This morning as I meditate, I feel spring in my heart, the opening scent of flowers, the invitation to unreel the layers of the bud, build a nest, fill it with eggs of creativity, and birth what’s here.

Yesterday, Steve and I decided he needed an x-ray of his arm, swollen and bruised from a fall and so we rushed out of the house even before I could grab a Kindle or book. I waited outside of the medical office and meditated and took photos of flowers lining sidewalks and streets.  I realized I was near a library but it closed as I walked up,  so I sat on a bench and sat, and felt, and thought of porches with rocking chairs and benches, and how enclosed life can be with ATM’s and self-checking, and everything delivered and left right at the door.

Because I watched and enjoyed The Wizard of Oz with my grandson this week, I came home and watched Pollyanna.  Okay these movies are fantasies, very colorful fantasies, escapism, and yet, what is it when so much has left technicolor for a darker view of life? Another shooting – oh, my!

How do we balance what we view, and how we involve and evolve with immersion in the flowers blooming everywhere, except perhaps Tahoe which continues to stay white with snow.  Yesterday I appreciated the gift of sitting outside with nothing to do and nowhere to be.  Steve is fine, just swollen and bruised, and I feel the opening call of spring even as I more firmly root.

Robin Wall Kimmerer

Paying attention acknowledges that we have something to learn from intelligences other than our own. Listening, standing witness, creates an openness to the world in which the boundaries between us can dissolve.

Outside my window – oak and redwood twine
Outside the medical center
Along the parking lot

May Day

As a child, we made baskets for this day and filled them with candy and flowers, and hung them on our neighbors’ doors. This morning I read that baby swans were just born at the Las Gallinas ponds, so out I head for a May Day celebratory treat.

I’m excited to see a swan.
And then a mother on her nest with four babies. A duck watches nearby.
Active babies
A family of Canadian Geese
An egret – Golden Slippers
Babies exploring
The wind comes up and dad returns. Mom covers the babies.
A Black Crowned Night Heron rests close by


After rain in the night, I rise to go to Sausalito and immerse in the sounds of the bay.  I meet some people who’ve come down from Tahoe.  After a winter of white, they want to see green. We have green, blue, purple, and pink.

Walking down to Swede’s Beach
Looking up the steps anchored in green
View of Angel Island from the beach
View of San Francisco from the waterfront
Angel Island
Another look at Angel Island
In a pocket park
Nearby flowers
The majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge
Lupine blooms on the hills

Visit to the Past

Yesterday we went to Felton to ride the Roaring Camp and Big Trees steam train.  We went last year, and our three year old grandchild was excited to go again, as were we.  What a thrill to go high, high, high into the redwoods and back down to stroll among the trees in Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park.

Music before the train ride in the camp town
Fascination with steam
Going up on the train
At the top of Bear Mountain
Majesty on a path, sacred steps in the park
One of us is a bobcat hiding unseen, somewhat
Bobcat still resting and hiding in his lair
Rooted Guides rise high


Yesterday I was with family, both four-legged and two, at Muir Beach and on the coastal trail between Muir Beach and Tennessee Valley. Some of us walked further than others, and we all indulged in these words of Vincent Van Gogh.

Don’t just look at the spring, touch it, taste it. Get it inside you.

Native Ceanothus in bloom
Iris offers a symphonic note
Hawk looks for lunch
An absorbing stroll along the path
Immersion loves a bridge
Looking south toward San Francisco to view the tucked Mooncow Bay
California Poppies
Cows once grazed here
Now people walk their dogs
Native grasses flourish
From the overlook

Ring Mountain

When my youngest started kindergarten, I trained to become a Terwilliger nature guide.  My site was Ring Mountain, where I am now.  This morning I stepped out and passed two houses to cross a stream and enter the sacred site.

This is Coast Miwok land.  The Nature Conservancy bought it when the Tiburon Mariposa Lily was discovered to grow here and nowhere else.  There is serpentine at the top surrounded by sandstone so flowers developed and then were caught as though planted to keep this land always open in honor of the native people and plants.

I couldn’t go far today because of the mud but I know there is a midden here and a hole in the rock where the Miwok people ground their acorns.  It’s under a buckeye tree which loses its leaves in the winter and grows them back in the spring.  Therefore sunlight is moderated, and it’s next to a stream, so acorns are leached so they can be pounded and eaten.  

Salem Rice, an expert on Bay area geology, said that there were more different kinds of rocks on Ring Mt. than across half of the country.  It’s a paradise of rocks and because there’s no pollution lichen grows luxuriously on the rocks.

In those days, I  lead fifth and sixth graders on field trips on the mountain.  I showed them how one could survive right here.  Everything was provided.  The bay provides clams, crabs, fish. Quail run free and can be caught in special traps.   Boats can be built from the tule grasses if one wants to venture across the bay. Tule also provides housing, and soaproot provides soap.  It’s a paradise and the road below is actually called Paradise.  

With the children we also discussed the modern day.  People need homes so how do we balance the natural landscape with that?  The children understood.  They are wise, like owls.  Last night, I was entertained by the hooting of an owl.  

At the top of the mountain are petroglyphs facing west.  This is a sacred place.  My photos only give a taste of a small part about 2/3rds up as I couldn’t walk very far along the trail with the mud, but more days come along with rain today.

Crossing the bridge to enter the sacred site
A pocket of the stream
Rocks and water nestle together – change each other’s song
Looking up
A vision of Lichen on rock – Annie Algae meets Freddie Fungus
Soapwort leaves nibbled by deer – the root provides the soap
Looking out over the bay
The landscape in a rock
A Home
The Stream
A neighbor’s yard
Announcing the arrival of Spring!


Yesterday I was by the bay watching the tide go out changing the niches for the birds. Newly exposed mud offered new opportunities to feed.  It was like a poem unfolding new places to feed what we already know.

My daughter-in-law’s mother passed away early Friday morning.  She and her brother are dealing with the details and I am with how we meet death.  How do we rearrange ourselves for this matter to energy exchange, this cloak of the personal opening to the universal?  

Ramana Maharshi, was once asked, “How should we treat others?” He replied, “There are no others.”

I sink into knowing that.  

Romance by the bay
Opportunity and Search


A Gift

 Today I hear romping in the yard below.  I look over the side of the deck, and seeing a deer, grab my phone, and trot downstairs – not just one deer – six.  Six – a gift shared.

The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

Ram Dass


It occurs to me now that the word “streaming” has a different meaning than it once did, but I return to the original meaning of sitting by a stream, and listening, and being moved by rhythm and sounds.

As Carl Perkins said, If it weren’t for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song, and sitting, sauntering, and exploring yesterday, I heard a multitude of songs.  The wind sang, too, and the falling leaves, each one twirling like a butterfly in a slow and languid descent.

I took Obi Kaufman’s advice and drove four miles to Cascade Canyon and walked up to Cascade Falls.  A picture can’t capture Mother Earth’s flow but perhaps some of the photos capture the light on the stream. I can’t share the smells of autumn oaks and bays but again imagine an inhalation so deep, there is no beginning and end, only connection that circles a whole.

There are also Three Wells where I used to take my children to dip and swim in summer. All is quiet now, this harvest time of year.

The lower part of the stream in autumn, a gentle slip

One of the wells in which to drop

Walk with me

Wisdom rises in Redwood Tree Trunks

Cascade Falls

Surrender and flow

Mother Earth offers her gifts

Frog rock praying

A slow caress to join the bay

Human Ingenuity at Malugani Tires