Just a Little?

—————

I’ve written before about how one of the best gifts of growing up in a different world from the one I inhabit as an adult is the marvelous gifts of literature that keeps on giving. For instance, this week, I am contending with my love for Anne of Green Gables and its TV show, Anne with an E, juggling the arrival of our in-laws from India, Greek myths that ebbs and flows like the tides with the children and their interests, a full Navarathri season, a pile of books begging to be read, a craving for some quiet, and a few entirely new Dr Seuss books.

All of these things seemed to reiterate the one thing that Virginia Woolf said,

“As a woman I have no country. As a woman I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.”

Virginia Woolf

The children thought it might be a good idea for me to watch Anne with an E. Seeing that I am not much of a Television person, a profile was created for me on Netflix. Every one else’s profile was given their own names. Mine was touchingly called ‘Amma’, and it had one entry in the ‘Continue Watching’: Anne with an E.

This tickled the son every time, and he showed it off to his friends, who all shared a chuckle with him.  The series is beautifully rewritten by Moira Walley Becket, and is based on the original series

Ever since my first acquaintance with Anne of Green Gables, I have a yearning for the Canadian countryside. I would love to visit Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island one day ‘with kindred spirits’ to take in the October beauty. 

I am so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers

– Anne of Green Gables – Lucy Maud Montgomery

I must admit Anne with an E rekindled the love for the series, and I started reading the series again. Accordingly I went to library to look up Anne of Windy Poplars, and found the rest of the series on the shelves, but the one I was looking for. I asked one of the librarians putting some books away nearby and went to ask her if she knew whether there was another copy somewhere else. Her eyes seem to light up when I asked after the Anne of Green Gables series, and I smiled inside my mask. She acknowledged that the Windy Poplars one was not there, and I thanked her, and went my way. 

I meandered around the library and when finally I washed up at the checkout desk, she came up breathlessly, and handed me a well-loved copy of Anne of Windy Poplars. “I knew there was another copy for you somewhere!” 

I thanked her profusely. I cannot tell you the joy I had in curling up with Anne that night, reveling in the quiet way in which the old rivalries between Anne and Gilbert blossomed into a companionable friendship, and then into love.

I said so to the daughter late that night when she found me reading well past midnight. Her eyes crinkled with laughter, and she said,”Amma! Look at you. Aren’t you just a little bit embarrassed to be fan-girling like this?”

“Well…since you ask, Just A Little Bit!” I said, but found myself laughing. “I can’t help it, I seem to like it, and well, makes me think of Appa & me a long time ago.”

“All right – TMI!” she said. (TMI for oldies as I was lovingly enlightened means Too Much Information)

But she nodded approvingly before adding, “I like that you are reading and watching Anne of Green Gables ma! Gilbert Blythe indeed!” Her back registered indulgence as she turned and left me to my reading. I chuckled, and became a little girl enjoying the twist of the trees, and the way the moonlight danced on the waters, till the mystical realms of dreams claimed me.

Pelican Pilgrimage

“Bike ride?”, said the husband. He had that smile twitching at the corner of his mouth and I clutched the line like a drowning sailor. Solitude is a luxury. Especially so, during Navarathri season.

I quoted Walt Whitman as I wheeled the bike out from the garage.

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Song of the Open Road – Walt Whitman

Had we gone on a walk, we might have been tempted to talk. But as it was, the bike ride was perfect. We biked along companionably, grateful for the riverside along which we pedaled, taking in the sights of the setting sun. Birds flitted effortlessly. The wind against our beaks were making cycling hard going, and every now and then, I glanced up at the hawks, geese and smaller sparrows and warblers, apparently holding their own, but probably wisely using the wind to their advantage.

We stopped for a breather near the marshes nearby, and only then did I truly appreciate the scene before me. Dozens of pelicans took flight into the sunset heading towards the bay in the west. They rose courteously, together. With every scoop of pelicans that took flight, one of them flew out in a different direction from the others. It was curious at first, but they may have had a smart reason for doing so, seeing that their knowledge of aviation is certainly superior to our own.

A pelican’s muse

NPR All Things Considered – The Pelican Experiment

I don’t remember when I first saw a pelican. I have lamented this before. But this seems like the sort of thing I should remember. Marvelous creatures. Regal, graceful, social, elegant and peaceful beings. 

Countless times, I’ve stood admiring their coordinated fishing. If that isn’t dancing, I don’t know what is. Gracefully, beautifully, they duck in and out, in and out. Floating along seamlessly together, good naturedly taking in their fill. I especially love to see that little hump in their beaks. I thought it was a curiosity – something that reminds us that perfection lies in these little imperfections. But as it turns out, the hump only appears during breeding season and disappears thereafter.

The pods of pelicans near the lakes and bays of California are a source of eternal joy, and though I feel I could never do justice to the marvelous creatures like Aimee Nezhukumatathil does in her book of essays, World of Wonders, my homage is nevertheless as heartfelt.

Where was I? Yes – cycling and watching the scoops of pelicans take flight into the sunset. Instinctively moving into formation so they conserve energy and stay together. There are very few experiences in life that compare to an evening like that.  I suppose spiritual seekers feel the same way after a pilgrimage. Satiated, renewed, and grateful for life on this beautiful planet among beings we love.

On the way back, we cycled in the same direction as the wind, and we found the going much easier. Slowly, companionably, we headed towards the social life of human-beings.

When a Tree Laughs

We have had slightly colder days the past few days. The clouds seem to be making an appearance and the wind rustles and bustles through the precocious maple trees starting to turn crimson. I have been looking happier and more wind-swept than ever before after my little walks, and I said so to the folks I met.

“I hope you are pulling my leg somehow.” said one of them with a smile when I confessed how much I love windy cold days after the placid hot days of summer sunshine. But I was not. Californian summers are marvelous, and glorious no doubt. But they do have a tendency to go on for just that extra bit of time. If they got on their horses and rode off with the autumnal equinox, it would be marvelous, but they don’t. They linger and surprise us with hot, hotter and even hotter days well into October. 

One afternoon, I had come back from an impulsive afternoon walk, in which the strong breeze was billowing everywhere. One of the best places to take in the beauty of a strong breeze on a sunny day is near a pine tree. Every pinecone delights, every sliver of pine shines a different color, and every whiff of breeze sends a contented sigh that ripples through the trees. It is like watching the tree laugh – great hearty laughs in waves. 

How can one feel anything but joy when a tree laughs: slowly, deliberately and wholly?

“No,” I said with conviction. The most mesmerizing delightful sight is there for those who brave the breeze. The crunch parties are here, the purpling of the skies is magical, the visit of clouds is beautiful, the gingko trees have their rich parties changing from their robes of green to golden. ” I do love Autumn!”

I am so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers

– Anne of Green Gables, Lucy M Montgomery

I whole heartedly agree with Anne of Green Gables. I believe autumn does trigger warmth of the soul even as the world around us starts getting colder. We roll through Octobers and arrive at Thanksgiving in November with the beauty of the world surrounding us. 

Rose Smellers & Cloud Seekers

California has been enduring a particularly dry summer. The past few days, however, have ushered in the clouds, and my heart has been lolling up amidst the soft fluffy beds of moisture. Soaring high over the hills and dales; idly drifting past rivers and lakes; taking in the sights of a parched Earth, with summer flowers fading; and the more precocious among the maples starting to turn color. 

This week, however, there seemed to a slight turn towards autumn. I stepped out into the nippy morning and felt the keen clean air fill the lungs. “Oh! The bliss of a fresh morning!” I cried as I sniffed the roses in bloom. The daughter tcha-tcha-ed  her way past me, and said something to effect of rose-smelling not being an excuse for being late to school. 

I demurred. “Rose-smelling seems like a far better excuse than traffic. Where is the romance in traffic? “

She gave me a critical look, and said, “Don’t you have work to do?”  

This little tete-a-tete done, we each proceeded to our call of duty but the morning scene stuck with me. 

I took my cuppa out to peek at the clouds, and had clouds had ears, they would have heard the divinely song bursting forth from the deep bowels of my soul. Even the withering roses bravely held on to their freshness for another day. 

As Anne of Green Gables used to say, Isn’t it marvelous that we live in a world with Octobers in them. In California, that resplendent autumn arrives in November, so I suppose I will have to change my sayings to: Don’t you love an Earth with Novembers in them, but the sentiment still holds. 

As I merged into the screen, throughout the day, the early morning effervescence waned somewhat. The incessant humming of work related business drummed out the quiet of the morning. I marched and wrestled with my to-do lists and all the calls of business and duty. By evening, I resolved to catch the evening sunshine, and snapped the laptop shut.

Nephophile ( A lover of clouds) & Opacarophile ( A lover of sunsets)

lThe beautiful day had morphed into a beautiful evening, and I was reminded of the saying by Cavin Hobbes creator, Bill Watterson,

“We’re so busy watching out for what’s just ahead of us that we don’t take time to enjoy where we are.”

Bill Watterson, Created of Calvin & Hobbes

The clouds were here, and the flowers were too. The leaves fluttered in the gentle breezes of the day, the birds went about their business, each enjoying their present. 

The grayish clouds now had tantalizing streaks of pink. The evening wanderers, Venus and Jupiter, danced through the parting clouds. I gasped when I noticed a tiny sliver of moon doing the same.

I am satisfied. I see, dance, laugh, sing.

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

It is why I was late arriving at the evening’s appointment.

Barnard’s Star & Jupiter Dancing

Jupiter and Venus were both illuminating the evening skies. Dusk was creeping in. The sight of our familiar planetary companions is always a welcome one. The first ones to illumine the skies, and visible long before the stars can be seen, these wanderers are a delight. The red atmosphere of Venus, the thunderous black ones on Jupiter, and the beautiful bluish velvet earthly skies make for a magical time.

Later that night, after loads of laundry, dishwashing and cleaning were done, I sat on a park bench nearby and gazed up. Jupiter looked brighter than all the other stars, and I found my thoughts drifting. I read somewhere that the red spot on Jupiter depicting its great raging storm looks fiercer than ever. I could see none of that from my park bench millions of miles away of course. That night, the reflected light from the sun was just soothing, and in some ways alluring.  The great mighty giant with its storm raging for 3-4 centuries spinning, quietly keeping the solar system in balance, and dealing with its own destiny is strangely fascinating. Are there extremophiles on its surface? Any micro-organisms that only thrive in the storms? Maybe we would know one day.

https://www.nationalgeographic.org/activity/jupiter-s-great-red-spot/family/

As I went to say good night to the son, we fell to discussing the skies (one of our favorite topics as regular readers know). I told him that I read about Jupiter’s storms being stronger this year,

“Ha! Our global warming affecting the storms on Jupiter? “ he said and the pair of us chuckled at the joke. 

“Did you know if you put 90 Jupiters together, you still won’t have a star?”

“Yeah?! How many would you need?”

“ A hundred.”

“Let me guess – Kurzegesagt?” I said, and he nodded. 

That channel has some of the most amazing content, and the son gets excited when a new video is released.

“If 100 Jupiters came together, we could get a star like the Barnard’s star. We cannot see, but it will be a star. ” . I had not heard of Barnard’s star, but there it was capable of going on as a red dwarf star for the next 10 trillion years. He charmingly said 1-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 of course, and I was wondering what the number is – fogged after a hard days’ work, this child’s 1-0-0-…-0 can be a bit much. 

So, there was another close neighbor to the Earth – a star that was not as visible as Alpha Centauri, but there nevertheless, 6 light years away. This red dwarf has made its way into science fiction with the possibility of harboring life in the planets around it. The dwarf star is too cold, and though the planets orbit at an optimal distance, it is too cold for life as we know it. But human imagination, while marvelous, is also limited in some respects.

Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere.

Carl Sagan

Apparently, the Barnard’s Star is known as one of the fastest moving stars – a little dancer in the skies, moving slowly regally among Jupiter & Venus in the evening skies. This one’s movements are not as visible in one lifetime, but is visible over a century. To marvel at this kind of generational wisdom being passed down always makes me grateful for the little part we all play in this mighty universe.

Life_On_Earth

As we sat in our pajamas talking about the stars and their planets, I thought about the beautiful marvelous gift of star-gazing.

I don’t know what the future holds for mankind, but I hope gazing at the stars is one that is always possible. A source of dreams, conjectures, possibilities, and solace. That is my wish for all sentient beings,

Back from the Brink – 2

The first conscious thought that gray morning was that we would be amidst giants. The truest, wisest, most resilient of all. We had planned a hike in the coastal redwoods of California near Muir Woods for the husband’s birthday. As we entered Cathedral Grove (a better name I cannot think of, for spirituality shines through the branches of the tall old trees), I pointed to a sign that said , “Be seen not heard!”. 

“Yes….that is for you!” Said we all pointing to one another. 

“Quiet Coyote!” We agreed and off we went, quieter than our usual selves. There is a natural sanctity, a lasting feeling of peace, and a humbling of self in these groves. 

Many of the trees in Muir Woods are over half a millennia old. These trees had put down roots long before the Spanish conquistadors came to the United States, or the Gold Rush had started. California would not be the same after these events. Silicon Valley was centuries away, when these marvelous giants had started reaching up up and above towards the skies. But here, inside the redwood forests, none of that seems relevant. 

After several feet of hiking up, we were able to gasp for breath, inhaling the lovely scent of the woods, and conversation started up again. A few miles into the hike, there were fewer people, and the children opened up. Talk turned to Beautiful Earth, a popular classic in the nourish-n-cherish household. The son told us about the disappearing monarch butterflies. I remember visiting Butterfly Grove a few years ago. It was easy to mistake the butterflies for leaves. There were thousands of them plastered together on the branches, hanging everywhere, looking beautiful. Millions of them made the journey every year up and and down the coast, and they made a beautiful sight. Who doesn’t stop to admire a flitting butterfly? This year, less than 2000 monarch butterflies were counted. The species is dying. A world without butterflies sent a shiver down my spine.

What have we done to this planet if butterflies are no longer in our midst? 

The daughter piped in, “You know monarch butterflies are corner species – meaning they indicate the state of the ecosystem in general. For instance, if monarchs go away, then birds find out that painted ladies aren’t problematic either and soon we start losing species that look like them as well.” Apparently, the monarch butterflies are toxic to birds and they leave them alone. Seeing a little evolutionary wormhole there, other species like the painted lady butterflies evolved with the same color scheme, but they aren’t poisonous to birds. How long before birds figure this out?

“But how did this happen?” In the decade since we went to see the butterfly grove, how did 99% of the species manage to be destroyed

“Milkweed!” This ubiquitous plant that thrived along roadsides, freeways and everywhere is fast disappearing due to increased use of fertilizers. Toxic to other animals, the milkweed is apparently a major source of nectar for the monarch butterflies. Could we bring these butterflies back from the brink? It seemed like a miracle would be required.

A world without butterflies is not one I wish for our grandchildren. I shuddered in the grove, and sent a little prayer up towards the towering redwoods. What will these trees witness in another 500 years? They are already enduring more frequent wildfires, and though, redwoods generally hold up very well against wildfires, the frequency with which they have been occurring in the past few years is not comforting.  

Back home, my eyelids holding the short-term memory of the redwoods in them, I closed them, instantly transported to a world in their midst. Forest bathing. Those of us who still have the magic of trees in us are blessed indeed. Those of us who stop to see flitting butterflies need to pray that future generations have the magic of butterflies around them.

Wise Generous Trees

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
Nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

 Dr. Seuss, The Lorax

The Magical Optometrists

“Isn’t this such a lovely family outing?” I said. I was smiling and genuinely happy at the mid-week outing. It felt special, and I felt this merited acknowledging it.

The daughter, leaned forward in her car seat and gave a genuine throaty laugh.

“Oh gosh! Why must you be like this huh?”

“But it is nice.”

“Yes ma! We are all going on a very special family outing to the optometrist.You remind me of this little fellow – loves traffic jams indeed!” she said.

I chuckled with her. It was true. The son did say he loves traffic jams, and almost had his sister snap at him the other day. The fellow’s rationale is that he gets to spend more time in the car with us playing car games. I love the innocence in that statement.

We all laughed in the car but it felt special to me all the same. There are many things about modern living that irk me.  Doctor appointments for instance. Every time, an appointment needs to be scheduled, I am astounded by how busy our medical community is. 

“Well – I see you are wanting to get the gut checked and that you cannot stand properly because of the pain. One minute – hang in there. Here you go, Dr FeelBetter can see you on Thursday 3 months from now. “

A WHAT? And a moan later, you realize that this is the sorry state of affairs. 

Or if you are setting up a well-health check for both your children, the schedule is pulled up – I can accommodate your daughter on Tuesday morning at 10:30 3 months from now and your son on Thursday afternoon at 2:00 p.m. 4 months from now. Highly exasperating, since even months out, they are unable to get one day in which one can plan to be at the doctor’s office. 

This particular optometrist, on the other hand, set up a family appointment block, and there we were, the whole family piled into the car listening to songs, chatting and clutching a dear book in hand to read at the optometrists. I sang and danced into their office. 

We were the only family there, as all the other patients had finished up earlier in the day. We sat there, quietly reading, whispering about what we heard, and generally having a nice time.

As we went in and out of rooms, getting eyes dilated, pressing buttons for testing our peripheral vision, and having the doctor peer at us wearing huge scuba driving like instruments, the experiences felt nothing short of magical. Like I said to the children, “When during the work-week do we get a chance to be in one room, hopping in and out of tests with exotic instruments and reading books together?”

I felt like I was living in a Dr Seuss book. The instruments, the tests, the pictures of the retina and the blood vessels were all nothing short of magical. Those of us needing new glasses, and contact lenses got it, and when given free samples of eye drops looked very happy.

The optometrists, their assistants and the staff probably thought we were a naturally ebullient lot, or pegged us down as needing re-evaluation when the weather cools down again. 

Oh well! After all, it is the simple things that give us the greatest of joys.

The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

W.B.Yeats

Kimêtawânaw – we all play

The daughter was giving me Tea. 

‘Tea’ I was enlightened earlier, is not the beverage that I love, but interesting events of note in her life. The child told me about her new teachers, the classes, the people around her – the ones who were mean, and the ones who weren’t, something about Discord, and something else about friends with their heart strung in different directions. 

“How long since school reopened?” I asked bemused at this barrage of interesting information. 

She gave me a sheepish smile, “Well… Mother. Would you like to hear this or not?”

I nodded and she rattled on about the joys of companionship. 

The son patiently listened to all of her tales with an intent and bemused expression on his face.

“What about you my dear? How have your days been going?” I said turning to him.

Thankfully, elementary school children are still spacemen and super-heroes. The throes of the heart have not yet occupied their minds. In his stentorian voice, he regaled us with a tale of a newly invented game that others had been willing to play along with. Time-tastic Adventures. 

Apparently, the den was tasked with picking a date in the past or the future, and then, they all play and enact games during this period. Medieval times, times in the future, making their way to the stars, or the fields for strawberry picking, it was all done together.

“Such an interesting game! Did you come up with it?” I asked

He looked shy and proud at the same time. “Yes! Did you guess because it was all about time?”

I nodded. His fascination with Time and playing outside is well known.

What about you ma! What’s your highlight for today? 

I told them about the antics of a particularly adventurous little squirrel that hot summer’s day when I had gone out on an errand. All the world preferred to shelter in the trees, or stay indoors, but this one was practicing for a hurdle race. He or she ran gaining speed, and elegantly leaped over the mounds on the fence. Not once, not twice but at least for 100 meters. The Olympic committee was probably cooling off in the summer heat, but I was there – I pulled the car over and watched the little creature leap joyously.

That evening, I opened this beautiful book, We all play = kimêtawânaw By Julie Flett 

Kimêtawânaw – we all play – by Julie Flett

In simple language and beautiful pastel colored pages, the joy of play and companionship is etched.

I smiled my way through the book, and as I closed my eyes to sleep, I thought of the little squirrel jumping over the hurdles in the heat.

The little squirrel somehow embodied the spirit of choosing joy in the pursuit of happiness on that hot day. 

Often times when out on a walk I would stop to enjoy the different creatures playing outside. The ducks splashing together, the squirrels chasing each other up and down trees and running across one’s path, the co-ordinated flying of the geese, and the deer bursting into what looks like spontaneous sprints. The urge to skip and pirouette in the sunset often overwhelms me. When I think there aren’t too many people about, I give in – feeling thrilled and somewhat sheepish at the same time, for adulthood frowns on these displays of spontaneity. But, like the children say, “People know you are the official kook of the house, so you’re okay ma!”

Well, kimêtawânaw – we all play!

How to close a Black Hole and other topics

I don’t know what people usually do after they book airline tickets for their parents to come a-visiting. I found the husband contemplating deep philosophical questions about the universe while staring into a black hole. 

Image taken by a friend who is an amazing photographer

Baffling behavior really! We had trained ourselves and our visitors to avert their eyes from the hole in the ceiling. I joined him in the kitchen, and we looked long and deep into that hole above the kitchen. The universe, they say, is visible in the spaces in between. It is true. We could see spider webs, a spattering of tubes and pipes that modern plumbing usually hides from us, and a great gaping space with nothing there, not even light. The roughly cut ceiling hole was like the event horizon and we slowly learnt not to perceive past the event horizon.

As I write this, I am thinking the narrative is loose. I need to back up. What black hole? What hole in the ceiling and where does philosophy come into the picture? Valid qs – bear with me, while I set context and all that.

I’d like to take the reader back to the day after we moved to the new nest a few months ago. The kitchen ceiling was dry, birds were chirping and all was well. Things became wetter when one went to take a shower upstairs.

It turns out that something had been chipped between the kitchen and the shower upstairs. So, to make a l story s, when one showered upstairs, there was a rain-like shower in the kitchen downstairs. We plopped a bucket on the kitchen counter, and within minutes, the husband was making a call to the insurance company.

The leak itself, I am glad to say, was stopped quite competently and quickly. It is after that, that the tale of the black hole expands. The repairman sent by the insurance company had torn out an ugly assymetrical hole in the ceiling to repair the leak, and said to us that he would be back in 2 days to patch it up again. The trusting toons that the husband and I are, we wished him well, and then, many a week and month has passed waiting for the mystery man to come and fill the hole. 

We would jump at the sight of an unfamiliar vehicle in the streets outside. Maybe it is them. Then you see a man come up to us mistaking the welcoming gleam in our eyes, and ask if we would like to have the trees outside the home dusted, and the pair of us say in unison ‘Yes!’ ‘No!’. (Great minds think alike)

In any case, what I am trying to say is that there are several things like the black hole that have slipped by the wayside. Furnishing the new abode for instance, fixing the showers, the garage, the switch, the shelf. You know how it is.  

Apart from the fact that we seated our friends on the floor, learnt to divert our eye when spotting the hole in the ceiling, and had a system when it came to showers and things, all seemed good and we muddled along.

But the airline tickets ignited a fire in the man of the house. The man became The Man, The Machine, Street Hawk. A super hero in short. He whirled about the house taking care of chores, calling repairmen, plumbers, and carpenters sending reminders and thank-you notes like his career depended on them. 

A fascinating exercise really. For every time I have reached the reminder and chores section of our chats together, the man gives those large yawns. (I fear his jaws are going to tear off.) Yet, here he was, the very image of his parents a-visiting, being the epitome of efficiency.

What I must do is to book these tickets periodically whether or not they are able to come.

The Kaleidoscope of Life

Tales from a River Bed

I stood there one morning, the serenity of the surroundings mirrored in my face. There, ahead of me, in the river bed with just a trickle of water making its way to the bay in the west was a snowy white egret. It stood there relishing its solitude. I have never seen them in groups in the riverbed. There are a few of them I spot every once in a while, but never together. Further in the distance stood a great blue heron – also alone, its regal grey neck craning to see I knew not what.

Great blue heron – when this grey beauty flies, one’s spirit soars too

This riverbed is an interesting place. Of late, I notice a little red fox darting quickly especially as the sun sets. How one fox cub managed to make its way into the suburban area so far removed from the hills on the other side of town is beyond me. I’ve seen coyotes up in the hills before, but never a red fox. There are many cats slinking around the river. I’ve seen water rats, geese, ducks, ducklings, deer. One some days, we see sheep grazing there, tended lovingly by a horseman with a cowboy hat who eclectically raises his hand in greeting, “Hola Amigos!” , and his shepherding dogs. 

On warm evenings, I am accompanied by cricket songs, and croaking. I read in a non-fiction book by Peter Wohlleben , The Weather Detective, that crickets only chirp when the temperature is above 54 degrees Fahrenheit. That is most summer evenings in California. 

The squawking of geese, the flapping of small wren-like birds, the beautiful chittering of birds, the blackbirds songs, the swooping of the sparrows, and cawing of ravens as they make their way home are all harmonious against the setting sun. The autumnal equinox is here, which means that the sun sets are getting earlier and earlier. Soon, by the time we are done with our host of meetings, life in the riverbed would have quietened down or is at least not visible.

The more time I spend in corporate worlds, the more I relish the simple pleasures of the creatures in the riverbed. True, they are affected more than we think by our lifestyles and the effects. The river -bed is a sad reminder of global warming. The Earth is hot and thirsty and is forever parched. The ribbon like strand of water is heavily regulated and trickles by not so regularly. The river bed itself is fully grown with reeds and tall grasses, creating the perfect camouflage for all the creatures that seek to make this place home.

A distant palm tree reflected in the river

I think the kind of landscape that you grew up in, it lives with you. I don’t think it’s true of people who’ve grown up in cities so much; you may love a building, but I don’t think that you can love it in the way that you love a tree or a river or the colour of the earth; it’s a different kind of love.

Arundhati Roy

But the river bed never looks the same. A trick of the light, the clouds scattered differently, the moonlight, the houses along the banks, and the creatures therein. There is constant change and yet, a constancy in its charm.

This trail near the new nest has become my own version of The Wind in the Willows. I stroll by there, sometimes yearning for the peek at the crane, or the heron, on other days just to catch a glimpse of the deer. Most days I go expecting nothing but come back fulfilled all the same. Some little thing has always worked its magic, and I come back refreshed.