2.12.15 But This Evening We Did Get To See The Sky

     This morning was grey and beautiful, with yet more big heavy snowflakes filling the air, like something out of an age old story.

     But this evening, we did get to see the sky....and the sun....once again. I know.

     The darkness and the cold let so many things rest and rejuvenate. That's what's happening here. The snow melts, here and farther up, and gives us a healthy water table for the coming spring and summer, so that things (and us. and our food) can live. Yup.

     In the meantime, while it's nap time, it sure was glorious to see the sky down on the river, and up at the Eagle Sanctuary,as one lone Eagle quietly flew by.

2.11.15 I am finding myself in a moment, where I am remembering working in my practice, for 26 years. My gratitude spilling over.

I am finding myself in a moment, where I am remembering working in my practice for 26 years, 

and so fondly thinking of all the clients I had the grace to work with. 

The practitioners I had the pleasure of training. 

The people who worked in Gwen's Organic and Wildcrafted Herbs Apothecary, and put together my formulas for clients. 

For my brilliant ever compassionate brother Sam, who taught me these things, and set me upon my way. 

To Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen, who taught me as my client, then as my friend, then as my teacher, her astounding ways. 

My thanks to my old friend Dave Rodrigues for stepping in at a moment's notice, and taking over seeing my clients, and handling my office, and seeing them still, with such remarkable skill and wisdom. 

And Pat Mead-Wheelock for being such a pleasure to share clients with all those years, who works with them beautifully, still. 

What a gift it all was. I wish it had come to an end far in the future: yet here I am, filled with such gratitude spilling over.

 

2.11.15 "I Do Not Count The Time"

"But I will still be here
I have no thought of leaving
I do not count the time"

 

"But I will still be here
I have no thought of leaving
I do not count the time"

         Sandy Denny

 

2.10.15 And It Comes To Me

Went out along the roads, 20 miles an hour, all-wheel-drive car, but a New Englander, so not underestimating much. Out in the pasture, there are those cows who wander anytime they want, and I have a glimpse of them racing about, chasing each other, having fun in the snow. 

I don't usually go about during snowstorms, but there is something special I need to do. I stop at Atkins Farm. They're open, the whole place empty, except people outside with shovels, the older one saying to the younger "So, you're back in school now? “ As they take the time to get to know each other, trying to keep up with the storm’s snowfall. Nice, small businesses. Less turnover; you sometimes matter more.

There are enormous front-end loaders all over the place, brought out especially for the big-o storm. They’ve made me smitten since I was a child. Something so dinosaur about them, like great beasts. 

There are children running about, flopping in the snow; living in an area where they are growing up having the same parents, together or not; the same homes; not too many changes. Food. Warm clothes. Nothing is perfect, but these contribute to a good beginning. Not everyone gets these normal-enough things.

The errands done, I carefully drive off to an appointment given me by an old friend, to use her gifts to support my health. 

After that remarkable support, I begin my way home, the storm settling, the roads littered with pickups and their plows.

I turn down a steep hill, and one pickup has pulled into a driveway, after not making it up the hill; I see they slid into the soft shoulder, but got out. They end up on my tail, and after a few minutes, pissed off at my slow speed, I hear them gun their engine to pass me, fishtailing their way down over the deep bump of the railroad tracks, and off around the corner.

 I've been passed by motorcycles and cars, so many times come to find them rolled , down the way. As the silent road uncurls before me, trees leaning in.
I approach the wooded area of the mountain range , that leads up up to my home. All through the woods shine golden Beech leaves, against the darkened skies, and the grey and white expanse of forest . 

And it comes to me.
There is always the catching of your eye, and then the pulling over.
No matter the weather, it can't be helped.