Thursday, March 5, 2009
I read this post over at Eric Outside that got me thinking. Hunting season is over. I'm not outside as much as I would like anymore. I'm driving three, over scheduled kids here. I'm driving them there, but I'm not taking any time for myself.
But then I realized that that is not necessarily true. I steal bits of time.
When I go to feed the pigeons, I don't just dump the feed and go. I find myself stopping and peering back into the woods. I watch the squirrel as it scales the tree, barking at me as it goes, it's tail waving back and forth at me.
The chickens cluck back in forth, tirelessly, searching for a bit of grain. They pick their feet straight up, then the gently stretch their toes out, placing it gently on the cold brown earth. They are so different than the harris'.
I feed the hawks, and I watch the crow gathering twigs for its own nest. A pileated woodpecker knocks a hole in the tree above us, and the cotton clouds scud across the Carolina blue sky.
A two minute feeding can stretch into 15 to 25 minutes. Little intervals here and there, that if you gather them together add up to a lot more. I realized that I am stealing time to feed my own addiction.
I need those minutes. While I can't take an hour right now to hike down the creek that runs down our property, I can steal bits of time, and take them for myself.