The yurt appears to have a new resident. I do like the idea of a house mate, yet the situation is likely to be seasonal.

Living this close to the outdoors, a wide variety of denizens arrive for a visit : spiders (much too big for my comfort, but I am learning,) snakes, skunks, raccoons, bears, and now, this newcomer.

It started sometime around July, when I heard little pattering of feet scampering across the rooftop. It would wake me in the night. Maybe, I thought, a mouse, who had crawled up the walls, has gotten itself stuck, and can't crawl back down. Of course, then, I attempted to be helpful to this small neighbor by placing a long hophornbeam limb (light, and thin,) against the roof. I hoped the mouse would use this beam as a bridge to escape the roof. I envisioned that this creature would go to the edge, then run along down the beam to reach the ground, and then be free. My motives were both altruistic from concern for the health of the mouse, and selfish, from a desire to sleep through the night. But no, around midnight and then again at dawn, the pitter patter of feet would start back up. The escape route was not effective and the running continued.

I felt that a mouse, or a flying squirrel, two animals that frequent the yurt, would surely be able to navigate the impromptu bridge. Perhaps this animal is a baby, and too afraid to climb? I wondered many nights about my visitor/resident.

Eventually, the sound, over the course of a few weeks began to shift from galloping of feet to softer fluttering sounds across the roof top. It began to remind me of the whirr a dragonfly makes when trapped under a plastic tarp. It fluttered across the roof, paused, rested then resumed. Did I hear a high pitch shrill with it too? Could it be.... could this four-legged animal, be a bat?

I began, when I woke, to listen carefully to the sounds from the roof in an attempt to discern its source. It became a mystery that I wished to unlock. The sounds were my only clues. A mystery that still is unsolved.

It sounded to me, as if something was trying to take off from the roof. The sounds came only at night, and one of the waking times was always just before dawn. Scrape, patter, patter, brush brush. Eventually, the sounds did not wake me, nor did I hear them anymore when I awoke early before dawn to check. The mysterious source just disappeared. Did this creature succeed in the undertaking? Did they find freedom and the ability to take flight?

I won't ever know for sure. I will say though, soon after the quieting of my night time sounds, I did happen to notice a family of bats flying overhead. Maybe pure coincidence, and yet Here is what my imagination suggests ... Here is the story I created, one that suits my fancy and sensibility ~ perhaps the yurt has become a host for a family of bats that live on the roof edge. They linger there to raise their babies. I imagine, at dawn they find an edge, on the northside, under the whispering birch and grape vines that hang over the roof, to sleep, until dusk calls them out to hunt once again.

Perhaps the regular sounds corresponded initially, to the regular feeding of babies by a mother. Perhaps all the rustling occurred around or even just after feeding time. Then later when running and rustling, the new one was attempting a running take off. Practicing and practicing and practicing until it actually happened, and flight was accomplished.

I like this story so I researched bats and learned that Mothers continue to suckle babies through July and into August. (That was when I was hearing the scrapping and patterings.) At about 3 weeks, bats are very small and learning to fly. The source said that they can be found "on the ground learning to fly." I guess the yurt roof was the ground where this baby learned to take off.

I frequently see three bats above my head at dusk now. I also read that September through October is mating season. That would explain why I also see one chasing another and chirping at her... The cycle starts over and life continues.

I could stop this post there. Yet, I am clear, that cohabitation is a challenge for all of us humans. We like our "creature comforts." We like our set ways, patterns, habits. The unknown, and the unfamiliar is difficult to accept. When something interferes with our comforts, or infringes on a sense of safety, then we seek change, justice, and for some people sadly, retribution. It is difficult to sit in not knowing, and remain in curiosity. That choice was easy enough for me when the visitor was a bat above me, but I have my limits too. Ones that push my inner knowing to the edge of discomfort.

For example, I certainly feel rather grumpy to the point of inflexibility with the mama mouse who has made a home in my vacuum for her babies. Mice housemates feel one step too close. Perhaps I could learn to co-exist with them though... The sight of the small creatures helps me feel compassion for her hard work. I will pause before deciding to relocate them. I will breathe into my discomfort and allow the challenge. Maybe I can learn to discuss my needs with mama mouse.

Horror, discomfort and sheer revulsion are interesting responses to another being that lives on planet earth. The sheer discomfort we feel at the idea of living together is an opportunity for my self-reflection.

A wise person, once said to me, that it is important to understand the difference between discomfort, and danger. When in danger, take a course of action that creates safety for all. Action that allows us to mutually blossom in the beauty of the garden of Earth.

For now, I pause and breathe into my discomfort and ask for help to find the right path forward that is mutually respectful to their and my needs. This way, we can learn from the mysteries of life and learn to live more peacefully in a world where we will thrive together.

I made a collage, as seen in the top photo, in honor of the beautiful things that the mouse loves to use to make her nest. She is quite sensitive to beauty too.

Information and image on bats from https://www.bats.org.uk/about-bats/a-year-in-the-life-of-a-bat

A new crowd has arrived
in the neighborhood, who are enjoying a garden buffet.

These rare and even days of early Autumn, when daylight warms us easily, and nights, feel cozy, and when most of the summer flock has moved on to warmer climes, the forest has brought a new set of friends. I knew they were new, because they had to work out flying rules with each other. They had to figure out how to negotiate the voracious chipmunks, the feisty loud bluejay. And how to find waiting posts while I delivered the repast. They flutter in an out to avoid me and each other, but don't move too far away.

They perch on tall goldenrods, awaiting service, waiting for me to put their morning meal on the feeders, flying in quickly to snack, and then flitting off even faster with up and down flight patterns wishing to enjoy their meal elsewhere; they seem to prefer to eat and away, out in the open, and away from me and the feline predator. The newcomers consists of recently hatched chickadees, sparrows, robins, bluejays, cardinals, and at night, owls.

I sprinkle seeds in and on the different stations, keeping in mind the different birds' needs. After all, I offer the seeds for birds, but often other animals like the food as well. The arena includes chipmunks, raccoons, skunks, rabbits, the adorable opossum and occasionally a bear. Not every day, but often, I look out my door and see a four legged mingle with their not too distant winged kin, enjoying the feast.

I heard this quote from Humberto Maturana (as translated by P Cumplido,) "Love is giving space to the other, to allow other to have and be a presence." In the space of witnessing each other we have the encounter which allows the heart to grow and expand with love. I like thinking these guests are learning how to provide space.

Some of the newcomers may stay for winter, others, will stay only to enjoy the pleasant weather before winter winds chase them south. All appear to mingle freely, indeed they have learned how to fly with each other. A white-throated sparrow trills, a chickadee cavorts. General contentment flows in the garden buffet, where we rest to enjoy the sun, eat at the feeder of life and feel companionable with kin. There is vacationing vibe at the feeders this early October.

They have helped to ease the sadness of saying goodbye to many of the summer's residents; I find I am relishing this glowing season more quickly than usual. I think it is from the new friends who add to the joyful dance of leaves with their twitters and chirps.

I had another encounter, the other day, with winged kin, while driving north near Ottauquechee river. During this drive, I happened to glance up and saw a bird that immediately made me want to pull over and reach for my binoculars.

Surely, I thought, That, is an eagle. But who is with it?
And why is this bird dipping and dancing, showing its vulnerable undersides? Flashing their transitional white plumage in the Autumn sun? And is that indeed another eagle? I had stopped at a Gorge where I eventually counted and comprehended that 10 birds of various sizes and ages, were flying in a thermal mere feet above my head ~ circling, dipping and then rising again. They were lingering, not migrating, yet. Clearly enjoying a convergence of rivers, mountains, and winds. Here is where I experienced an encounter I will not forget. As I watched, this story unfolded ~

The one adolescent bald eagle turned into five, kettling over the gorge. And in this kettle, the raptors were dancing, playing actually, with five ravens, purposefully moving toward and then flipping over and under their smaller kin. Somersaulting and twirling into barrel rolls. Flying in and then away in graceful patterns. So large, I could never keep more than two birds in my view, and sometimes not even that. The ravens kept close by and joined in the dance as well they could.

Two of these birds stayed close and marked each other's moves in tandem. Moving in tandem as practiced good friends ~ dancing, cavorting, and twirling together.

Eventually, some of the ravens and eagles traveled on, and south. That is, the eagles traveled south. The ravens lowered into the valley, below sight. Before leaving, one of these pairs of ravens hovered so near to each other that the top one, could and did gently, carefully, lowered his wings, to brush the tips of the other.

And in a final gift, the last pair to leave the Gorge, was an eagle and a raven duo. They were flying so close to each other, in tandem, as the two ravens had just done, that they nearly touched. They flew with ease and presence. A gift of time and space. They continued south and on, beyond my field of vision. And though I could still imagine I heard the music, I no longer saw them.

Have you ever had the experience, where some thing, some music, some art, is so entirely beautiful that you spontaneously start weeping? I did, on the side of busy 91N highway. My heart was cracked open at the beauty of connection and encounter. I wished to share that encounter with you. To imagine our cousins spontaneously, peacefully, demonstrating love and co-existence. My heart ached with joy and beauty.

once again, these kin are my guides to living on this planet.

Thank you, for reading this post, for imagining this peace with me. Blessings to all of you, all who travel on finding one's warmth, and all who stay and dwell in the northern forests. Namaste, welcome home to your hearts.

"Life is about light."
"Everything that is alive has to have light inside of it.
When something falls away from the light, it starts to decline." from R Rudd in "Transforming depression"

The light has changed as we move from Summer to Autumn. The light. The bright confident roar of light that filled our days, has quieted. There is a gentleness now, in this sideways light. Yet, after the brilliant radiant blaze of summer, this lowering, this shift of this star, feels like a falling, a moving toward decline.

The gardens hover between decay and tenderness. The flower heads brown into their seed heads. The light during the day, decreases in intensity and length palpably. The birds, ahh, the birds, my and the forest' companions, are moving away now, moving south.

One morning, a hummingbird hovered just to my right, above my ears, above the flowers, while I was reading. I realized, that this little friend, may indeed be saying, goodbye.
I turned my head as this fleet-winged friend, turned and sped south, as fast as the wind, on whirring wings. I called out ~ "Blessings dear one. Travel safely. I hope you may come back to share summer with me, and this land next year."

I am saying good bye to many of Summer's friends. I notice the leaves appear to linger, slowing their falling day, gently moving with the winds on the trees limbs. Gently moving with the winds of change. Soon, they will fall to the ground too.

Knowing this, I turn my face to the sun, like a sunflower, and whisper gratitude. I seek out the friends still here. I seek where the light still radiates out from the core. I plant the seeds of new life with my attention now. Like a harvest of gratitude.

For now, I notice, that I still hear the faint trill of both resident and migrant thrush nesting in the nearby woods; the baby owl practicing her new singing voice in duet with her parent. Bluejays congregating and calling, geese on the river, practicing flights over the fields. The crickets hum, the frogs chirp. The bear rummages through, the raccoons roll out as dusk calls, and the adolescent skunks forage in my yard for their evening meals. (I have three different teenage skunks, each with distinctive tails. And when all three are present, it is a tableau of black and white.) I leave my screen door up so that I may better hear all of these neighbors' entertaining lives.

Each flower that blooms, each bright moment feels so poignant. Yes, I miss the chorus of birds that fills the air in the height of summer. And the possibilities of new growth and greenery. The noise, the heat. The cacophony. I miss these and I also dig deep and notice the sparkle that is still present.

In this sparkle, I create a dream of light with colors of many hues. I breathe in the belief in the light that is present. What can I dream with this architecture of light that streams in with Autumnal quiet? How can I still revel in the memories of summer and mold them anew into new devotions? This is an inner journey as well as an outer, to surrender to this flowing change that shifts as I watch. Seasons, and light flowing from one resplendent vision to the next. Breathing. I surrender.

A male junco hops out of the shrubs and the low asters. Seeking new seed for the belly. Perhaps he is one of the babies from this summer. Perhaps he has chicks still to feed. A beautiful wind arises as the clouds move. A wind from the trees. Asters, goldenrod, golden sunflowers wave in this breeze. The hilltops are aglow with early Autumn sun.

The roar of joy, melts and merges into a murmer of a prayerful chant

"Be wildly devoted to someone,
or something.
cherish every perception.
... forget about control.
Allow the Beloved to be herself, and to change.

Passion and compassion, holding and letting go--
this ache in your heart is holy.
accept it as the rise of intimacy with
life's secret ways.

Devotion is the divine streaming through you."

From Radiance Sutras, sutra 98

I wrote a little piece in honor of the Equinox, You can read it here Seasonal Happenings

Happy Fall, and Happy Equinox. So much love <3

The teacup, round and comforting
holds deep warmth,
Like a Tibetan bowl, singing in waves,
Sounding out incantations of love

I center this day, with tea in hand, held by fingers around the whole
feeling the edges of the cup and the edges around me.

This tea is a physic, a singing receipt for health. I listen ~
I see my hands holding this cup, a cup reminding me of my own inner fire.
I feel the breath of wind blowing across my face gently, moving wisps of hair, as they pass.
I smell the mowed grass.
I hear the crickets and lawnmowers singing their choruses languidly; I hear a pair of geese announcing preparations for migration.
I welcome the warm red fleece scarf that wraps me in a soft embrace.

I notice that my fingers though, hold tightly to these edges, to this cup.
I am Here, I am here, it is Now.

A moment of pause. A moment of resilience in shifting sands. I feel the spareness of Autumn’s approach. My gaze holds steady on the cup I hold still. I sit listening ~

Listening to my breath, my heart, my inner waves until I can again slide into trust and flow. I listen to the inner and the outer calls, seeking balance.

Today's fog has lifted; the skies have cleared, the light lingers here, at the day’s end, as the day turns to night.

Still, for now, I gaze within, into my cup of warmth, and listen to the circulating songs.

These songs remind me to exhale. To release this breath, to allow for and welcome this small death in a cycle of time, to balance both stillness and motion. To Be. Still. Allow. Motion. In the spareness I experiment ~ Breathe in this Equinox light , breathe out the tension, breathe in the unknown, breathe out the fear. Breathe in Life into this balance point of time, of change, breathe out stagnancy. Breathe in possibilities, breathe out history. Breathe in. And out.

I wonder, at times, like before the dark of moon, or before a seasonal shift like this one, what does it mean to Still be here? What does it mean to shift our attention to the rise and fall of our breath? What does it mean if, at times, that is All we can do, in this strange experience called life? Life shiftings and whorled changings can feel unnerving, disorienting.
Yet, Soon, we do become re-oriented to the new incantations, and to the rising and descending circles and singing rhythms.

The wheel shifts and We are here, and now. And breathing soon becomes more fluid. Once more we feel re-oriented to flow. One moment does flow into the next... and we learn to sing with that.

After this stretched moment of pause, after sitting to listen to these musical spheres, I discover I can answer my questions now. I find I say yes to the unknown path before me, yes to change, yes, to going deep deep into this creative, vulnerable changing ecstasy called life.

 "Behind the subtle breezes that whisper through the treetops, fine and delicate energies pulse into your world from the spirit world, from an energy level not visible to your senses but as tangible as all you touch and hear. You detect these energies, taste them, feel them. They come pulsing out of the early morning air above the trees, gliding swiftly past you, lifting tiny hairs on the surface of your skin....You can not see them, but you sense them and know they are there."

   "If there were words put to these subtle conversations of nature, what message would they convey, these designs and patterns, sliding quietly into your world from a realm beyond? You watch and listen, blending with what comes your way.  Somewhere in these currents, there Is meaning for you." Ken Carey

The most obvious impulse now in the forest is the shifting from End of Summer to Autumn. The patterns of light, design and energy shift the season, at first imperceptibly, and at last quite clearly, with changing colors in the trees, decreasing intensity of sunlight, and increasing of the colder winds blowing from the North.  I embrace the messages within this change and listen, watch and feel to hear what its meaning is for me.

I live in a country that is turning gold and red of an indescribable beauty.  I declare that there exists, this Autumn, all the colors in the light spectrum in the falling leaves. There are reds so deep and bold surely they must contain purple and blue. Yellows so alive they levitate off the ground as seen in the picture heading the quote above. One path that I took through the woods was full of yellows and reds so vibrant that I felt almost unrooted.

For sure, color, which is light, surrounds us and enriches us; color and light, forms of vibration, transmit energy as one walks the forest paths.  This increase in vibration is one of the many gifts the trees offer this glorious Fall. The gift of color is a living celebration of life. The light enfolds us from above in the tree tops, from below on the forest floor, and at times as a shower of glittering gold confetti when the leaves glide and tumble to the earth.

My friend Lynn remembers a Pecan tree telling her that "when the wind blows, the leaves surrender and dance."  Whether that dance is in the tree tops, or in the cascading colors twirling through the air, does anything describe the beauty of Autumn more eloquently? The trees are surrendering to the beautiful inspiration of the energy of the wind and dancing in release.

And so do we dance, as we listen to the wind of our soul, moving each to take the path to our own heart, where we have all the information we need.  Listening to the impulse of the energies within the day, the wind, and the sun, we are being given that information we need to take our very next step, We are blown gently, or not so gently, to walk toward that which brings us joy and laughter; even if the steps are unfamiliar. Trust that the map in your heart is sure.

Following unfamiliar steps requires a willingness to let go of cherished routines, expectations, thought patterns, or concepts. Those are the known paths and patterns. What the now asks is for us to find the new patterns and possibilities.  When we let go of the outdated leaves of the summer we dance freely in the wind of the present.  In releasing the legacies of the past we can celebrate for joy like the trees.  

The trees are dancing in celebration as they flow with the energy behind the wind.  And when we allow for the beauty of the now to move us, so do we.

 

I had the chance to visit the outskirts of Philadelphia at the end of August. I did not anticipate the collective and individual grandeur of the ancient trees there.  The city has history and the trees remember.  I also did not know that there was a well maintained arboretum.  When looking for places to visit, the first thing that JUMPED off the page to my eyes were the words "Morris Arboretum." So I listened to the nudge and made plans for a visit.  After three hours, I sat on a park bench blissfully content.  I was awed by the size and majesty of the trees: pure heaven.

It is hard to convey in words the grandeur of something that one experiences in spirit, sensation and emotion.  Here in the blog, I attempt to do that, and still, I am fearful of failure with this place.  Sitting with the elders in this forest garden gave one a sense of wonder and awe.  Ken Carey in Flat Rock Journal, suggests that a forest is not a forest (I paraphrase) until it has elders.... I imagine that the whole city of trees benefits from the Presence of the Elders in the Morris Arboretum; I envision it as a network system of interweaving, interwebbing support to every street and back yard tree in the city.

Where I live in the Northeast, where storms and other extreme weather affect the size of our trees, a Hop Hornbeam that may be 100 years old will be less than a foot in diameter.  In the Morris Arboretum many of the trees were well over 2 feet in diameter.  Some were several feet wide. To be in their presence was as a benediction.

Regarding the specific trees: The White Ashes - magnificent.  Buckeye, Black tupelo, Tulip tree (which I love to call by its latin name:  Liriodendron Tulipifera) were easily 3 feet in diameter. There are also non-native beauties: Dawn Redwood, also with a beautiful latin name (Metasequoia), Bald Cypress, and an amazing Katsura tree that the traveling family brought back from southeast Asia in the early 1900s.  I will include a picture of this tree, though definitely NON-native:

It is interesting to note that the connection to this tree came as the purity of its beauty and love, not words.

There were trees that spoke.  And I feel the need to pass on the message that one particular tree gave to me although this one was on a country club side street.  It's message came to me as a surprise.  I Am finding that one must never assume Where one will find the most important message, messenger, or friend.  Stay open to Possibility and surprise, that is the gift.

This is how this particular gift came: when in the city I felt the urge/yearning often to walk under the tall elder trees.  I noticed that when I did so, I would feel noticeably and immeasurably more refreshed.  I was not clear as to why until one time at dusk, as I approached one magnificent Ash, I decided to stop just at the edge of its large canopy of leaves.  I looked up into the growing dark and felt admiration.  Soon, I heard words in my head.  I was surprised by them and found myself questioning myself as I don't usually hear so clearly, nor from a casual walk in a city. So I was unsure.

It seems that the magnificent Ash tree was informing me to trust in their (the trees') support.  But not only me, but all of us are invited to trust in their universal support to listen to our hearts, to listen to the messages of our inner guidance. The words were: Trust in our universal support for light workers with transportational messages.

I share this with you, not knowing how to fully understand this message.  I did note that my energy was once again refreshed, rebooted, reset to return to human interaction.

May this message give you the same lightness.