8.9.14 Listen: faith lives and breathes and sings in each moment

8.8.14 Yesterday Evening On The River

A mother and a daughter, stopping by from Northampton, to relish the innocent baby bunnies who do not flee,









and the tunnels through brush made quietly by inhabitants and neighbors such as deer and Coywolves and possum and raccoon... 




And not least of all, to catch a glimpse of yet another unique sunset, as individual as snowflakes, shining across the grand Connecticut.

8.8.14 Dingdongs, Anyone?

Went down by the Eagle Sanctuary road entrance, just down the street, to catch the view of the range and the magnificent clouds and the wind. 

Some dingdong from Pennsylvania had parked their car down the road PAST the "No Trespassing!" sign and the "Private Property" sign and, in case you're a little slow, the sign that said it was an Eagle Sanctuary.
You know- where you're really really careful and you leave them alone unless you're a researcher, so they will nest and have babies and every animal be peaceful and fine.

Well, I could see this dingdong far down the road in the field there, throwing a ball for a Rottweiler. Right up near where the nests are. 

Of course, this is a small town, so I got on my phone and I called the cops. I said "There's some guy from Pennsylvania who's driven up the Eagle Sanctuary Road, past the signs, and they're throwing a ball for dog up near the nests." 

Well, the office

r on the phone said that just wouldn't do, asked my information, and off went a cop car, to let that person know that the rules are actually for everybody, no fine print exempting them. Dingdong. 

In the meantime, it was a splendid early August day, as you very well know; the skies something filled with glory and loveliness, as the Eagles did fly about, catching their meals upon the river, and the rest of the humans tried very hard to let them that their day.

8.9.14 As The Skies Darken, The Moon Climbs, The Fields Fall Asleep, and The Garden Snores

   

How is it the earth orbits about our hot star, and just so, the season continues a shift? We tend to name them at certain points, as if we are insisting there are four sections in a year, four frocks we press the earth into for our cognizant convenience. Yet, the whole deal is one long continuum, of course, complete with global interaction and intricate responses. 

Here, we step outside in the morning to the wet morning dew covering all, as we slip in our flip flops sliding perilously about the yard, coming upon dew-illuminated spider webs of ALL sorts, fellow inhabitants we have neither heard nor smelled nor saw before this...all with their hard-work and remarkable webs, carefully woven in this patch of grass, or that Mountain Laurel, or the long long strands (who does that?) that may be 8 or 9 feet long, stretching from shed to Sumac- 

I mean- which spider is this, and do they LEAP? Oh, and how do you catch your dinner on one strand? Is it sticky? Because I wouldn't know, dodging and ducking under the glistening things with wonder.

Still, the evening foretells the damp changing mornings, with the earth tilting continuously, which we only notice intermittently, and the arc of both sun and moon change also, as we slowly and almost imperceptibly slip from what we insist upon as 'Summer' on into 'Fall'. 

All the plants are heading toward the last chorale, the cooperative director Nature urging the costume changes and the final blossomings and last chance growth that will eventually show up in Scene Three of late September, or if weather permits, October even, a grand flourish of ripening and grand bud explosions and insect, humming bird and butterfly gorging and frenzy, as the birds round up their cache of one or two bouts of famille, 




the young ones practicing long flight and building up muscle and endurance, their parents eyeing them and giving tips and telling bedtime stories and breakfast fables about the great migration and choices to be made and the competition for the feeders here at this place the parents have deemed their homeland, for summer garden heaven, and careful winter feeder offerings. 

And all the small ones that I watch tenderly in my neighborhood and playing about my gardens and feeding and learning and growing, all different young ones somehow this year playing together and rushing over to the garden arch 



when its evident I'm setting up the sprinkler, so they can sit in a line, all types of those babies, and wait for the sprinkler to pass by......opening their still small wings and showering with happiness...and then wait while it passes by the other way, all talking and laughing, these small ones.

The only small ones that don't join with the other types of young birds are the Hummingbird new ones, who seem very pensive, are smaller and perhaps it is a bit perilous to interact with or trust the other species?




 I'm not sure, but there is one small new green iridescent one who comes and perches upon the tomato stand and just watches me. 

Like 'who will blink first?" I try to remain still, not too close, and relish this moment with this small one, who will feel comfortable enough to now and then clean beneath their feathers, ruffle everything back into its tiny place, and then continue to eye me, as I eye them.

I talk to them. I tell them I love them. I tell them we share a neighborhood and are neighbors. I ask how their day is. I remark upon their adoration of the Scarlet Runner Bean blossoms (their favorite) and the light lavender Bee Balm (second runner up).



Then I just stand leaning against the back door, and watch them as they watch me, wondering what it's like to be them, as opposed to being me. 



Wondering why they, of all the avians here, want to sit and visit and watch? I mean, they all know me well, don't flee when I wander to trim rose blossoms and weed, their parents showing them that yes this moving creature is part of our neighborhood, and ok. 

I suspect the Toads must do the same with their Toadlets, as when i walk out in the evening, they are all out, out of their toad closet, and know I will step carefully and lightly, and somehow the young ones do learn.

And eventually, after maybe 5 or even 10 minutes, they ruffle again, cock their so very small head and glance at me once more, as if maybe tea is over and "Ta! have a nice day!" and off they swing, wide with delight and fun, over to, of course, 



the Scarlet Runner Vine , which is crawling with great complexity, masses of vines this year, across the arch, and the small bird hovers here and there to sip and sip and sip and satiate their beautiful shining small self.

A bit later, I bring dogs out on their suppertime meanders, and the darkness is arriving, first with the skies all bright as day, but the land laid in dark. I sit with the pup while he proffers balls and snuffles the ground and eats the sticks and now and then I appropriate a toadlet away from him, and then we wander about a bit.

And then out comes Shiva Louisa, choosing front or back yard according to her wishes each time, and I let her go, her memory serving her well for where objects are, possibly her eyes being able to see the lights from the house windows well enough to orient herself.



And up comes the moon, amongst masses of delicate bright white clouds, that pass by so quickly as to make the moon appear and disappear and appear once again, half grown and being sent up into our sky as the earth revolves. 

I bring the old dog in when she is satisfied with her evening stroll and sniffing and making sure all is well,and then return outside to be with it. To be with the seasonal shifts and the whispering leaves in the evening wind and the cool cool air that will juxtapose with the warm earth and create that heavy dew we shall meet up with tomorrow. 

And the skies finally darken, the moon climbs, the fields fall asleep and the garden snores, holding beneath all the Hyssop and the Monarda and Mallow the sleeping bees of every imaginable kind, protected against the dew, far from their home, knowing they will awake with breakfast on the table, as the two Bats begin their feeding, beautiful sharp shapes of wings, swooping near and far each other, more insects now for better Bat lives, across the moon they glide, and the sleeping neighborhood, and the night.