R's rue

Today something terrible happened while I was walking south of Bollington in Cheshire. It happened in the Derbyshire town of Chesterfield which is just eight miles south of Sheffield. It happened in the maternity unit of the local hospital. And yes, you may have guessed it already. A baby died. The father is someone I have known since he was four years old. In primary school, he was my son's best friend and he came to this house countless times to play or to eat. The last time I saw him - which was about a month ago - I said, "I am looking forward to seeing your baby James. I hope all goes well and that you have a beautiful, healthy child in your arms. It won't be long now". They didn't want to know the baby's gender before he or she was born. That would be a beautiful  surprise as it has been for zillions of parents through the ages. James's girlfriend went into labour on Friday afternoon. The unborn child was judged to have been growing healthily ...

 Good morning from a rainy South Carolina where the soul wakes up to worship. The grass grows, the cows sing as I sit with steaming coffee. The chickens peck insects and scurry for scraps. My little composters. The old man that is my dog lazily comes to my lap. I rub behind his ears as he purrs almost cat-like reveling in the attention. I look out at my own personal piece of earthly heaven, and I wonder how I could be so lucky.  Blessed that my pasture looks like my own Augusta National. I feel like finding a driver and a golf ball. Let my backyard be a playground for frivolity. Dreams of a Woods-like follow through are in my mind, as swings are made, but not successful. Clearing the barbed wire now becomes my aim. Thirty minutes later, I amble along picking up the balls like the rocks of my childhood. The bucket these days is much lighter, but no more the better. The rocks buried in dry earth so difficult to extricate then provide motivation to seek joy in rolling in hay bal...