5.21.15 What luxury to be so happy

"In winter we close the windows and read Chekhov, nearly weeping for his world.

What luxury to be so happy that we can grieve over imaginary lives."
                                  Lisel Mueller

5.21.15 We do not understand

“We do not understand the breakdown
of what has gone before.
We do not understand.
We cling to the familiar,
refuse to make the necessary sacrifices, 
and refuse to give up our habitual lives;
we resist our growth.
We do not understand rebirth,
do not accept the initiation rites.”

Marion Woodman

5.21.15 The neighborhood raptors glide and soar in the brisk windy May day

Betwixt and between surviving the winter, feeding and mating, the neighborhood raptors glide and soar in the brisk windy May day. The last an Eagle.

5.21.15 "Do or do not. There is no try." Yoda

5.21.15 Our own crap

Some mornings

we rise up out of bed
a bit creaky and
the bright sun
shines in our eyes
blinding us to our
own crap
and we go out
and share our warmth
with each other

5.20.15 To bide its time

One day at my cousin's home, I caught sight of her door.

The doorknob, the lace, and the talisman hanging, swinging as the door was opened and then closed, all day long. An older house.

 I tried to imagine the moment at a time in the past, when someone chose this floral doorknob, knowing it was just right for passage from the small soothing kitchen to the screened porch, perfect for sitting out, come dawn or dusk, as the world walked and drove and passed on by.

What a lifetime, a door with its handle, now graced with intricate lace, and a small token with which to bide its time.

5.19.15 Pfft. I love winter. I do.

Pfft. I love winter. I do. 

When it's cold out, you can bundle up and embrace your hot water bottle and get warm. 

Spring is lovely. Flip flops and fewer clothes, smaller bills. But the heat? Pfft. 

The gardening? Yes, nice. The mosquitoes? Not so much. Cycle of life, you got there. Seasons, and cranky times. 

Then waking to the cool morning, when it's rained, the mosquitoes are asleep til later on, and the grass is damp beneath your bare feet, the forest around you vibrant green green. 

Life at its best requires a whole bunch of ability to go ahead and just say "Oh, alright. Yes."

5.20.15 Tumbling, Pretending, Hoping

At least the young cat avoided a mishap earlier than 4:30, I kept telling myself, when she sent the white bowl, full of nourishing dried fruits and nuts and all, crashing to the kitchen floor. 

At least it wasn't the glass vase, I thought to myself, that at the last minute last night I moved to the counter, for what a dangerous mess that would have been. 
Still, It WAS 4:30, I grumbled, as I got out of bed to stealthily move dog gates to avoid lacerated paws, and then tumbled back into bed, pretending and hoping I would sink back, as I gathered the quilt about me and burrowed in. Too too early to begin another day.

Only to lie there, quietly and happily burrowed, as the hopeful pup brought noisy toys that I hid beneath the covers, and then licked me til I acquiesced and brought him out into the bright new day, the clouds all pinked and oranged in the brisk cool dawn.

5.20.15 Bearing the weight, with us, of the moment. Of the hope and the possibility; and then the day.

     People offer, and then they show up on the day. I go out with him to greet them, to thank them.
     As he gets into their car, they come round the back of the vehicle, maps fluttering in their hands, in the morning light, nervous, willing. Having decided they were going to give this day of theirs to him. To bring him and stay and wait and then bring him home. Shepherds. Showing up. I can see the feelings move across their faces, as I say "Ah, the directions, he's got that one down. Don't worry. And thank you."
      And they look up, smile at me, and we both know. That it's not an easy thing to do, what they all are offering. But for the grace, and all that. And more.
      Yet, here they are, coming round on the right day, accompanying, regaling, falling quiet when he dozes on the way home.
      Bearing the weight, with us, of the moment. Of the hope and the possibility;  and then the day.

5.17.15 Last night, down by the farmer's fields

Last night, down by the farmer's fields, in the cool of the late day, the colors were just blazing. My my my.

5.17.15 As one more May day lands on it's feet.

Off he goes, to see his old friends gathered, down the road, for brunch. As the garden waits and the vacuuming waits and the birds sweep through the yard, feeding small hatched ones or having spats over territory. While huge resolute Bumble Bees watch a portion of wall carefully, diligently protecting their designated homes, and we live and breathe as one more May day lands on it's feet.

5.17.15 This morning the grasses were wet and iridescent with a heavy dew

This morning the grasses were wet and iridescent with a heavy dew, the fog down below the conservation field swirling in the early morning breeze, the sun coming up over the range through the haze, looking so much like it's cousin, the moon.

 

5.17.15 Everything Changes.

Everything changes. Just observe one place in the land, for a few seasons. Watch the insect populations and the intricate nature of the ecology. The drainage, the exposure to light; so many factors that result in the mutable lay of the land. What grows there. Who lives there, and who moves away. What synergies develop, and then shift and shift again, over time.