|The enchantingly saturated colors of this morning's natural abstract view of the Cottage Pool, just below the front deck…which I confess I snuck outdoors to photograph.|
For the past couple of weeks, I've been trying to quash a persistent infection. The first cycle of antibiotics proved insufficient, though it took a day or two after I'd finished the medication to realize the infection—which quickly flared back up with a vengeance—had not been resolved. Because things had the potential of becoming serious, I began a second round of antibiotics…which I'll complete in a day or two.
The upshot is that I've spent little time working and no time galavanting around armed with a camera. I wrote those columns whose deadline loomed, answered a handful of blog comments, and otherwise minded doctor's orders to do nothing other than take it easy…which hasn't been at all easy.
I feel pretty good, and maybe that's the problem. Not that I want to feel bad. But forcing myself to be inactive is tough—even when I know it's for my own good. Especially now, in late summer.
As Ecclesiastes so wisely notes, "To everything there is a season." This is certainly true for me. Different seasons call for different activities, which in turn cultivate different moods and mindsets. Spring prompts renewed vigor, activity-filled days of eager, vernal rediscovery. Autumn means preparedness, taking stock, reaping the harvest, getting ready, saying your long farewell. And summer? Well summer is for languidly savoring the slow lush turn, finding the honey tree and sipping its sweet nectar.
Forced inactivity, taking it easy indoors, is reserved for winter. For what I like to think of as Ursus Tempus, Bear Time.
I can do Bear Time. Even enjoy it. I just can't do it in summer.