full moon) moonlight. Not warm, not cold, just basking like some shark taking a break from all that might be edible ... in clear, blue-green waters. A float ... floating. Not a snicker of snow to mark the day.
No need for all that collected and skillful information. What a lot of it there sometimes seems to be. And sometimes too, I wonder if human beings don't spend half their lifetimes gathering and collating and buttressing and constructing in an effort to make things easier ... and then spend the other half trying to get out from under the constrictions they have created ... deconstructing.
It's not as if this were somehow sad or ridiculous -- a habit to hurry up and define and control and impute meaning to. Blessings and curses really are "too much information." It's as good a pastime as any and it's better than kicking baby robins, probably. Grasp and clasp; shun and scrub away.
Aside from the smarm and snarkiness of the Christmas season, I wonder if there is some element along the DNA universe that might be labeled "giving." Really, it does feel so good ... like hot soup on a cold day. It seems to contain an innate healthiness. And besides that, it's enjoyable. But it can't be feigned: When you do it right, it's all right. When constrained or lectured, it's just another tree ornament.
This year, I took a bit of honest pleasure in giving the woman who delivers newspapers a small financial gift together with a thank-you note. She's aces in my book and I wanted to acknowledge it and so, in what I hope is a way that may lighten her load, I gave her a little something. It felt right and it made me happy in a way that giving other gifts will not. The giving is the thanks ... that's all ... I give and I cannot help but get. But what I get cannot be named or held or extolled. The best I can do is shut up and be pleased. And I am ... even as I may be totally wrong.