How much grit do you think you’ve got?

Can you quit a thing that you like a lot?

Excerpt from “On Quitting,” BY EDGAR ALBERT GUEST

A splendid morning, overcast, warm. Last night, on a late walk, well after dark, in the moist air the fireflies in the pines and across the meadow were bright as flying lanterns. Quite a spectacle. This morning is damp and I do not water. Instead, I walk in the damp and soaked woods. All the colors so deep and drenched. I feel quiet and thoughtful and reflective. Deeply moved by getting close to leaves and milkweed blossoms and fungi, to appreciate the spirt of these living beings, and my gratitude for having their lively presence in my day. I am thinking about preparing for the final Farm Pond Writers workshop tomorrow. Saying goodbye after five years. Ugh. And, oh, how much there is to appreciate about out time together. And what comes next? Curiosity and hope well up. Oh, the day unfolds with surprise and disappointments and pleasures and a lovely swim around the island. The water is cold from rain, pleasantly so. A relaxing immersion. On my friend’s dock, I sit quietly while my son surprises me by playing his flute. After dinner, Frank and I sit outside. The fat clouds grow purple and there’s a fine end to this day over the trees: rainbow, rainbow, rainbow.