This morning I surprised myself.  And the surprise began early, just after awakening. For some unaccountable “reason” I felt terrific! Full of energy! Eager to greet the new day.

By the time puppy Shadow and I got to what was formerly a goat farm, now city-owned, and its three mile path that winds up and around Olcott Park above, I was stunned by how my light-hearted mood had opened my senses to the point where every trill of a bird, every rustle of a nearby squirrel, every continuously shifting V-shaped pattern of migrating birds high above, flooded me with delight.

Every encounter with humans and other dogs on our walk was equally delightful. Broad smiles and hellos all around.

How very different from yesterday, when, it turns out, a suddenly expected quick visit from a sibling driving an 18-foot U-Haul from Detroit to San Antonio, did not pan out. Too long a story to lay out in detail here, but the essence of it is thats brother John’s son and daughter-in-law, following him in their car, en route to their new location, due to a company transfer from Canada to Texas, were anxious to not detour into Bloomington, but to keep heading south, given that the “overnight delivery” package John was to pick up here on Tuesday from Fed Ex (he had forgotten to bring along his CPAP) had been unaccountably delayed by two days, and they were supposed to meet their realtor at 3 p.m. today to close the sale on a new house. Yes, complicated.

So interesting, how our priorities shift as we grow older. John and I at least wanted a chance to wrap each other in a bear hug, but no. Schedules and materialistic concerns prevailed.

John lives in Anchorage. When was our last sibling reunion? Can’t remember. Four years ago? Five? Will we ever see each other again?

This was my mood yesterday. Decidedly melancholy.

So the extraordinary opening this morning, to what is, to the presence, especially as signified in the natural world,  felt like a benediction. Do not worry, all is well. That’s the message I keep getting now, even during my melancholy periods, when the world’s seemingly dire and expanding emergency, as clarified by Tucker Carlson yesterday, echoes poignant, seemingly dire and expanding emergency dramas in my personal life.

Yet I keep hearing, in my inner ear: Do not worry. All will be well.

The bees will keep pollinating.

And we intensely creative, interactive, communing humans will keep inventing ways to counteract both historical and current, isolating, death-dealing structures, visible and invisible.