An early riser, I enjoy the hush of morning. Right now there’s a nest of baby birds outside our bedroom window that are early risers, too. At 4:15am—on the nose—the “hush” is replaced by chirps of “Mama, we want food—now!”
We like to walk early enough that we can still see steam rising from shrubbery; Mother Nature enjoying her morning cuppa while she puts on her daytime face. For us it’s a refreshing way to launch the day.
“The person who doesn’t scatter the morning dew will not comb gray hairs.”
—Hunter S. Thompson
A full head of silver hair, I’ve scattered plenty of morning dew.
Do you get up with the worms, or are you a night owl?
Living a stone’s throw from the Laura Moore Cunningham arboretum, we enjoy frequent off-lead romps with Willa. On a recent occasion, we saw our big girl—from a distance—preparing to stop, drop, and roll—not because her britches were on fire, but because she was getting ready for a liberal application of eau de skunk from the famous fragrance design house, Mother Nature:
Base notes: putrid, sulfur
Middle notes: lingering, burning rubber
Top notes: bitter, rotten eggs
We bolted and reached her in the nick of time, preventing what would have been an extremely smelly event. As it turns out, skunk urine is an eco-friendly deer repellent that keeps them from munching on the trees in the arboretum.
I use a “repellent” too. A long time ago I discovered that positivity repels negativity. No need to roll in it, a little goes a long way. Positivity is a warm and delightful scent from the famous fragrance design house, Conscious Choice:
It’s that time of year in the Pacific Northwest when Mother Nature not only makes herself known in vivid color of riotous blossoms and 50 shades of green on every tree, but in storms that vie with the incredible Native American drums of thunder.
Willa used to get scared out of her wits when thunder crashed, banged, and boomed! Our Vet had us try homeopathic remedies, a calming prescription, and a “thunder shirt” — all to no avail. Then we created a “thunder bunker,” lovingly known as her Zen den.
Simple yet effective:
We cover her crate with towels.
She puts herself into it and we close the door just “to” — not latched.
We listen for her to dig up her bedding, circle, and settle in.
We turn on a large fan to cover the noise of the thunder and she sleeps through the storm.
Literal or figurative, when you’re scared or upset, where’s your Zen den?