7.2.15 I want to thank you all, here, for what happens. For what you do.

You see, I come here and begin to write what is ruminating, rumbling about and itchy to come out. Small things. Larger things. And then, pfft, off they go.

But now, I come here, and see what you’ve gone and dug up. I click on posts you have found, and shared with others, and I think “Hmm. What was it they liked here, and here?” and then I look.

I read an old post, and I think, oh, what a day that was! 

Or I think “Wow. What a rumbling-bumbling-on thought that was.” 

Or I remember the very moment when that one leaf fell, and I was struck, standing there, imagining the entire life cycle it had experienced, until that instant when it was loosened from it’s branch, and floated slowly down through all these molecules and neutrinos and all the funny human-found words we have for what is. And then that leaf settles into that iridescent dark puddle of so many late fall leaves, in water that almost froze last night. Crisp. Clear as the air we each were breathing that day, wherever we were, at that moment, when the leaf descended and landed and settled and began decomposing, after a rather glorious season in the winds and rains and dappled light of the forest.

I sit here now, the feeling of so many moments in your life there, as you read this, and my life, here, as I write. The moments happening all over the earth and the moments happening in the neighborhood where you are. In the place where you sit or stand or lie down or walk right now.

So here I find myself, thanking you for giving me moments. Yours. Mine, back to me, after you peruse and decide to share, and I notice, and I go take a look, and boom. There we all are, in that moment of time, once again.

7.1.15 In all that morning peace

The rains poured down onto the land all night, into this morning, when I woke to so many birds singing and talking, happily, as they fed on seeds and scouted for worms. At this time of year, the out-of-doors is bursting with life, with growth, as more and more types of butterflies wander around the neighborhood, shopping for their favorite meals. As various types of Hummingbirds gracefully feed from Hosta blossoms and Kale blossoms, sitting with dignity, so tiny, upon branches, perusing their lives. At last, the rains stop, the clouds that carried them moved on to another place. The rushing sounds quiet, as trees and bushes drip drip, all things washed clean, all things drinking, in all that morning peace.

 

7.1.15 Early this morning in the absolutely pouring rain, we splashed and sloshed

Early this morning, in the absolutely pouring rain, we splashed and sloshed and meandered, happy as ducks and geese, til the heavens thundered and boomed and flashed a bit too close, and we found ourselves persuaded to turn and make our way home.

 

7.1.15 Boom boom

7.1.15 Last night I went down to the river, as the day drifted seamlessly to a close.

7.1.15 A baby from the SECOND clutch, already. Watching the sunset from the safe dry warmth of home.

7.1.15 That which lies between us, and that which is not us.

Wandering around with a camera, there's this process, where we see something, stop and watch.

We circle about, taking photos again and again, closing in, pulling back, a conversation really.

Between us and something that is not us.

That seems to beckon, as we gradually come into connection.

 

7.1.16 By their delight

The wind is brash today pushing us all about 

as the sleek crows and murmuring starlings take flight 

in broad gusts of wind, by their delight