Guest blog post written by Rolland Smith.

When I lived on the East Coast, I posted this missive defining a perfect day. A dear friend recently read a portion of this piece, along with some of my poems, to a gathering of like-minded souls. She said the presentation was well received. One of these days, I'll comment on a West Coast perfect day.

What constitutes a perfect day? Individually we all have our criteria. Mine—and I suspect yours does too—varies with the day, the climate, responsibilities, needed accomplishments, and especially what we choose to observe about the day.

With a cup of coffee in hand, I chose to walk the Buddha garden one morning around 5:30. The rain had ended the night before, and the rising sun filtered through the tall Oaks, Maples, and a Shaggy Bark Hickory splashing its rays on the potted flowers and arbors of miniature Wisteria and Trumpet vine.

A ridge maybe a mile away to the East holds back the bright light to my slight indentation of a valley, so the treetops are the first to reflect the brilliance of the morning, and then the light shinnies down the trees to flora and fauna below. You can see its molasses movement if you stand and watch.

There was a cacophony of tweets, chirps, caws, coos, and warbles as the flying kingdom burst into active life. The Mourning Doves cooing filtered in and out of the harmonious melodies of the songbirds. Finches, Wrens, Robins, Jays, and Blue Birds took turns as nature conducted the score for anyone who would listen.

There is always an anomaly: the Mocking Bird. They decanted every song they'd ever heard and mixed them into a chirping loop of tunes praising the morning light.

Late morning to late afternoon was filled with variegated sunshine. Soft, Westerly breezes with occasional puffs rustled the leaves providing harmony to the intermittent silence. A cool front was approaching. The high cirrus clouds gave way to the pillowed cumulous that passed in slow motion roiling. They provide context and form to the landscape and prove that shadows create the mottled contours of a magnificent day.

As I sat on an elevated porch overlooking a meadow far below and gazing at a blue dream of sky, I heard the snap of a twig or branch about thirty feet below me. I stepped slowly to the railing. Furred in her golden russet brown of summer was a doe munching on Sumac leaves. We shared eye contact, and Shakespeare's line came to mind; "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." She was comfortable with my intrusion, for she shortly bedded down for an afternoon rest in the bramble and bushes.

The evening was a culmination of the day. Golden light festooned the gardens; zephyrs tweaked the quaking Birch leaves, and the throng of the flying ones again sang for their supper. I have several feeders around the house, and the birds flit in and out, choose their prize seeds, and dart to a nearby tree to enjoy the feast. When twilight approached, the songs became vespers until the sunset across the valley, and it was momentarily silent.

Not to be outdone and seemingly happy that the warmth of the day had abated, the Crickets, Katydids, Grasshoppers, and the Bull Frogs from a meadow pond took over the night sounds. Their sounds advertise their whereabouts for a mate. It's loud. It's lovely, and it attunes you to the nature we are.

It was a perfect day.

About the Writer: Rolland Smith has over 60 years of broadcast and television production experience. He is former news anchor for WCBS-TV in New York and at super station WWOR-TV in New York. He is the recipient of eleven Emmy awards. The National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences has honored him numerous times with Emmy nominations.

In an effort to raise the world’s awareness of environmental dangers, Smith anchored “Our Common Future” in June 1989. This five-hour television special, live from Lincoln Center, New York and Tokyo, Japan, brought together a variety of world leaders and performing artists to increase environmental awareness. He has also been on the Windstar Board in conjunction with John Denver in support of our earth. 

Photo: Joe Baust: Brandon Spring Group Camp, USFS Land Between the Lakes.