Tag: Wonder

Summer Stalks

My daddy did not take
summer vacations,
Neither did our family.
He was a hard working man. 
Going to visit relations
however, was an altogether
right thing to do.

I was twelve when our family, 
packed arm-to-arm
in our blue and cream 
‘54 Desoto, traveled
back mountain roads.
looking for Daddy’s home place. 
He was a jokester,
a trickster, a ghostly 
storyteller who never
stopped working.

The closer we got to
Great Aunt Libby’s place 
the more carefree he became.
 Suddenly our car 
veered to the shoulder 
of a narrow country road.

Late July corn grew 
high on both sides
of the hot pavement,
fields with tall tassled stalks
as far as I could see,
”Just look, here” he said.
”Fresh corn for the pickin’. 
Nobody is going to 
miss a few of these 
good-looking ears.”
 
Two steps into carefully planted rows,
a man appears with a shotgun. 
Daddy, all smiles and grins, 
his firm hand extended 
for a neighborly shake, 
says “Well hi there. 
I am out looking at these 
fields of corn, mighty tempting 
for tonight’s dinner.
Would you sell us a bushel?”  

Daddy stood so proud, 
tossing ears of corn 
into the trunk of the car. 
Still grinning. Did I tell you 
Daddy was a salesman? 
He liked a good deal.

Green leaves wrapped
around tawny husks,
waiting to be shucked.
Most days are so ordinary.
Shedding the outside wrapping, 
fingering strands of silken threads,
I pull dreams from rows 
of juicy kernels, savoring sweet 
tasting memories
of a golden summer day.

First Sightings

A squirrel leaves me a walnut
sheathed in green velvet,
then leaps and weaves away
to sort and bury his acorns.

Acrobatic crows hang
on bottom limbs
of kousa dogwoods,
devouring red berries

Just as September returns
sycamores on lakeside avenue
create an arch of golden yellow,
a royal welcome.

Burnished red on dogwoods,
yellow carpets of walnut leaves,
coneflower seeds, drying fuchsia,
wilting lilac tree, caterpillars,

I feel a lift in the cool breeze;
sigh as shadows lengthen;

What return shall I make?

Silence

sun slipping
through forest green,
creek sliding
over ancient stones,
cicadas clicking
in mid-afternoon,
tree frogs singing
as day falls
into darkness;

flickering flames
of campfire,
hum of human voices
settling in for the night,
full August moon
moving through treetops..

Silence infuses my soul
without a single word.

Montreat

Out on a Limb

Mid-morning notes,
a treetop preacher
hooked beak, dark robe,
speckled vest calls
“Listen up, Listen up.”

Puffed up virtuoso exhorts:
make the best of the beak
you’ve been given; keep
a close eye on your turf,
skip often, don’t waste time
unless a song bubbles up.

All About Birds CornellLab

Back to Blogging

Back to Blogging
Things are changing.
Of course they are –
watch the shadows,
the clouds, earth’s bounties.
I greet each sunrise
with a ritual of awareness,
nod of recognition –
another day to spin
on an Axis I trust
will keep me aligned
with good intentions.

I write my history in words,
circumstances, choices.
Grandchildren prompted
the start of this blog.
Sitting in the grass
making daisy chains
we spotted yet another wonder.
They laughed, mocking
my familiar mantra,
“How  About That”.

It seems words
can lie fallow, seasons
pass while intentions remain
buried beneath new pursuits.
I  pondered and wondered.
jotted words on loose pages
while waiting for new birth.

A new granddaughter
Now ten months,
has favorite colors,
preferred tastes.
reaching out,
so many miracles.
Now “How About That”.

Here I am,
catching up with
all the wonder;
more to come.

Glory Be

The Pull of the Tides and Fall Harvest Moon
Drew me towards Year’s End, New Decade of
Possibilities. Winter rode Waves of early Sunsets,
Festival Lights and Celebrations.

 January Dawns with an Invitation to move Gingerly
Over Frozen Ground, Peer through Bared Arms
Of Nature at the Open Horizon. Resolve, Re-vision,
Slow down,  Change of Rhythm. 

Well, Glory Be! These Words escape my Lips
A bit like Bird-Song, An Awakening Mantra.
Surprise, Delight, tinged with Gratitude, another
Day to Spin with the Earth, Circle the Sun.

Glory Be! Keep an Eye out for the Wonders,
Gifts that keep my World in Balance,
Heal the Hurts, Right the Wrongs, Hold to the
Promise, for Love is the Axis on which we Turn.

Glory Be

Thriving in Winter: Wrapping It Up

We are about done with winter in the south – nature is already signaling change. March announces its arrival a bit early with yesterday’s howling winds. The red maple outside my window is tipped with red buds. Dandelions persistently push though dried leaves; daffodils greet me on my walk to the park. Sitting on the park bench shaped from a fallen hickory, I consider winter’s lessons for survival.

With cues from burrowing creatures, I line my winter retreat with a stack of books, a list of movies to stream, CD’s hiding too long behind my top ten favorites choices, games I usually do not get around to playing I crochet comforters and wraps in warm colors, and delight in a variety of scarves to add more than warmth to winter wear. I pull out my highly favored fur-lined boots kept in the back of the closet for much of the year. On the coldest days I reach for my mother’s wool sweater, monogrammed with her initials.

Hoarding can also be life-giving I am very familiar with this hoarding instinct, having watched the squirrels’ frenzy of burying nuts. My lawn is covered with paw sized pits; scratched patches. Every newscaster in the northeast and much of the south sends reporters and photographers to the local hardware and grocers’ when a winter weather watch is announced. Viewers dutifully note the ritual of emptying shelves. In order to shift from surviving to thriving, I redefine the tradition of hoarding (while my pot of soup is simmering and my stash of chocolate is secure) I am hoarding gratitude. Wrapped in flannel and wool, I think about the pleasures of spiced tea, mulled cider, the snapping flame of a red cinnamon scented candle.

This year winter demands that I take an artist’s eye to a background of grey. Muted skies accent every point of color. From my reflection corner, where I read, write, and meditate, the red bird feeder that is kept inside in every other season creates a scene of vibrant activity. My kitchen window frames the suet feeder, and the frequent colorful visitors – cardinals, blue jays, black-capped chickadees, tufted titmouse, red-breasted finch, pileated woodpecker.  Their song is a winter’s jubilation as though they share in my delight at frost that sparkles when the sunlight finally appears, crystal coated mornings, the dance of snowflakes leaving a sweet layer of white icing on rhododendrons and magnolias with their candle like bulbs. Evergreens stand out in sharp contrast to their deciduous earth mates, reinforcing their own survival with a careful selection on nutrients. Seasons have a tendency to build on the spirit of anticipation, and though I pass through my winter trials with an upswing in acceptance, I eager anticipate change.

Daffodil Trail

Thriving in Winter: Lights Up!

If you were to name the four seasons – where would you begin? Would you draw on the calendar year, answer with the early learning chants of childhood? “The four seasons are winter, summer, spring and fall.” Or is there an innate sense of life cycle that frames your understanding: Spring – new birth; summer- flourishing life; fall- harvest and letting go; wintering – cold, dark, dying? Now the circle of reasoning returns to the necessary hidden life of winter. Gestation. All that lies fallow. Browned earth, bare trees, forest hiking trails carrying the musky scent of decaying leaves. Winter dormancy is essential to survival and renewal of the life-giving processes.

Your approach to winter is a matter of perspective. In my east coast southern climate, snowbirds are found on designated mountain slopes, but the everyday reality is more often the drizzling kind of cold. You’ve heard it said. In fact I have heard myself say: “I am so done with winter.” On a late afternoon walk I recently ran into a neighbor who made this very same declaration. My first interpretation was he was planning a trip to warmer climes – where winter sits not so deep and cold. “No,” he said, “I am just heading to Maggie B’s – today is red wine.” Germinating takes some time. I have been ruminating on winter, intentionally developing a new life plan not to simply survive winter, but to thrive while lying fallow.

In truth November does a good job of preparing for the inevitable – the early sun sets leaving me no choice but to let go of my leisurely evening after dinner strolls. Meteorological winter begins December first and paradoxically arrives with its name in written lights, Garlands of white lights appear around doors and porches; draped on outdoor evergreen. Colored strands of light can be viewed through windows. Candles appear on the dinner table, the early push for holiday mood setting. And I say “bring it on.”  Every bit of twinkle that lightens the darkness gives a festive touch to winter’s arrival.

Nature has its way with irony. Astronomical winter officially arrives with the winter solstice. In the Northern Hemisphere Dec. 21 may or may not be the shortest day of the year, but it’s a good average possibility. Of course the solstice – the polar tilt away from the sun is a only moment in time. A minute or two at a time, the day begins to lengthen. And herein lies the magic of surviving winter. Time is marked by our constant move forward (or around). One of my great annual delights is the moment I experience the lengthening of days. I am generally making preparations for dinner, looking out the window at the color of the sunset. Quite early in January, after all the hub of holidays has quieted and I have once again fallen into a welcomed routine, a different kind of light catches my attention. Daylight still dazzling me; the gentle quiet before the roses and golds are draped on the horizon. I see. I see. Winter is in motion.

weaverville winter

To Every Season

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven
(Ecclesiastes 3:1, Pete Seeger 1950’s)

And all because the earth tilts a bit.

The truth as I know it is that while the turn of seasons is inevitable, nature has a contractual clause written in not-so fine print that says “subject to change”. Anticipated patterns can end in the unexpected. Visitors plan their trips to our ancient Pisgah Mountains and the Blue Ridge Parkway months ahead of fall’s scheduled arrival, hoping to catch the peak of a season landscaped in magnificent color. The season is sure to arrive, but nature’s rendering of color and the fullness of the leaf-bearing trees is dependent on rain, temperature, and winds.

This year the predictions of fall’s dramatic presentation have been cautious because of nature’s variables. When the fall calendar indicated the peak season should be arriving, the trees held back their spectacular showing. The ash and chestnut leaves began creating ground cover before the first cooling temperatures, while the red-toothed maples, and dogwoods, the divas of this fall’s fashion show, slowly began to provide the first peeks. Many of the yellows and gold held out for All Saints Day. I delight in whatever dabs of colors appear on nature’s canvas, while simultaneously pondering the reality that this grand presentation precedes nature being stripped to bare bones, creatures burrowing deeper, and birds migrating.

Today winds are pushing heavy gray clouds onto our mountains. Soon enough the clouds bring rain, the rain brings chill. Some bold leaves are holding tight, while plenty of limb-mates are letting go. I catch a view of a mighty oak in its orange blazer proclaiming “it’s not my turn”. When the sun’s performance is hidden behind this curtain, my thoughts take a turn towards the slow and reflective and I feel my world titling towards the moody. Befriending the day means looking for the unseen, unexpected revelation. Between yesterday and today the trees have been shaken and my horizon opens. I can now view the mountain ridges on three sides and give praise for the vision that will sustain me when this season departs. How About That!

fall mountains