My relationship to waiting is one that ranges from tempestuous to loving, as I wait for many things.
     There are times while at work I am waiting for hours to pass, State Patrol to arrive, computers to download the most mundane data and waiting for the next call.
     In the backcountry, I am waiting for the light to change, clouds to arrive, the sun to rise, the sun to set, the stars to come out and for the trail to finally stop climbing as I have reached the top, or, for the trail to reach the bottom as I have gotten back down.
     I briefly looked at national statistics on what the average person waits for; in traffic, in front of a TV, in line and so forth.  About 3 minutes of that depressed me so bad as I started to think that there will come a time when I would want that time back!  Yikes!
     But, my best relationship to waiting is when I didn't know I was waiting.  That's when an email comes from a dear friend just when I needed it most, but I didn't know I needed it.  Or that phone call I didn't know I was waiting for.  Sometimes I find that while I was waiting as soon as I stopped waiting, I was rewarded with something I didn't know I was waiting for.
     There have been times when I was waiting in line, but it was the wrong line, and the movie was great!  I have been waiting for the cable guy to show up, spotted him, found out it was the wrong day for me, but struck up a great conversation and so we still honk and wave at each other in passing.  I have been waiting for a storm to pass, but got tired of that, so I wandered out into it, embraced it and was a bit sad when it wandered off to the west.
     A long time ago, I couldn't wait to get older, now I am and I wish I was younger, but with the wisdom that only comes from a lot of screw ups.  So, maybe the waiting was worth it.

     I have been remarkable tired the past few days, barely able to get to bed after a night shift, then barely able to drag my pasty white rump out of bed after sleeping most of 11 hours.
     A wee bit melancholy, I think, due to not only summer's passing, but fall's as well.  Now, Old Man Winter is smartly rapping at the door with cold, cold knuckles and the time for shorts and t-shirts is gone.
     I was thinking a lot about the Cape this morning as I lay still in my giant flannel and down homage to excess I call my bed.  I was wondering if she was lingering in my mind as I hadn't properly bid it farewell on the morn that I left.
     It was blustery, rainy and cold and I was a worry wart that predawn day as I always am when I have to fly.  No time to be properly reflective on the past two weeks that went by in a blink of the eye.
     So, I go back to the late afternoon when I was invited aboard the last whale watch for the day.  Warm, calm and inky blue seas were the order of the afternoon as I watched humpbacks, right whales, minkes and finned whales feed off the east coast of the Cape.
     Stellwegen Banks, Georges Banks and the shoreline provide some of the riches feeding grounds for the whales for hundreds of miles around, so they gather here with their calves to put on hundred and hundreds of pounds of body weight for the long trek south.
     A mother that the naturalist aboard recognized by her tail was teaching her calf to dive and feed.  A few times the calf would attempt a breach, but just didn't have it quite figured out yet.  I bet next year, if we all meet again, it will provide some spectacular aerial acrobatics.
     Likewise, Judy Collins' voice has been echoing around in my head.  Few people have the voice to sing a cappella the way she can and does.  So, enjoy while I think back and properly bid farewell to Cape Cod and her whales.

     Still photo by Geo of mom with calves.

   I found out about the results of a photo contest tonight and I am a pretty happy little boy.
     The contest was about capturing Colorado in a few different areas such as people, pets, landscapes, sports, everyday life and so on.
     Well, there were about 18,000 entries and I managed to get 2 of my photos in!  One in landscapes and one in everyday life.  Woo-hoo!  I'll post them later as I am pulling an all-nighter along with Synonym for Light.   Yawn.  These 18 hour days are starting to drag me down a wee bit.

     Well, I finally have some time to tinker with photos.  The two photos I managed to sneak into the book, Capture My Colorado have been languishing in my computer at rather high resolution, too big for Gaia, but I never seem to have time these days to just kick back and open up my computer.  I needed to change the size of the file so that Gaia would actually upload them.
     Anyway, the totals were interesting in the competition as there were about 17,600 submissions, out of which 140 were chosen for the book.  Naturally, the top photos such as the cover of the book and chapter headings were snatched up by the pro's, and deservedly so.  There were some amazing photos submitted!
     Oddly, the two that I got in were taken within a mile of each other; one at sunrise, the other at sunset.  Both were of a clearing storm moving out of our little valley and revealing ranch life here at 8,000'.

     So, it's a quiet day here in my adopted hometown, time to post a few photos and reflect on a quickly departing 2008.  I am thankful for-

A dry place to sleep every night

Food in the 'fridge

I am working at least 40 hours a week, sometimes more

I have family just a phone call away, a click away or just a thought away

Some money in the bank

A town where I can walk to everything

A grouchy cat who is most demanding

Two fish that think I am the best hunter/gather ever because I never show up with out food for them

An eye for beauty, if you don't believe me, look at the friends that I have!

A sense of place

That I am right where I need to be right now

Winter and the Nuthatch

by Mary Oliver

Once or twice and maybe again, who knows,
the timid nuthatch will come to me
if I stand still, with something good to eat in my hand.
The first time he did it
he landed smack on his belly, as though
the legs wouldn't cooperate. The next time
he was bolder. Then he became absolutely
wild about those walnuts.

But there was a morning I came late and, guess what,
the nuthatch was flying into a stranger's hand.
To speak plainly, I felt betrayed.
I wanted to say: Mister,
that nuthatch and I have a relationship.
It took hours of standing in the snow
before he would drop from the tree and trust my fingers.
But I didn't say anything.
 Nobody owns the sky or the trees.
Nobody owns the hearts of birds.
Still, being human and partial therefore to my own
successes-
though not resentful of others fashioning theirs-

I'll come tomorrow, I believe, quite early.

     A lovely poem that came my way by a favorite writer out of Provincetown, Mass.

     It was 34 short years ago that Nick Drake passed from us all on this earth.  Maybe one of my favorite songs of his is this.