The Marsh

Yesterday I was enjoying taking pictures of egrets when a man showed me a most wonderful Great Blue Heron standing statuesque behind some fronds.  Such a gift!

Great Blue Heron and Great White Egret
A well-camouflaged Heron
GBH on a post the day before –
Two Great Whites and a Snowy Egret

Such majesty

A Regal Pose of Presence and Grace
My Abode – Little Gem – no need for camouflage

Stinson Beach Today

Low tide!

Looking Up from the beach

Beauty and Peace

A shell brought home resting on red

A father and son were fishing today at the beach. The young boy, perhaps five years old, opened a bag to show me the fish they’d caught. They were small and not so many so he said next time he would give me some. Generosity on an exquisite winter day as the Holidays are on gentle and seasonal approach, reflecting the tides.

I offer words of Howard Thurman:

Christmas Returns

Christmas returns, as it always does, with its assurance that life is good. It is a time of lift to the spirit,

When the mind feels its way into the commonplace,

And senses the wonder of simple things: an evergreen tree, Familiar carols, merry laughter.

It is the time of illumination,

When candles burn, and old dreams Find their youth again.

It is the time of pause,

When forgotten joys come back to mind, and past dedications renew their claim.

It is the time of harvest for the heart,

When faith reaches out to mantle all high endeavor,

And love whispers its magic word to everything that breathes.

Christmas returns, as it always does, with its assurance that life is good.

A Morning Walk in Mist

Accompanied by two quotes, I head out the door for a walk in my neighborhood.

Stanley Kunitz: “It is out of the dailiness of life that one is driven into the deepest recesses of the self.”

Kabir: I felt in need of a great pilgrimage, so I sat still for three days.

The Naked Ladies are out, a sign of summer tilting toward fall

Plums ripen slowly in shade

Crossing the bridge over the now dry creek

Sunflowers in support of Ukraine line the trail

Mountain Lion rests

Matilija Poppy

The fog giving mist


We’ve been with our grandchild.  Being with a young child is a practice of meditation.   I watch the movement and openness in hands and feet and feel a response in me.  Fluidity.  

We read and climb.  We tuck, hide, peek, bounce, jump, glide and slide as we make trains both large and small.  We pick apples from their tree and eat them and leave some for the squirrels.  I’m entranced with what comes forth as we make songs on his suggestions, his mind rounding on all that surrounds.

I’m home now absorbing and integrating.  Mingyur Rinpoche offers an online course on meditation through One son and I are enjoying the course on “Joy of Living”.   I’m currently with sound meditation.

Mingyur Rinpoche:

As long as you know you are hearing the sound, that is meditation.  

Awareness is always pure and pleasant.  

And there is Meister Eckhart: For the person who has learned to let go and let be, nothing can ever get in the way again.

Of course this is a practice, and yet pausing to listen and receive, I find myself pulsing with the universe, the heartbeat, the gong, the bell, the dance, the song.


West Marin

Photos speak.

Bolinas Lagoon – egrets and geese

Three baby otters playing on the sand dune

Mother Otter and three babies

Cuddle, Snuggle, and Wiggle Time

Mother and Child

Mother with two of her children

Otter Grace

Great Blue Heron and Otter – each with a niche

Father’s Day

Today we walked half-way across the Golden Gate Bridge on a beautiful day.  We went up to Hawk Hill.  Grandchild found a stick and a hole.  Add two rocks and a home for a bird in her nest appeared.  Life works like that.  

What was said to the rose that made it open was said to me here in my chest. 

– Rumi  

Letting Go

I haven’t stayed connected with my high school class but thanks to social media, I am now connected.  This morning I learned that another from my class of 1967 has passed away.  She had dementia the last few years.  I try to align the information with the exuberant cheerleader I remember.  She’s not the only one I know my age who has gotten dementia and passed away.

It’s an odd entry into this new day where gratitude is the only song I need.  I hear the garbage trucks as my garbage sorted into three cans, trash, recycling and compost, is carted away.

Connection – 

Molting – 

Trust that bonds are never broken, simply carried away – like the moon pulling the tides.