This is beautiful and powerful, more powerful than the engines that race in F-1.
Last night I enjoyed the full Sturgeon moon. Birds are tweeting like crazy these days. Is it that I’m noticing more? With only the screen door at night, I hear the opossum make his or her way through the yard. We now have a camera on the front so we see his or her progress, which is slow, winding, and thorough.
The debris box is gone, and three men are putting drywall on our garage walls. There’s something about being home all the time that says clean, clear out, and brighten what’s here even though it’s only for the two of us, and even as I type “only”, I pause. Aren’t we enough?
I read that houses in Tahoe are selling as fast as they hit the market. People are realizing that quality of life is what matters, and working from home and having children learn from home, has widened the choice around location and surroundings.
I keep trying to look on the bright side even as I remember meeting my friends in person, and walking without a mask.
And the sun is shining and birds are tweeting and a skunk released its protective aroma last night, and maybe that’s what I’m doing right now, saying I’m here and with the best of intentions for equanimity, somehow there’s a slight stink.
And I’m breathing and healthy, and all in my small realm, is well!
I sent a photo of the apples in the basket to the neighbor who gave them to me. She used a watercolor app to send it back. Wow!
Then another neighbor handed over the fence a just-this-morning round of homemade bread.
Life is good for me, and it just happens I have an actual bowl of cherries.
Savor Summer Light!
Last night in celebration of the 8:00 howl, someone blasted forth the theme from Star Wars.
There’s a great deal of originality and creativity in the howl these days. After all, it’s been going on for over four months. Our voices may be worn out but we still have car horns and musical instruments.
Someone pointed out yesterday that technology was separating us, isolating us, and now it’s bringing us together, so though we’re each in our own abodes, we can see and talk to others in their habitat. We’re sharing more widely around the world.
I’m with these words of Mohandas Gandhi: Nonviolence is the greatest and most active force in the world. The more you develop it in your own being, the more infectious it becomes till it overwhelms your surroundings and by and by might oversweep the world.
We’re feasting on corn and tomatoes, cherries, berries, and plums. Our neighbor brought over a basket of apples from their tree.
Meanwhile the debris bin is full, a gathering of what we and the neighbors no longer need, and what isn’t worth giving away. Some things do fall apart. It’s odd to realize, to hold something in one’s hand and recognize it’s time for it to find new form.
I think of myself, and there’s something about plucking an apple or plum from a tree that allows me to feel the stream and circulation of my blood, the enthusiasm and joy that leaps and leads into unfolding within the swinging hammock of a new day.
Enjoy! There’s no repeat.
It’s August and I’m up and out early to water as the Morning Star, Venus, actually a planet, shines brightly in the sky.
The day is currently clear and the fog wafts back and forth like a flag saying all is okay. The birds are tweeting to greet the day.
Circles – we’re circling round and round, as we play with the currently shifting ground.
For those of us who vote absentee, ballots need to be mailed by October 20th to be sure they’re counted. I never thought I’d live to see a president try to destroy the United States Postal Service so he can stay in a position he doesn’t seem to enjoy but here we are, so vote early and then play outside in the nature of support.
The last two days we’ve had major tree trimming which opens the view and brings in the light. It also means watering plants that were protected from the sun. In addition we’re doing a major garage clean-out. We’ll have drywall installed, and the whole garage painted white instead of the color of umber it’s been the 42 years we’ve lived here. Change. Energy. It’s a feel, and needed right now to handle the political shenanigans and distractions of the one I will not name.
Meanwhile our friend Hawk sits in the tree and watches it all.
Today I’ll be out fertilizing and comforting all plants. The cats have been traumatized by all the activity but are now happily sleeping, and my sacrum area, oh, my. My sacrum area is certainly awake to all the bending, lifting, and carrying. It lifts like a bow and shoots arrows of gratitude to connect the rays of prayer.
I spent yesterday with my 9 month old grandson. I’m floating. I love watching him, and he looks right back. He counteracts the news.
I’m sitting with this writing prompt from Jane Hirshfield. She’s writing about poetry, but for me, and most likely her, life and poetry are inseparable.
Jane: I’ve found over the years that a surprisingly high number of the poems I am thrilled and moved by have questions in them, so will offer this simple suggestion: write a poem that begins with a question, or has a question in it, while remembering Richard Hugo’s excellent craft point: the only questions worth asking in a poem are the ones that can’t be answered.
I begin with this question: Why is the world as it is these days?
What comes to mind is an image, grandchild.
The virus has certainly disrupted our world, but I also see that it has parents and children at home. Grandson’s mother teaches and leads retreats on Zoom. His father has a flexible schedule that accommodates time with his son because those he works with also have children at home. Adaptation means children are seeing what their parents do to provide.
My son would have been away from home for ten to twelve hours a day with work and commute time, but now they share three meals a day.
Because grandchild sits in a special chair that sits on the table, when we gather to give thanks before eating, we hold hands, and yesterday because there were three of us, my son, his son, and me, we made a circle of our hands and grandson’s feet. We each held one of his feet. There’s something so precious in holding a foot, the place that connects us so radiantly, when we allow it, to earth.
Grandson’s feet have special meaning for me because his father was born with a foot that required correcting, so he had a cast at six weeks old, and then special shoes with a rod to connect them. It never bothered him. He’d bang the cast on the sides of his crib to make music and crawled easily swinging the rod back and forth. Perhaps it’s why I delight in seeing the freedom in the feet of this little guy. He’s never worn shoes. My feet respond. Yes!
May we all delight in our feet and toes as they reach up into the sky that grandson now sees as he waves his arms to the rhythm of wind in leaves and trees. Before his nap, his father takes him around to say nap time to all their bushes and trees. My son sings a little song specially designed for the treasure in his arms. I’m touched, grateful, grounded and winged.
I trust the world will return to sanity, and the man at the helm of the country in which I live will go to a place that can nourish him in a way he’s never experienced in his life.
Meanwhile I’m enchanted with images that come my way this morning. A friend watched a Monarch butterfly emerge from a chrysalis over five hours. Think of it. Transformation.
Today I’m with the story from Acres of Diamonds, how all is here, and we don’t need to go searching all about. All is here, right here in the diamond of our heart.
Today I journey to be with Bright Light. We’re expanding the circle so I can help care for Grandchild, the curvature of my shine.
A few years ago I had some little plants planted that were meant to spread but for some reason each stayed compact in its spot. Then, I fertilized with kelp and “ocean gold” and now there’s some teeny-tiny flowers and a reaching out.
It has me thinking about stimulation, the balance there. I seem reasonably content in my abode so how much outside stimulation do I need? Do I need to apply kelp and ocean gold to my roots or sit content in my isolation which includes books, plants, Zoom, Facetime, a husband, and two cats?
One son and his wife want the family to start planning a trip to Hawaii for Christmas. That would be delightful, obviously, but I, usually an optimist, don’t see an end to this shelter-in-place. I find myself in a place of discontent with the stirring of maybe I should be reaching out. Oh, my, that word “should”, and yet, my solitary little plants are beginning to spread, so slowly I honor the reach of my branches, slowly I trust what comes, and release on what I can’t control, even as I trust the touch of my rootedness from love that unbounds.