Yesterday, a day in bed with some sort of intestinal flu bug, even though I had my flu shot last fall. I could tell from where I parked my sick carcass that the outdoors was quite beautiful. I wanted to get out in it, even if just to sit in an Adirondack, and watch the eager bugs fly by, but I could hardly move.

I had been exploring a remote part of the mountains just the day before, up near Bonny Doon, above the university campus a few miles. The road that descends along Jamison Creek and brings me back to Boulder Creek was muddy, with nobody on it. I stopped once along the creek and sat under the canopy of a redwood faerie ring, while listening to the tinkle of the tiny creek working its way downhill to where it might meet the San Lorenzo River. I had hoped to go out for another day of exploration yesterday, perhaps even return to Jamison Creek to photograph some of the plant life busting out of the wet ground.

I missed a full day of this spring bliss, when there is so much life-giving activity going on. The warm sun of yesterday just seemed to make more tree blossoms pop out all around me. Instead, I wrestled all day with this bug living inside of me. When I would stand and walk, the muscles in my arms and legs would ache. When I would try to read, my eyes would quickly go fuzzy, and my head would ache. When I would try to eat, my stomach would tighten up in disagreement with me. I knew that no matter what I might want to do, it was going to be painful or uncomfortable, so I just remained parked in a prone position on the living room couch all day, where I could watch through the windows as the day progressed.

Last night, an hour or so before dark, the flu gave up its tough grip on me. I missed this first day of daylight savings, when clocks move forward an hour. It's almost as if my body wanted to remain in the past, but today I think I can move forward.