Yesterday I explored the lower part of Filoli Gardens, intrigued by the many sculptures along the trail. Then I met Rose Wonders, a Thomas Danbo Troll. Thomas is a Danish sculpture artist who builds giant trolls from recycled materials.
I finished reading Mink River by Brian Doyle, a book I love. Needing a little more of his voice, I came to a book of his poems How the Light Gets In: And Other Headlong Epiphanies. Here’s one, a soft note for the night.
What is the best poem you ever wrote in your
whole life?
I ask a friend of mine, aged six, and she thinks
about this
For a whole minute, looking down in the grass for
words,
And she says, The time I tried to make a coat for a
mouse
From spider-webs. My sister and brothers helped
me find
The webs. It takes a lot of webs to make a jacket
for mice.
We apologized to the spiders. This was in October.
Mama
Said we could borrow webs as long as we were
respectful.
That’s the best poem I ever wrote, and I didn’t do
it alone.
I was thrilled when I saw a Great Blue Heron at Abbott’s Lagoon. Then I saw the Great White Egret next to it. I approached closer and closer, and still they were quietly enjoying the view, and then, at times, busy grooming. Even birds, get ready for the day. They weren’t bothered as I circled round them, entranced with their ability to cleanse, appreciate, and savor what we all share, the gift of life!
Yesterday I drove out to Abbott’s Lagoon in Point Reyes. It was early, sunny, and warm. I was alone. I’ll show pictures of my walk, and then, in the next post zero in on more photos of a Great Blue Heron and Great White Egret grooming with a view. I also saw across the lagoon what I knew must be otters since they hang out there, and slide down the dunes, and also groom. This was a huge lump that stayed still, and was gone when I returned. I came home and zoomed in on the lump. Otters huddle together in what’s called a “romp”. For sure, two otters, but I think there’s also two babies. It’s that time of year. Quite a day. I’ll try to give a taste with photos.
Tonight I sat outside with the light of the almost full Strawberry moon. Creatures scurried around in the ivy below the deck.
I thought of the words of Hafiz:
What does light talk about?
I asked a plant that once,
It said, “I am not sure,
but it makes me
Grow”.
That brought me to the words of Annie Dillard in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:
I cannot cause light; the most I can do is try to put myself in the path of its beam. It is possible, in deep space, to sail on solar wind. Light, be it particle or wave, has force: you rig a giant sail and go. The secret of seeing is to sail on solar wind. Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent, broadside to the merest puff.
And then I came to the words of Nelson Mandela:
It is never my custom to use words lightly. If twenty-seven years in prison have done anything to us, it was to use the silence of solitude to make us understand how precious words are and how real speech is in its impact on the way people live and die.
Where I live we often hear sirens heading out highway 1, especially on the weekends. There’s always a feeling of sadness for whoever is affected and what has happened. One never expects it to be someone you know, but this time it was. A good friend fell asleep driving back from Commonweal. Her car went off the side of the embankment on Panoramic highway and her car with her in it fell and turned over for 200 feet. It was quite a rescue effort, involving our local agencies. She’s in the hospital and she’s alive. She will heal.
I sit with it. My father died in an accident. It brings up fragility, something I’ve lived with since I was 19. Like that, a person you love can be gone. Take care – give care to yourself and those you love.
We were married June 19, 1971 so 55 years ago. We celebrated by spending the night in Sausalito where I took a slew of photos, and this morning had great fun interacting with a Great Blue Heron. Being in Sausalito in the mist skews distances, so, at times, I felt as though I could have been here with the Coast Miwok sailing across the bay in a tule boat.
I walked Tennessee Valley early this morning in an environment wet with mist. I walked with these words from Neil deGrasse Tyson.
We are part of this universe; we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts is that the universe is in us.
Immersed, I was surrounded with birds singing, flying, scurrying, feasting. I noticed the changing smells and the array of greens. I thought of algae changing the color of the reflecting pool in Washington D.C. to green. Plants rule, and yes, “the universe is in us”, and it’s for us to notice and live aware.
Walking around my neighborhood I crossed the bridge to Eastwood Park, and took a photo of the creek. When I looked at the photo, I saw a perfect reflection of the sky. I was brought to consider even more deeply my steps, and where I place my feet. The ground and I reflect.
Leaving early to walk Tennessee Valley to the beach, I saw a deer at the top of our driveway, and then, three more along the path to the beach. Quail were hidden but sounding: qua querko, and so many birds were singing, I felt I was in a jungle. What a gift of a morning!
