl that time and another man took away.

But it was too beautiful a day for such thoughts. I walked down to the lake and sat on the rocks for awhile, lost in the moment. I stared up at the blue sky, overwhelmed at an 80 degree afternoon in mid-March.

What a life. I'm getting paid to write words. I have my health, my family, great friends and a great job. Baseball is lurking just around the corner. May not have much money, but who cares? I've got silver in the stars and gold in the morning sun.

Lofty thoughts here in paradise on your birthday, huh?