Category: Wonder

Stories in the Clouds

July slips off the page and August is spinning. Recent heavy rains pressed stalwart purple cone flowers and yellow-eyed daisies to the ground. Stems no longer have the oomph to pick themselves up. Flower heads are quickly turning to seed, ready for a bird’s feast. Yellow and gold mums begin to appear in sun lit garden spots. Walnuts in heavy green husks fall from trees and the squirrels are running in circles. A waning summer saturates my senses.

On deliciously slow afternoons I ease onto my front porch rocker, a cup of mint, jasmine, or lady earl grey with lavender tea in hand, ready to watch the clouds write stories in the sky. On the blue story board, narratives unfold in subtle puffs, the main character always a giant of a figure – the Michelin man, a prehistoric flying fish, a fiery dragon with three hind legs, or a massive amoeba swallowing every creature in its path. The hero in the story can transform its powers with a passing breeze. The Michelin man sprouts wings; with a single wave the fish becomes a fleet of sea horses. Remember Poppin Fresh, the Pillsbury dough boy? He rides in on a magic carpet, warning of an impending storm. A clueless puppy flying on all fours plays nearby. My cloud stories have a Hallmark ending, every one playing nice with everyone else by the time it is over. Wait long enough or hardly any time at all, the scenery changes and another story begins. Nature promises an endless narrative.

cloud stories

Three Seasons for a Start

Another Winter’s hibernation, accepting
the weight of fallowed ground,
hallowed time of preparation, stirring
stews of possibilities; listening
for changes that could not come
fast enough; absence of light,
too much grey from the start.

~~~~~~~~~

Welcomed Sun springs on unsuspecting
days, delights drowsy waterlogged senses
with new greens, easter whites, lilies
lining the landscape with resurrection,
eager robins sitting curbside during
rainstorms waiting for earthworms
washed from freshly mulched lairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Summer storms its way in, drowning out
picnics and mountain hikes till lazy days
push up white clover fields; daisies
and cone flowers welcome butterflies,
crepe myrtle bloom with radiance; fireflies
spin like sparklers in the top of tall oaks,
faithful moon makes a showing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing still on a turning planet –
such an astonishing grand scheme.

crepe myrtle hathat

 

 

Springtime Animation

Spring appears at foot level in these high hills, welcoming the observant hiker. The starred chickweed at the lowest levels was the first to catch my eye; white and purple trillium, the delicate purples of wild geraniums, showy orchid, dwarf iris, trillium, I discovered the umbrella leaves of the may apple (not a tree though); the perfect white flower of bloodroot was at every section of the switchbacks; several leafy plants included the Virginia Pennywort, which is a rarity, and the Canadian waterleaf. One of our newest finds was bear corn (also called squaw root). After a winter of hibernation the bears are constipated, and they are eager to chew on bear corn, their spring laxative!

Spring has edged her way in, sprinkled with generous layers of snow and chilling the winds of change. Teased by an occasional unseasonably warm sun day, the earliest of azalea buds were among those caught by surprise. I daily reminded myself to keep watching; I wanted to see how nature unfolds in slow motion. I caught the neighbor’s aging maple gracing my window view with just the hint of red tipped buds; an incremental opening, delicate fan of new leaves – and now in a blink that tree is full, shutting out much of the mountain horizon. How I know that feeling – changes made in the blink of an eye. The rhododendron blooming bold and pink outside the guest room window draws the robins’ attention, and the robins’ draw the cats, Simone and Sinclair perched on the bedside table. They too keep eager watch. The lilac blooms and irises make a standing ovation. Another spring claims its space in my ever turning universe. The maple and I, we share another glorious season, a few more creaks in our limbs, as we bow to the welcomed applause.

spring stream side

Listening for the Sound

My granddaughter awakens in me a sensibility to the wonders of nature. When she was very young, she called me to stop on an afternoon walk in the neighborhood while she pulled up some stalks of timothy grass – to feed the sheep we might encounter around the corner. Our 1960’s neighborhood was tree lined with manicured lawns and a nearby greenway. We indeed encountered the occasional deer or fox; I have not yet seen the Easter lambs she wanted to feed. Yet just the wonder of it all, the anticipation, opens my heart.

She’s older now, nearly a teen, sharing with me what she learns in school. Speaking of a chorus class, she remarked that her teacher asked the question “What is your favorite sound?” Her answer, “Hi, Sam,” produced confusing stares among classmates. “And why?” “When I open the door to my mom’s house, I call “Hi, Sam”, and I hear the two cats, Sam and Dean, and two dogs, Malcolm and Hannah, running to greet me. I know I am home.”

I told her I wanted to write that question in my journal and think for awhile. What is my favorite sound? The rush of water, the splash of waves, the songbird, the humming in my heart when things are going right, coffee percolating in the early morning, the greeting of a friend or stranger that says I am not alone, the heartbeat of a drum, singing bowl, the sound of silence as the sun sets on the day?

An unavoidable cacophony of sounds creates the backdrop of any day – the flow of traffic, screech of tires, sirens, horns, hums of generators, clicking of keys. Without an intentional awareness, nature’s soothing intonations can be dismissed. Listen. Waves undulating all around with messages intended to alert, comfort, create anticipation, start a conversation or make a joy noise. What is your favorite sound?

sounds drum

What’s Your Winter Story?

A break in winter’s indisposition,
my boots back on the trail, slow
steady climb to Rattlesnake Lodge.
Satisfaction ripples through my body,
easing the stress of everyday worry.

I pause and lean into the warmth
of ancient boulders surrounded
by a forest of silent  sentinels –

unbending hardwoods, scattered
stands of pines, snarled branches
of mountain laurel, rhododendron green,
snapped limbs,  ample reminders
of the power of wind, plight of rock falls,
telling marks of splintered bark
what’s your winter story?

Dormant stillness belies determination;
even the resting roots are reaching for
nourishment before spring buds open.

winter trees