Words and Pictures- Gwen McClellan: 5/31/15

Today, the skies are cloudy and dark. Pendulous clouds pass slowly overhead.

The river is swollen with recent rains. Full, and clean and clear. With some debris wandering down, along with the various wood ducks.

The wild roses just beginning to blossom, as the horsetail thickens, spiderwort appears.

It's early, and no one is about.

For the most part all you see of the ducks are their tails up into the air, as they feed below the water.

All along the river are the small mouths of small fishes, having their dinner happily and hungrily, as the river carries them downstream.

Down the path the landscape opens up, as the woods recede, replaced by farmers fields.

This year, thankfully, the crop is corn as opposed to potatoes, so they won't be spraying that enormous pesticide application right next to the river, come fall.

Down the river, in the distance on the opposite side I see one loan individual, standing by the waters. About to begin the day.

Here, the land by the path is littered with the beautiful yellow lotus paniculata, blossoming now, a modest member of the Lotus family.

Someone on a crew boat sweeps by, the ducks barely taking notice, their silhouettes near the horizon casting a shimmering shadow.

A Great Blue Heron is disrupted from their breakfast by the boat, and flies, then flies again to a higher perch, to wait out the intruder. How curious, to use the logical strength of arms, legs, and back to row powerfully, pushing yourself against the current, on the river. And yet, unable to see where you're going.

Through the cornfields are visible deer tracks, where they came up from their drink by the river, through the poison ivy and Sumac, across the path, and down into the cornfield.

Here in warm seasons, we lose the ability to go out on freshly fallen snow, and see the tracks of who wandered by in their search for food, or swept down from the night sky to capture an errant mouse for dinner.

The broad clean leaves of the burdock extend themselves in spring delight. Cleansers of livers ,of skin, of organs and systems.

Small colonies of yarrow grow here and there, genetically self-limiting in their size, delicate leaves growing quickly.

Yellow Dock is tall already, it's seeds becoming pink tipped.

The wild asparagus setting seed, having finished the season, as other things rise up to have their time. Everything in its season.

But here along the river, when the growing things are tall enough, in the early morning we see where the coyote or the deer walked through the grasses and the herbs, on their way down to the river for a morning drink.

n the meantime, all the birds have been awakening, and they're singing away, working, parenting, carrying on with their lives.

Baltimore orioles chase each other about, as the true blue swallows fly, streamlined and swift, through the skies.

Along comes a husky-cattle dog mix canine, delightedly sniffling along the path, greeting me with a smile. Their person greets me, and turns about to walk together back to the road. We get to talking about his dog, and I begin to share some observations about the functioning of her hips. He looks at me excitedly, and I offer to show him how to do a little acupressure he can use daily to gradually straighten the spine of his dog, and prevent further hip and knee problems. I show him where the vertebrae are anteriorly displaces, the inflammation and her symptoms of tenderness, then teach him which herbs he could order to use daily as a safe anti-inflammatory, to keep her inflammation down. He smiles, shakes my hand, so pleased, as I smile back, and say goodbye.

All across the path are the smallest airborne and settled seeds of some tree nearby, casting their future upon the land.

As purple blossoms grow and open, reaching for the sun.

When my children were young, they did not fall asleep easily.

When they finally reached an age where they could manage to stay in bed reasonably, I would sit on the floor of the hall between bedrooms, and play and sing songs. They would call out requests, and my old 12 string Yamaha and I would do our best.

One of their favorites was-"To everything, turn turn turn

There is a season, turn turn turn

And a time for every purpose under heaven”.

What an apt song, for the rotating turns plants take in the country side. For ants and bears and Oaks. And certainly, for us, in our lives.

Life's a funny thing, in hindsight. If you want and you can, you go round supporting others because you choose to.

Then sometimes, you get sick and have to be quiet and can't go do those things anymore.

And maybe your beloved gets sick, and suddenly, there are ALL these people showing up to help, in all these ways. It blows you away. You appreciate it, gradually learning to
accept.

They're not necessarily the ones you did so much for. It all just goes round and round of it's own volition.

So, I bent to figuring out how to affordably thank everyone. Little biddy copies of my photographs, so tiny and sweet, to place on paper and stick in envelopes to say thank you.