Got a spare hour or two today? Take a stroll in a burgeoning woodland or a grassy meadow and tune your ears to the avian concerto. Migrating song birds vocalize with reckless abandon at this time of year as they surge northward in colourful waves.

It always amazes me how their diverse songs and calls blend together effortlessly. From the break of dawn through the early evening hours, the symphony plays on and on with endless variations and rotating arias.

I couldn’t begin to describe them all but a few jump to mind.

The Thrush family are among the most gifted singers. Their ethereal and flute-like songs waft through the woodland like wandering spirits… the breezy, phrases of the Swainson’s Thrush spiralling upward… the liquid, ghostlike vee-ur vee-ur of the Veery wheeling downward… the rounded ee-o-lay of the Wood Thrush from deep within the woods.

By contrast, the Baltimore Oriole is the Pied Piper of the woodlands with its rich, emphatic piping and whistled notes that make it impossible not to turn your head and seek out the flash of vibrant orange and black.

Rarely does an hour pass when the strident wick wick wick wick of the Northern Flicker does not echo through the forest. The hurried and accelerating kik-kik-kikkikikk of the Pileated Woodpecker is less seldom heard, but all the more welcomed for the treasured sighting of the crow-sized Pileated with its flaming red crest.

There is no more tireless singer than the Warbling Vireo whose languid back-and-forth warble is a constant companion throughout the day. But a close second is the abrupt here I am, where are you phrases of the Red-eyed Vireo that repeat as many as 40 times per minute.

I loved the tiny and brightly coloured warblers for their often brilliant splashes of yellows and oranges with jaunty highlights of black, brown and muted blues. But their vocal repertoire is equal to their appearance.

The ringing tsee tsee tsee tsee-o of the Redstart insists that I turn and look even though I have already seen a half dozen of them.

The buzzy trill of the Northern Parula – zeeeeeeee-up – rising up the scale and falling over the top, is unmistakable and almost always emanating from high overhead.

Black-throated Green Warblers flit and dance through the conifers with their dreamy, lisping zee zee zee zoo zee announcing their presence.

And I can’t forget the high, single pitch zi-zi-zi-zi-zi-zi-zi-zi of the Blackpoll Warbler gaining strength and then diminishing to the conductor’s command. How such a tiny bird summons such a piercing call is a mystery I will never comprehend.

The May avian concerto is unrivalled as a metaphor for new beginnings, second chances and the indomitable will of nature to carry on as the song birds traverse thousands of miles in response to the call of Mother Nature. It renews me every spring and for that I am profoundly grateful.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.comor the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Send comments to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com
.

A little over three years ago, I launched Metaphors of Life Journal – AKA Things That Make Me Go Hmmm with the intent of promoting myself as a writer. I had no sense at the outset how difficult it would be to find something worthwhile to write about each and every week.

Are there really 150+ things worth commenting on? Truth be told, I’ve recycled a lot of the same themes and attacked them from a slightly different perspective. There may only be a handful of things worth writing about but endless points of view from which to explore them.

So what do my Blog statistics have to say about what you – my readers – found most interesting?

By far, my most read post is When I Grow Old and Wear My Trousers Rolled ( http://tinyurl.com/4f8pfqj ) – using a line from T.S. Eliot’s renowned poem “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” to inspire an exploration of memory time capsules from my 50 odd years of life. I’ve been inspired to revisit this theme a couple of times and I haven’t tired of it yet.

My blog counter reports a mind boggling 21,957 visits to that post. I venture to say that at least half of those visits where search engine spiders. But that still leaves almost 11,000 visits – by design or by chance – to that one post. Nostalgia, it seems, is a rich vein for all of us.

I must confess that I can’t fathom why Random Act of Metaphor: October Flocks of Geese ( http://tinyurl.com/24fj3kw ) ranks second at 4,623 visits. I was simply pondering the points of view that could be extracted from “two flocks of geese bisecting the sky in opposite directions against the stirring vista of October’s extravagant panorama”. Perhaps one of you can shed light on why that simple subject made such a connection.

My very first post entitled The E Principle ( http://tinyurl.com/4g2p3y5 ) ranks third at 2,989 visits. I can better understand the popularity of this post as it explores the “e-volution” of our world – how technology has impacted our interpersonal relationships. I imagine we all wonder from time to time if technology has redefined our relationships in ways that push us farther apart rather than closer together.

The 2010 Winter Olympics inspired the number four post on my top five at 2,324 visits. Reebok, Crosby and Joannie Rochette ( http://tinyurl.com/4sdxobs ) was a bit of a rant on the $10,000 reward offered by Reebok for the return of the hockey stick Sidney Crosby used to score the winning goal for Canada in the Gold Medal Game. Thanks Sidney – I have no doubt that the popularity of your name as a keyword search propelled this post to its high ranking.

I confess I am rather fond of the number five post on my most viewed list at 1,341 visits. Blue Smoke, Black Ice and a Bucket List ( http://tinyurl.com/36h4vt5 ) dealt with the realization that our fate is not always in our hands and how that can give us pause to stop, recalibrate and rethink the path we are on.

My blog statistics indicate that 63,678 visits have been made to my blog over the past three years. Let’s reduce that by a factor of 4 to eliminate web spiders and the people who dropped in by accident for a few seconds only. That leaves almostm 16,000 visits or over 5,000 per year.

Metaphors, it seems, are popular critters. I have discovered that viewing life through the lens of metaphor connects the past to the present. It helps us understand those fundamental truths that endure through time, through ever accelerating change and through the uncertainty of what is yet to come.

Metaphors open a door to a world of endless possibility – and that is why I love to wonder about within them. Here’s to another 150 Deep Dives, Shifting Winds, Sudden Lights, Songs of Nature and, of course, Random Acts of Metaphor.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

~ Send comments or questions to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com.

Passing through the Point Pelee National Park gates at 6:30 am. Not quite in the right headspace yet. Heavy clouds, cool and windy. So much for the forecast of sunny and warm. Don’t they ever get it right?

Let it go, Michael. Let it go. Clear your head for the Pelee state of mind.

At the nature center parking lot by 6:45 am. On the tram heading for the tip. Southern most point of mainland Canada. Best spot for rarities this time of year. Still mumbling, grumbling, muttering, sputtering about the damnable weather.

Let it go, Michael. Pelee state of mind.

Northern Parula calling – distinctive, rising zeeeeeee-up. Good sign. First of the season. Yellow warblers in abundance. Cheery little guys singing to beat the band. Couldn’t there be at least a bit of sun? Warbler watching in this light will be frustrating.

Let it go, Michael. Pelee state of mind.

Arrive at the drop off point. Stall a bit and let the crowds disperse. Take a breath – in and out. Relax. This is what you love to do. Up there – a flaming orange Northern Oriole. Yes, they’re common now but not any less spectacular. Is that a warbler? Damn, damn, damn this poor light.

Let it go, Michael. Pelee state of mind.

Slim pickings along the center boardwalk. So – no big wave came in overnight. Where are all those birds that were here during the week? Must have had a movement out last night. And damn poor viewing conditions for what is here.

Let it go, Michael. Pelee state of mind.

What are those people scurrying down the path to see? Ah, a Red-headed Woodpecker. Gorgeous bird! Thing are looking up. (Pardon the pun.) Starting to feel it now. Too bad about the cloud cover. But at least it isn’t raining.

Pelee state of mind. Let it come. Let it come.

Almost to the tip. Making conversation with Ray from Michigan. Finally a little hotspot.  Yellow-rumped Warbler (the butterbut)… Nashville Warbler… Red-eyed Virero… Warbling Vireo…

Pelee state of mind. Creeping up my spine. Tingling the hairs on my neck.

What’s that one? Looks like a vireo… two white wing bars… yellow spectacles. Oh, better check the field guide. Looks good for a White-eyed Vireo!! And there’s the call: chick’-a-per-weoo-chick. No doubt about it now. This, oh yes this, is why I come to Pelee.

At last, I’m in the zone. The Pelee state of mind. You really have to be here to understand.

Point Pelee National Park for the May migration. My soul lets loose and gives itself over to the wonder of this place. All is as it should be now. I’ve crossed over into metaphor – the Pelee state of mind.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

~ Send comments or questions to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com.

Hmmm, if I had the chance, would I trade the blooming promise of spring for a warmer climate where winter is just a footnote on the calendar?

I ponder that question from time to time in the forlorn depths of winter. Around mid-January, when I’m scurrying from the car to the store and back and slip-sliding on icy sidewalks, it seems like a trade I would be willing to make. But eventually, and inevitably, the calendar page turns to April and the tide of the season begins to turn.

“Every April God rewrites the book of Genesis.” ~ Austin O’Malley, American Physicist, 1858 – 1932

Slowly at first, in fits and starts, as if not quite certain that it can work its miracle yet again. Gradually it builds momentum a few warm days at a time. Intrepid wildflowers spring up overnight. Tentative buds appear on the Pussy Willows. The days begin to stretch their legs and push into the evening hours.

When the first Mourning Cloak butterfly appears, chocolate brown and yellow fringed, and flutters about, I begin to have faith that spring has really taken hold. Then the Red Admiral butterflies begin dashing madly about and the verdict is in.

Sometime in late April the big push happens. Nature opens wide her palette of colours. In a matter of days, or so it seems, the trees go from brown and bare to frothing with green. Where a few days hence only a smattering of yellow appeared, a wildflower patch bursts out in a chorus of colour.

It’s around this time when I shake my head and wonder: How could I give this up? This quintessential rebirth and renewal. The awakening and revival of the earth – and with it, the revival of my spirit and my enduring love for the fruits of mother earth.

And yes, of course, the wondrous migration of the birds which reaffirms that all is right and noble still. And that the cycles of life, which give meaning and purpose to our existence, our still intact despite our human indulgences which threaten them.

“Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colours, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Austrian Poet, 1875 – 1926

Perhaps I could find it within me to sacrifice April on the altar of endless summer. But May, when the doors swing wide open and spring charges forth with reckless abandon, I simply cannot envision living without.

Spring is the metaphor of renewal that keeps me young at heart even as the years turn my hair to gray and the not so graceful aging of my fragile frame becomes more difficult to disregard. I think I shall have to stay here where chance has put me on this earth. I have become accustomed to the seasons and caught in an endless love affair with the “painful sweetness” of spring.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.comor the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

~ Send comments or questions to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com

Mute Swans are a ho-hum bird for serious birdwatchers. We can fairly be accused of discriminating against them. The only time we focus our binoculars on them is when they are off in the distance and we think they might be the less common and more coveted Tundra Swan or Trumpeter Swan. But it may just be that they deserve a second look.

I was out birding today at Rattray Marsh. It was a chilly, gray and lacklustre mid April afternoon so I was staying mostly in the sheltered areas out of the wind. I ventured briefly onto the shoreline of Lake Ontario to get a look at the other side of the marsh.

The water was choppy with sizable swells rolling up onto the flat, polished stones of the shingle barrier beach. Nothing to see, I thought, on the lake on such a blustery day. But a hundred feet off shore I noticed a Mute Swan.

Silly swan, I thought. Why be out there battling the waves when it could be leisurely hanging out on the calm, sheltered waters of the marsh? I took a quick look at it through my binoculars. A different point of view presented itself.

The swan was calmly riding the crests and valleys of the waves like a tiny sailboat. In the midst of the inhospitable conditions, it was a picture of serenity. I couldn’t help but admire its composure.

It occurred to me that there was a lesson to be learned. In turbulent times, we fear the choppy waters of life and expend a lot of energy battling the waves. Getting to safety of the shore is all we can think about.

But often, it is not so much the storm around us but rather the storm within that we are really fighting against. If we could calm our troubled heart and adjust ourselves to the rhythm of the waves, we might find that the going becomes less difficult.

The serenity of a sailing swan – a random act of metaphor to remind me that all storms pass in time and getting through them is more about serene acceptance and trust than wilful resistance.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.comor the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To”
instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for weekly  postings.

~ Or follow me on Twitter (mdyetmetaphor) to receive tweets when a new blog posting goes up.

Our apparent insatiable appetite for continuous change, ever more choices and “new and improved” everything is beginning to perplex me. It seems that the innovation wheel is spinning madly out of control

For years, fast food burger outlets offered strictly burgers, fries, soft drinks and milk shakes. Coffee shops sold coffee and donuts. Sub shops sold submarine sandwiches. The only choice at pizza joints was the toppings. Fast and simple was the big appeal.

But now they add a new item to the menu every other month – not to mention endless variations on their original offerings. Cheeseburger, bacon burger, bacon cheese burger, double bacon cheeseburger, sirloin burger, BBQ burger, veggie burger. I had no idea there were that many parts to a cow.

It times me longer to shop for groceries now because I have to scan through a half dozen variations for every product. Do I want my hair shampoo to be invigorating, volumizing, moisturizing, anti-dandruff or classic clean? I’m seriously considering shaving my head so I don’t have to decide.

Dress pants now come in classic fit, relaxed fit, straight fit and slim fit. With cuff or without. Pleats or no pleats. The paradox is none of them seem to fit me quite right.

My cable provider just sent me a notice indicating that I must pick up a Digital Adapter because they are about to switch from analog TV channels to an all-digital format. I doubt I’ll notice the difference. But that seems to be beside the point.

I also have the option, for a small additional monthly fee, to order a Digital Set-top Box and/or a Digital Personal Video Recorder. This upgrade will apparently vault me into a new “superior entertainment experience” with access to 100’s of specialty channels, superior resolution picture and a mouthful of other state-of-the-art features which I neither understand nor desire.

I’m hard pressed to find something worth watching on the 50 odd channels I have now. Half the time I watch reruns because the few quality programs available are better the second and third time around than most of the quirky new programs or bottom of the
barrel reality TV shows.

Am I the only one getting a headache from this ever accelerating proliferation of choices? It is pretty clear that I’m not in the prime demographic anymore because what I really want is stability. I want the old reliable things to stay the way they are and always have been.

For lack of a better handle, let’s call it the digital dance metaphor. I’m an analogue creature in a digitized world. Forget about holing up in a cabin for a year. I get culture shock every time I step out the door.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

~ Send comments or questions to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com.

It was a few ticks past 8:00 am, on this crisp, sun washed Saturday morning, as I set foot on the dirt path which ambles down to Petticoat Creek. For three years running, I’ve made this particular spot the opening act to launch my spring bird watching odyssey.

The exuberant song of Red-winged Blackbirds greets me intermingled with the springs here! mating call of Chickadees. I hurry down the path eager to see what lies ahead. A chip note high above and behind me interrupts my progress. I retreat, scan the trees and pick out the first tail-bobbing Phoebe of the spring.

This near miss should have been enough to slow by progress. But alas, it did not.

Striding on down the path, I note the purdy purdy purdy of Cardinals and the maids maids maids, put on your tea, kettle, kettle, kettle of Song Sparrows. But I don’t stop to look. They are common species which, after all, I’ll see many of throughout the day.

Hollow knocking signals Woodpeckers. Harsh tchack notes belong to Grackles. Wolf whistles register as Starlings. I’ve learned to bird by ear so I don’t lose time chasing down the everyday species. Or so I tell myself.

I pass purposefully under the footbridge and emerge onto the beach to scan for ducks. And then, finally, Mother Nature commands my full and unbiased attention.

The lake is an unbroken pane of burnished glass. Not a ripple disturbs it anywhere. Silhouettes of drifting Red-breasted Mergansers create perspective. The barely audible whisper of water trickling onto sand is heaven sent.

And, once again, I pause to wonder: Why am I in such a hurry? What is so important that I cannot pause to appreciate the small miracles that surround me? For all I know, in this capricious life, I may not pass this way again. The only time I can be sure of is this moment.

So often I find myself waging this battle. In a confounded hurry to get somewhere although I can never quite pinpoint where “somewhere” is.

As I gaze thoughtfully across the glassy water, I realize the irony. Where I so desperately want to get to is that elusive place called “Peace”. That place where time stands still, worry melts away and the weight of expectation is forever lifted.

In that stillborn moment, I relearn the lesson I’ve learned and forgotten so many times. Peace is not a destination. It is not a place on a map. There are no GPS coordinates to get me there. The faster I walk the farther away from it I get.

I only find peace in those moments when I stop looking for it. It arrives in those moments when I pause long enough to let it catch up with me. I can’t possess it. I have to let go and let it possess me.

The quiet valley of Petticoat Creek is my metaphor for peace. A place where I rediscover that finding peace is as simple as pausing to give praise to common things of uncommon beauty.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Follow Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm regularly at this site. Categories: Shifting Winds, Sudden Light, Deep Dive, Songs of Nature, Random Acts of Metaphor. Originating at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2.

Or subscribe to my Twitter site (mdyetmetaphor) to receive tweets when blog postings go up.

Earlier this month we marked the first anniversary of the devastating earthquake and tsunami that hit Japan on March 11, 2011. I must admit that I let the day pass without too much thought as I was busy running the daily 100 hundred yard dash that life has become in this day and age.

My radar registered a blip and a brief “oh no” with the news reports that a 6.3 magnitude quake had hit Japan earlier this week. Fortunately, there were no reports of damages or casualties and a tsunami warning was not issued.

News reports that the Toyko Electric Power Company, operator of the crippled Fukushima Dai-Ichi nuclear station, has requested 1 trillion yen ($12 billion) of public funds to avert collapse, brought another momentary “oh wow” before my mind reverted to the deadlines I had to meet.

I have managed to push the chilling statistics – 16,000 deaths, 21,000 injuries and 3,000 still missing – into one of those partitioned corners of our memory that we keep for things too unpleasant to dwell on. It is a psychological survival tactic that most of us have developed to stay sane in the face of such overwhelming tragedy.

But the long term effects of the Japan disaster are beginning to float – quite literally – into our consciousness again whether we want them to or not.

Five million tons of debris from the coastal areas of Japan was swept into the ocean. 70% of this debris sank quickly. But authorities estimate that 1.5 million tons have floated. Oceanographers estimate that the debris is now dispersed over an area of 2,000 miles by 1,000 miles. And because of the clockwise circulation of the Pacific Ocean’s northern waters, some of that debris is headed for North America.

At this very moment, the rusted and battered shell of a Japanese fishing boat – what has been dubbed a “ghost boat” – is drifting 150 nautical miles south of the Queen Charlotte Islands off the coast of British Columbia.

Canadian authorities, while conceding that the ghost ship is a shipping hazard, have not said what – if anything – will be done with it. The Coast Guard says it will only take action if fuel spills from the ship which is apparently unlikely.

So this fishing boat will, it seems, continue to drift aimlessly until it washes up on shore somewhere or settles on an ocean reef. And perhaps that is the way it should be.

The Japanese ghost ship exists as a living metaphor for the far-reaching effects – in time and in human terms – of the horrible tragedy that struck Japan. Many residents of the area around the nuclear power plants have still not been allowed to go home. Some never will be able to because the radiation levels are too high.

But the ghost ship can also be a metaphor for hope for the Japanese people. Somehow, against all odds, it has stayed afloat through the tsunami, through the thousands and thousands of miles it has drifted and through countless ocean gales.

So I will choose to interpret the Japanese ghost ship as a metaphor for the endurance of the human spirit – and a reminder that we, who are so fortunate, should never allow ourselves to forget those whose lives were torn apart and will never be quite the same.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Follow Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm regularly at this site. Categories: Shifting Winds, Sudden Light, Deep Dive, Songs of Nature, Random Acts of Metaphor. Originating at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2.

Or subscribe to my Twitter site (mdyetmetaphor) to receive tweets when blog postings go up.

Ring-necked ducks are a relatively common sighting this time of year for those of us who spend our free time peering through binoculars. Much of the time they are a fair distance offshore and thus viewed through 10x power magnification. At that distance, males appear pretty much as routine black on top and white below with a diagnostic white patch before the wing.

Today, however, the perspective changed. I came upon a male cruising proudly in a small pond. And quite the striking specimen he was.

A velvet black back and neck contrasting sharply with a snowy crescent down the side which arched into a showy flare below the neck. There was a purplish sheen on his head that set off a piercing, bright yellow eye. And finally, a thin white patch before the bluish bill tipped by white and then by black.

I had not appreciated until today the regal attire this comparatively common duck boasts. And whether it was happenstance or an unseen hand that placed it there for me to admire, the lesson is the same.

A bird’s-eye view of a spectacular specimen of a Ring-Necked Duck – a random act of metaphor to remind me to slow down, tune in and look for the inherent beauty in all living things. So much beauty is missed because we’re running when we should be walking and looking around the next corner when we should be enjoying what is right before our eyes.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Follow Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm regularly at this site. Categories: Shifting Winds, Sudden Light, Deep Dive, Songs of Nature, Random Acts of Metaphor. Originating at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 .

~ Or subscribe to my Twitter site (mdyetmetaphor) to receive tweets when blog postings go up. Send comments or questions to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com

I find myself contemplating this question often these days. There is a little bit of both characters in my psyche. In times past, I took the cautious route – doing my due diligence before I allowed myself to cross the road to where the blessing awaited. But lately I’m more inclined to go with the flow.

Case in point: We’re basking in spring weather here in the GTA well ahead of schedule. It seems too good to be true. Canadians are known for griping about the weather. But no one is complaining right now. We’ve had record-breaking high temperatures several times and we couldn’t be more pleased.

There are, of course, more complex issues at play. Strange weather patterns like this point to undeniable climate change and the potentially dire consequences it can have. We haven’t always treated our planet with the loving care it deserves. The environmental experts say we are running out of time to right the balance.

So I am a bit conflicted about how I should react to this balmy March weather. The cautious realist perched on my left shoulder, a bit put out at being disregarded of late, insists this early bloom of spring is nothing to be happy about. But the blissful optimist on my right shoulder counters that I should live in the moment and not go turning over rocks looking for trouble.

The results are in: Blissful Optimist – 1. Cautious Realist – 0.

The shift in my thinking does have a rationale. I’ve come to realize that there always things to worry about. In this topsy-turvy world, I really have no idea what tomorrow may bring. Sometimes just dealing with what comes down the pike on any given day is about all I can handle. So I’ve come to the conclusion that I should go looking for the positive spin on life wherever possible.

It doesn’t mean I ignore issues like climate change – or other disquieting trends like the growing chasm between the rich and the poor or the economic volatility that seems to have become a fact of life. Those things make their presence known whether I turn over rocks looking for them or not. It is the unexpected blessings that each day brings that takes conscious effort to notice and appreciate.

So I’m going to revel in this implausible spring come early. I’ll take every day of it I can get and be grateful for it. Today I drove two hours to Presqu’ille Provincial Park for the Waterfowl Festival. The ducks were there in flocks of hundreds – albeit hidden behind the fog for the first couple of hours. It did my soul a world of good to make the trip and see the wonder of migration unfolding without a hitch.

I have no doubt that days will come along when I’m beset by problems and can’t find pleasure in such simple blessings. All the more reason to seize them when my heart is light and unburdened.

Life in the 21^st century is a roulette wheel of chance. Every day is a new spin with equal odds of blessings or burdens. So I won’t question the blessings when they come. Sorry, cautious realist. Today is not your day. Tomorrow doesn’t look good for you either.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.comor the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

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