3.18.16 All along the way

     Down by the farmer's fields, the wind was gusty, with some roar to it , as it crashed through the forest . A beautiful skunk with a broad white stripe and a limp was making its way across the road down a bit from us, and seemed to be intent upon meals that lay in the thick of the field.
     A truck lumbered by, but swerved, and left the small creature alone . Another car came by, and managed to do the same. I could see that finally, they were safe and left alone.
     I hustled Dante down down the dirt road to evade the skunk, as I pulled up my collar, and wished for my hat.
     All along the winter corn were tiny hoof prints of young deer, precise and curved, who had come by to feed in the night.
     In the oasis of trees midfield was a large flock of Starling, whistling and clicking and keening to each other , so lovely a piece that I had to stop and watch them in their delight, beneath the azure skies and the thick beautiful clouds.
     The dirt road was covered with glistening tiny black slugs of all ages, the fields showing signs of new burrowing by awakened woodchucks , whose luxurious brown pelts turn golden by summer's end.
     It was a walking day, not for running, but we threw the ball and visited down by the wind rippled water's edge, glad, after some difficult days, for the respite of Spring's beginning.

3.18.16 Revisiting beauty

Yesterday the skies were dramatic and ranging from vibrant blue to deep violet, the clouds nothing short of outrageously remarkable . All kinds of things going down in the sky above.

Course, something was off with my phone, and my camera still broken, so I kind of languished,watching one incredible rain cloud racing across the horizon there, then another tall-as-a-huge-building cumulus here. 

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In the afternoon, we finally got to our walk, and due to diligent deleting of vociferous volumes of writing , my phone was able to kindly take a shot of the amazing blue beyond. 

And ,as I gathered the pup out if the car for his thunderous run, I smiled to myself . Pleased. 
Because really , there's nothing like revisiting beauty. And wonder. Again and again.

 

3.16.16 Stravinsky

“Music is the best means we have 

of digesting time.” 

                                                                                          Igor Stravinsky

 

3.16.16 No matter

     There are days, and then years, when we stand by, watching our own small lives come and wander on along.

    Watching as the world-as-it-seems-from-here shifts and changes, and we respond, each of us with our own predilections, with our own presumptions.

     And yet, no matter the human machinations and the daily choices of the nearest herd of deer of the neighborhood; no matter the whiling ways of the flock of geese heading overhead this evening, still the earth remains.

     Sometimes, I think that if we lack trust in anything, we can once again go find it in the broad powerful hurling earth, in the endlessness of all.

3.16.16 Once again

Here, the earth is once again preparing to quietly burst forth, into it's time of exuberance, of grand and great growth. 
          The winds of March slowly settle down, the rains shift in their intensity, and no matter the hail of yesterday, pelting down upon the houses and fields, still on will come the time of warm. 

          Of green and babies and buds becoming flowers becoming insect orgies. 
          Up will come our collards and kale and beans and cabbage, the carrots tossing up into the swift streams of breeze their delicate green lacework. Up will come my herb garden, the momentous Elecampane thrusting it's tall self into the skies with its elongate velvet leaf and striking yellow blossom.
          I was sitting today on the wet still-cold ground, by my garden, as the pup learned to tow himself around by the cement block, and then, after delivering to my neck a cold dirty kiss, amused himself by doing bunny searches in the raised bed.
          I was pulling dried grasses and old leaves out of the garden, inhaling the stark smell of the mint and the pungent of the rich earth. Overhead all the birds were flirting and courting and discussing neighbors and trying to settle disagreements and pick out nest sites.
     So I closed my eyes in the mid March sunshine, and leaned back on my dirty wet hands and could almost imagine the earth hurtling along its orbit ,and wondered if that meant its orbit was mine

     and found that in fact I wished for nothing more at all.