I went on down to the river, while our old
friend and Arborist came to cut down the old Maple.
The wind was brisk, the river pummeling along in its nevertheless manner.
The wind was brisk, the river pummeling along in its nevertheless manner.
The Tansy and Lotus perniculata and Clover and
Queen Anne's Lace, together with true blue Wild Flax, dotted the path with
their vibrant colors, as the sky deepened, and some weather front began to move
on into the neighborhood.
The visitors on the river today were quiet and
introspective ; one young barefooted woman with a long braid of tight curls
running back and forth , back and forth - big smile each time, as the wind
picked up and the air began to cool.
I am forever amazed at the different shifts of growth
in every environment, the river being no different.
Come early spring each year, I vow myself to
remember the progression; only to surrender quickly to the simple joy of
watching wild flowers taking their turn coming to life and prominence, then to
fade away as another group takes the stage.
The visitors to the river could easily be
described as year round devotees, always with new ones discovering the spot,
stopping you to ask all kinds of questions. With great excitement.
My kind of people, you know.
My kind of people, you know.
Wherever you live, fall in love with the wonder of the place; discover your capacity to settle into yourself ; returning regularly.
Becoming attuned to the changing seasons and
the environment's impact that shifts from one kind of summer or winter to
another, over time.
Stewards we are; of ourselves, of our neighborhoods. Of places with beauty , that have no need for our regard. Conversely it is us, in dire need of a sense of place .
Stewards we are; of ourselves, of our neighborhoods. Of places with beauty , that have no need for our regard. Conversely it is us, in dire need of a sense of place .
