Tag: Nature

A Picture of Paschal Mystery

A quarter of a century has passed since a wise woman counseled me. “Pay attention to what happens in nature, as it often speaks to what is happening in your life.” A large white pine framed the house I cherished and its limbs embraced the lives of the family I loved. One sleepless, troubled night, I watched the tree silently topple, completely uprooted in the winds of a storm. That was the year of my great loss. I have spent decades observing nature, unfolding the revelation of signs and seasons, reading the messages that water, rocks, birds, flowers, mountain paths leave in place. From the time of my childhood, I have looked for signs of hope, strength, comfort, faith, and belonging, spending hours searching for a four leaf clover, or standing on the porch looking for a rainbow after the storm.  I have picked wildflowers for my mother as a sign of love, combed the shoreline at low tide for a sand dollar – the Holy Ghost shell – lying unbroken in the wet sand.

Several years ago as I climbed to the top of Stone Mountain, everything around me was alive with change. I used my camera to capture images that spoke of the great mysteries of life. Pictures often evoked wonder and creative imagination in my high school theology classes. At the center of my own faith pondering was the mystery of suffering, death, and resurrection. I had been trying to make sense of this experience since the death of my husband when I was too young and our four children too innocent to face such a devastating loss. That early spring morning on the side of the trail in layers of browned leaves, I saw the trunk of a tree, felled by a storm, a small limb creating a cross and the flower of a tulip magnolia lying in its center. Small green leafed plants had just begun to emerge. There in my path nature created an image of life’s paschal mystery, the ongoing reality of suffering, death, and resurrection. I snapped the picture and placed it into a folder of nature’s portrayals, filed but not forgotten.

This year I completed a spiritual memoir exploring my experience of discovering great love, profound loss, and new life, all the while making meaning of this mystery of suffering, death, and resurrection. Rebirthing Faith: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Resurrection can be purchased on Amazon Books. For those who experience your own search for truth and goodness in the face of suffering, I hope my story will provide a mirror for reflection. For those who continue to seek answers to the mysteries of living, I hope you too find meaning in nature’s ongoing revelation.

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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

Reminders of a Heart’s Delight

 

Today
I watched love rise over the mountain,
sing from the branches of the aging maple,
course its way from mountain top to ocean.
I saw love sprouting in tights buds
and daffodil promises.
Tomorrow
love will bloom on the hillside,
rain from the heavens with a gentle touch,
green winter’s lawn with clover leaves of three.
I wake and walk in circles of love,
cherished words, human embrace,
memories shared, heart-to
heart.

daffodil heart

 

Weaving a Spider’s Tale

Fall Showing: Yellow mums, scarecrows with smiles,
pumpkins positioned at the welcoming corner of my lawn.
Two identical spiders with silken thread, spun protein,
tensile strength greater than my bones and half the
strength of steel, strategically placed for the fall showing,
one hanging by the front steps, the other on the back deck,
identical twins as far  as I can tell. Uninvited guests.

From my memory template of scary spiders, Arachnids that catch
all the attention in the news, there’s the hobo, the wolf and its
oversized variant the tarantula, brown recluse, black widow,
and the orb with yellow stripes – the writing spider. Daddy said
that if this spider wrote a name on its web, the person was
doomed. Daddy also told me that Farmer McGreggor lived
across the railroad tracks near my house and if I ventured
in that direction I would suffer the same fate as Peter Rabbit,
I would be an unsuspecting fly caught in a spider’s web.

These rather ordinary house guests camping on my posts
wove their way into my days in an untidy, cob web fashion;
brown with a bit of a striped effect; in a species of 50,000
these are regarded simply as domestic house spiders.
Despite my love for E. B. White’s Charlotte Web and the itsy
bitsy spider who did not learn his lesson well, repeatedly
climbing the spout despite the warnings about rain,
I do have not a familial relationship with spiders.

 
Cool webs, threatening fangs and creepy legs.
My rocker becomes an observation post as the porch
dweller grows bolder with daytime appearance,
and bigger with the insect feasts. Much of the time
the acrobat curls into a ball, eight legs tucked tight,
swaying in mid-air, all head/mouthpiece, and abdomen,
until the invisible web quivers  and legs spread in every
direction; an unsuspecting prey is nabbed, stuck tight,
wrapped in silken thread. An occasional lucky wasp touches
the steely stickiness and escapes with a forceful thrust.
Then brown spider whispers dag nabit, – missed this time

Nights are growing colder, the food supply source diminishes
with the approach of  all-hallowed- eve. I grow faintly wistful
knowing that soon my house guests will complete their task,
leaving a nest-full of eggs, offspring to take over the world
when spring arrives once again, spiderlings instinctively
knowing how to survive the cold, finding crevices for shelter,
and warmth wrapped in their egg sacs. Not so scary then.

explore more at http://www.explorit.org/science/spider.html

spider guest