Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon
Friday gratefuls: Halle. P.T. Rain. Thunder. Overhead. Shadow. Her protection of her territory. The Greenhouse: door and windows framed in, rafters up. Nathan. Vince. The Jangs. Fatherhood. My son. Seoah. Israel. Iran. Red tie guy. Jim Butcher. Fully leafed Aspens. Lodgepole Pollen. Yellow, yellow, yellow.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fawns, calves, kits, cubs
Week Kavannah: Gratitude. Hakarot Hatov. (recognizing the good) “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Perkei Avot: 4:1
One brief shining: Alert, front paws on the head of the bed, the danger detector Shadow looked out over the backyard, her lean muscled body ready, there: bark, bark, bark, bark, bark. 1:15 am
Dog journal: Shadow came inside. Her outside work done. The Doe had left the yard. She seemed happy to see me, to be back inside. Last night, as she has for previous nights, she crawled up on the bed, only to look out the window.
And what to her wandering eyes should appear. Lots of Trees and, another Mule Deer? Whatever it was, it needed warning. Get out of my yard. Right now. At least she was inside the tent barking out, rather than outside barking in.
Shadow.
Israel/Iran: Netanyahu survived a close vote in parliament. Next step? Bomb Iran. I understand the attack on Iran and its nuclear program. One nuclear weapon could take out Jerusalem.
I also understand that for the first time in several decades Hezbollah no longer threatens northern Israel as it once did. Hamas has suffered degradation in the forever war in Gaza. The Houthis have taken strikes from both the U.S. and Israel. This means that the Iranian proxy armies no longer have the punchback power they did a year ago.
Yes, I get all that. But what about a year from now? Two years? Ten? Israel has become an aggressor state, no longer acting only in its own defense. The Arab states will remember. Will plan. Will fight back. Perhaps not now, but later? It’s a certainty.
Better to have brokered peace deals with the Emirates, the Sauds, Jordan, the new regime in Syria, maybe even Egypt.
Now the way forward lies littered with bomb craters, terror attacks, regional tensions remaining high. This is not a victory. It’s a powerful statement, yes, but only one statement in a centuries long dispute. The only way out is peace.
Just a moment: I asked Halle, my p.t. therapist, if she would miss the Mountains. She leaves for Dallas in August.
Her smile lit up, “I sure will. But if I want to preserve my tax status I have to leave for four or five months. I’ll be back in January for snowboarding!” Something about choosing a tax home and the rules for traveling nurses, physical therapists.
Halle’s parents were up here last weekend. That’s when she found out about her grandfather’s prostate cancer. He’s in his mid-eighties. Most likely they won’t treat him.
I told her to tell him two things: it’s survivable and he has lots of company.