The Sunflower bends to greet the morning sun. From where I sit, she faces away from me this morning, leaning a little as if in anticipation. The companion plant, the mullein, who grew next to her, both volunteers in a garden of onions, remains upright and solid. They await illumination.

There is a young hummingbird at the feeder now. She feeds with gusto and is clearly not sure of the protocols. Sometimes, another female shoos her away. The other adult is frankly very half-hearted about the scolding, not making much fuss about sharing this feeder. Perhaps this is a game for them. Or maybe the somersaults are a training of sorts. Mostly, they have a truce and share the feeder easily - I also think one of them is sitting on eggs. The older one only visits me in the beginning and the end of the day.

In between, I have a wide assortment of other visitors. Many of whom, have not often visited my feeder this summer. Maybe they visited at other times, when I am normally at work. Today, I have devoted the day to sitting on my front doorstep to watch the comings and goings of life in my garden. Here is the log ~

Mourning doves arrive, and who by sheer size, these shy creatures actually subdue the resident chipmunks - no small feat to convince them to share the abundance.

Baby Juncos also fly in, accompanied by parent. Hello, sweet Junco!!! I have not seen you fly here since Spring!

Mama Cardinal also swings by for a quick snack, chirping loudly, as they do.

And Goldfinches too.. But, they did Not scare the chipmunks and therefore, did not dally long. Nor do the chickadees.

I woke early in hopes of hearing the catbird and thrush who have serenaded the forest in the dawn hours until a few weeks ago. Maybe they are quiet now because they sit on nests. I hope so. I listen diligently for the thrush, knowing they will migrate soon, and have heard them in the deep woods. I hope their nests have been successful and their progeny and those of the other birds here in the forest thrive and multiply.
With their presence I feel abundant.

The dragonflies manage the mosquitoes, mostly. The butterflies flock to the flowers. This range of color and diversity feeds me. Together we comprise an ecosystem, of which I am a singular part. And together we flourish and thrive. Together we build abundance.

I hear rains may come tomorrow ~
to cool the earth and put out mental fires.
To drench us in balms of ease
Our skin, like the earth's needs this soothing coolness.
We welcome the rain's calming influence.

Until then, watching the birds stills me. Allowing my tight nervous system to relax and flow. The birds bring me ease, wonder and beauty. I find, that Watching them commingle, in their paths, and on their flyways, helps me lean into trust, to trust in the paths in my own life, seen and unseen. Their blissful presence reminds me in this moment, that sometimes, it is better to simply trust, dive in and sing. I'll lean into this good wisdom today.

Notice the pink queen's anne lace in the above photo. I think pink, that comes in to welcome the day and night is a miracle

Love you all so much. Thank you for reading and supporting this blog. More to come soon

Namaste

Days feels subdued this time of year. The morning chorus is not as exuberant, the bird calls less riotous, the soundscape incorporates the hum of crickets and an occasional low note of a frog. The fog, and sometimes mist, rolls in too, in the beginning and end of the day, dampening the sounds, and increasing a sense of quiet. The days ebb slowly and gently into night, like neighbors lingering at a garden fence before they move on, to their next destination. Gardens demand less digging, more tending, as the photo below demonstrates.

Perhaps all the captivating sound and drama that amazed us in early June still exists in July-August, only spread out more evenly now throughout the day, with less dips and spikes.

Whatever it is, I feel a shift. And, I confess, I feel it as foreign. I tend to relish the whitewater of early summer ~ the whitecapped filled crashing of waves, the musical conversations lingering in the air, the unknown, the chorus of possibilities.

Now, the river of summer, has lead me into a calmer waterway with banks wide, pace slow. I feel as though I am on a riverboat where the activity entails watching the occasional jumping of fish, or the chittering fishers. It is luxuriant, evenly paced.... Regardless, I can't find its rhythm. I find that my inner rhythm, the one that tends to seek the noise, the laughter, the crest of the wave, feels at a loss. What am I to do? What is the most precious thing calling me now? What is this energy? and how do I synchronize to it?

Long gone are the days of Solstice with its high voltage push to create; now, here, is a slower thoughtful pace. Perhaps this quiet is like the easy space between words in a conversation amongst friends who don't always need to speak, who find comfort resting in long lapses of silence. How do I learn to slow to this new rhythm?

I shall start by asking myself, what do I hear, feel and see?

I hear a low buzz of a bee, and then a quicker one of a hummingbird, passing en route to a flower. I hear the ever present gift of crickets, chirping their tune for themselves. I hear the titmice fledglings confidently calling in a laughing tone to each other.

I feel a breeze called up by the trees. I feel the growing humidity of the day slowing my breath and movement. I feel the damp dew under my feet.

I see... Ahh, I see, the green. everywhere. The gift of Vermont. I see the flowers to be, flowers still fresh and flowers spent, passing on their pollen. As though time is unraveling in the slowed down pace of motion pictures.

Now, I have slowed enough to hear the wind that whispers too, "notice me." A wind that brings a smile, saying, here, here, here. I feel the wind on my face and how it embraces the creatures as the wave passes. The wind has opened my eyes and I see the radiance inside all these lives. The life force that is shimmering in the light, beckoning you and me to receive the gifts present. Here, now, pulse, breathe, listen. Listen to the light of now, here. pause, be and, make room for all this light. And, Radiate. Radiate your light, our light.

The subtle winds of nurture and care of early summer have shifted gently and not so subtly to Notice and attend to the light within and the light without. Let them have dialogue, give them time to pause too, as if they are old friends, where there can be both moments of cacophony and moments of silence. Let the unknown creep in with ease so that magic can unfold before your eyes in a diversity of song.

I see the light shining off the green life around me. Which makes it sure hard to pull out that bolting lettuce in my garden ~ it is so pretty in reds and greens, I move a few over, to give room for the new. And leave a few for brilliance. I notice a self-sown mullein who nestles comfortably in the plot alongside with companion plants. I Ieave that friend too. Now, I can imagine the magic that may unfold here in this little bit of wild.

A little wild in my garden of summer offering me the most magical gifts of light.

The harvest from the wild is a gift
that once given opens a deepening
relationship between
given and gifted.
~RW Kimmerer