The month eases to a close.  As I drove the levee road today, a lone egret rose from a muddy bank beside a silent tractor.  I watched the broad sweep of its wings and the easy bend of its legs tucked beneath its torso.  My car slowed.  Within its confines, I closed my eyes to feel the wind that the bird must feel; the roll of air, the rush of scent; the caress of warmth from the morning sun.  

I lowered the windows.  Gentle sounds penetrated the small space.  A bee drifted through, ignoring the clumsy human straining to keep out of its path.  A few weeks ago, on another road, at another hour, a small bat got lost in my car, landing on the mess of my Lebanese curls.  Panic rose in this city-girl’s heart as we two creatures flailed in the seconds of the unexpected meeting.  Eventually the bat escaped and my heart’s wild beat subsided.  The incident left its impression, though; and I do not tarry long in evening hours.

Winter seems to approach.  Workers raised dust clouds around me as they hastened to finish the harvest.  They tied canvas strings under their chins to secure wide-brimmed hats against their brows, aware that September’s cool evenings with their hint of early rain do not tell the full picture of autumn weather.  Truckloads of tomatoes lumber past, taking the bountiful yield to some faraway plant where it will become bottles of catsup and cans of sauce.   

Eventually,  I eased my foot from the brake,  but not before a memory flashed by, a glimpse of my son sitting on that very ground beside the field of green tomatoes.  I halted again, experiencing once more the rough contours of the irrigation ditch beneath my clumsy feet, watching my boy settle on a mound of dirt to open his pack.  We shared a snack of cold water, fresh fruit, and generous swaths of sunbutter on sourdough bread.  Along with this simple fare, we joined in moments of silence as the sun set over the turbines near Rio Vista.  I can still taste the sweetness of the near-ripe banana. I can still feel the rush of love for which I had no words.

It’s the twenty-eighth day of the one-hundred and twenty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.