I took this picture this morning as I was sitting out on the patio soaking in the peace of the early morning before getting ready to go to work.
On top of the gas pump is the last piece of a cedar log. It's another one of those small things that carries a big memory of Ronnie.
We walked in Lucy Park nearly every day for many years. The twelve foot cedar log lay on the ground in among some growing trees. Every time we passed it, Ronnie would say, "I'd like to have that piece of cedar," or "I'm gonna get that one of these days."
We went back to Lucy Park to walk after Ronnie's surgery. When we started past the cedar stump, he handed me Shelbie's leash. When I realized his intent, I tried to help, but he said "I got it," and up the hill he went, dragging the stump to the street. We continued our walk then came back and loaded the cedar trunk into the back of my Blazer. When we got home, he got out the chain saw and cut it into pieces that would fit in the chiminea, then quartered some of them so it would last longer. "I love the smell of that cedar," he'd say as we sat together on the patio in the cool evenings of fall and winter with a fire blazing in the chiminea, listening to the pop and crackle of the fire, our neighborhood settling in for the night, and hoping that the doctors were wrong.
I'm stingy with my cedar and I placed the top portion of that that Ronnie brought home up on the gas pump as a reminder that pleasure comes from the simple things -- like the scent of cedar, and memories of a man who took the time to appreciate it.
It's beginning to look like it might rain. The birds are singing nearby -- and in the distance. A light breeze is stirring the windchimes. It is very peaceful out here.
It's going to be a beautiful day.