Sitting on the deck this morning, waiting on the rain. Enjoying the ease of the morning of a day off. This day off will fill up, of course, and be its own kind of work, but at least the mornings are easy. But mornings like this are wonderful. It’s calm, I’m alone, and able to think. No pressure. I do things right when I’m at this level of ease. This, of course, is why I play the lottery. Not the thrill of wealth for wealth’s sake, or for more Stuff, or for any possibility that has clearly passed me by at this point. No, it’s this that I want. Ease. No pressure. No deadlines. No drama.

I’m listening to the birds chirp – there’s a cardinal; I can hear a robin. Ooh, an angry blue jay (when aren’t they angry?). I want to be able to listen to this – and keep listening. Not shuffle off to work and toil.  The wind is blowing; there’s an excitement I feel in the breeze that runs before a rainstorm. It’s as if this side of the world is readying itself for the verdant fireworks of Spring.  My cardinal neighbor, wherever he or she is, has been a winged bloom for the duration of the winter; now he or she will be joined by the similarly-hued flowers that grow in the days of warmth.  And now the rain begins. The soft tip-tap of rain against wood requests my attention, like the gentle touch of a child on her mother’s shoulder before the day has begun. The rain whispers; “Wake up, Dan.  I need you.  I have something to show you.”  It’s tranquil now. It’s calm. This is what I want.  This is what lottery winnings are worth. And then some.

I’m not playing the lottery for money.  I’m playing it for peace.  Wish me luck.

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

The Peace of Wild Things — Wendell Berry