Midnight has not yet come and I’ve already kept two of my New Year’s resolutions.
I rose at six despite having no greater obligations than chores and shopping for groceries. But at seven I pulled alongside the fields of Andrus Island with a charged camera battery and a hunger to record the geese coming into the field. I had promised myself that one day this weekend, I would do just that; so here I was, already ahead of schedule keeping my promises.
The geese chose another field today. I saw them on the eastern horizon, blurry against the gold of the sunrise. I strained to get a shot, some shot, any shot; and then turned to the flooded fields and the hawk high above me. With the light fully risen in the sky, I went home and made coffee.
Later, I messaged someone whom I have been wanting to visit. Resolution two. I’m going to her house on Sunday morning. I will take my camera. She lives on the River Road and one never knows when one will see something beautiful out that way.
I spent the rest of the day in the mundane tasks of a solitary dweller. Some still await me. NPR plays in the background, with its news of Betty White’s death and the fire out in Colorado. I texted my stepdaughter to check on her welfare and got happy news. I smiled at the phone. We understand fire in California. We know its dreadful speed and careless disregard for the humans in its path.
I will not be awake when this year yields to its successor. My eyes will droop not far south of ten. I will scroll through social media. Texts will come from my siblings. I don’t expect my son to call, but he might, I suppose. If he does, I will be well pleased. Morning will dawn, if my luck holds, if the universe continues to favor me. I will tread upon the floor in my soft wool clogs. In the open doorway, I will listen to the morning sounds of the park — the rousing chorus of crows; a passing ship; songbirds. In my 8 x 24 house, on Andrus Island, near the southern bank of the San Joaquin in the California Delta, I will draw a long clean breath and start a fresh chapter of my story. I have plenty of spring water, a full canister of coffee beans, and a fridge full of food. I should be fine.
It’s the thirty-first day of the ninety-sixth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
