Today's been cooler. Very nice. The pollen has begun to accumulate in earnest, making everything a yellowish-green. We watch every morning now for our two pairs of wood ducks in residence on the pond and see them nearly every day. The windows are open despite the pollen. Hearing the birds begin to waken to the day even before it's really light out is such a pleasure. This afternoon I pushed Tal's golf bag and toted the camera for nine holes.
|The ball is in this photograph -- above the left sand trap.|
It's interesting to me that through all that is wonderful about these days, I am aware of a vague sense of unreality. Our happy busyness, be it visiting with family, working in our yard, seeing friends, reading, watching spring's arrival, pursuing a bevy of interests that require our concentration, is tempered by something else.
The only way I know to describe that something else is the world's pain. There's earthquake-shaken, radiation-threatened Japan; another war, this one in Libya; South Carolina's lamentable state of being. There's illness and sadness and the consequences of bad choices. An endless list. While I am living my life -- grappling with problems, of course, but for most part incredibly rich, I cannot, must not pretend the rest of it does not exist. The questions that helps me the most are ones like this: Who would I be if I were in Japan at the moment? How would I feel were I fighting for freedom in Libya or were I a supporter of the government? What would it be like to be facing surgery this afternoon?
No, I'm not trying to weigh myself down by fretting or with unnecessary, pointless worry. But, I cannot blithely pretend that everyone on the face of the globe shares my good fortune. While I cannot not acknowledge the fact of chaos and unrest and sadness, I cannot not live life where I am, either. That would be a waste.
As I said, a vague sense of unreality. The price of being alive and of being human, I suppose.