Uncategorized

• 4 Comments

•

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

• 2 Comments

•

The Sun, Moon and Earth are in calm reception with each other these days. I awake and feel stillness. I watch the setting sun lingering slowly on horizon's edge, as though though the sun does not want to leave the earth's presence, just yet. The night eases in quietly and slowly, joining the sparkling dance of life with fireflies and night sprites. Dancing light. The moon waxes to full Strawberry blessings.

Each luminary, pausing in the dance with each other on this long long stillness.

I awake in the mornings with gentle chirping of a pair of cardinals eating at the feeder; the buzz of hummingbirds drinking; the occasional soft hum of activity contrasts the greater gentle stillness of these days. Awe waxes easily in the grace of this season.

The heat also waxed this week, making movement difficult. My cat’s meow turned into a croaking, I sought breezes to help me breathe. I anticipated days of this heat and increased presence of the sun, I planned to simply sweat to keep cool. And then, the surprise arrived. I heard thunder.
Glorious impressive thunder.

My body trilled in hope and anticipation and sure enough the skies, unexpectedly opened releasing a torrent of water, to drench the land, the animals, the ponds and me with cooling water. I ran out and danced in it, in my warm weather clothes, soaking to the skin before it ended. Squealing with delight.

My energy completely changed
I heard the lesson for me in this moment: where we are, can change faster than we know. In this moment of pause before the unfolding of the next season, a new possibility has arrived. A new experience gifted us. I wonder, what other new possibilities might this new season bring? What might be a new goal for me to embrace with the graces and gifts this season brings?

Happy Solstice dear friends 🌞
Wishing you new possibilities of expression

•

Wee gentle night sprites have landed in their summer homes. I can hear them rustling at the very tippy tops of the trees. Their whispers become especially clear, when I linger outside between dusk and dark. One night, while enjoying the crepuscular light, I heard their gentle movement emanating from the softly rustling limbs. My ears could not hear the specific words; instead, I hear the tones of contentment, laughter, easy conversation between friends, the shaking of hands, the songs of saying, "I love you."

I imagine the greetings may go along the lines of something like ~

"Hello there! You are arrived!" "So nice to see you again," "Here I am, this year in the birches," "Have you seen so and so from uphill?" And so on. Maybe they comment on how the plants have changed~ "My this sapling is a young oak now," or "What a nice night-scape you have," or "has anyone seen little ferny?" And so forth, stumbling along, on the path of reuniting, of hanging out with easy and good friends.

Later on, the conversations will gain a deeper timbre, one that is serious about the business of melding with the wind in the trees, of the making of music in the night. For now, the tone is gentle, a little higher pitched and "Springy."

Nice neighbors to have in this warming season, Nice neighbors bringing sweet nothings to the night air.

I briefly forgot recently, that it was still indeed Spring. The night had gained a deeper chill, inspiring the making of a fire inside. So I was surprised when going outside to hear the susurrations and purrings from the neighbors in tree tops. I also felt relief that the chill had not not scare them away from their Springtime merrymaking. They seem to adapt to the fluctuations in conditions as one might modify a dance to the changing rhythms of music.

Sounds and smells and colors are all visceral reminders to me that this is Spring, the unveiling of creation. I seek each of these senses to revel in every year and this has been a bonus year with so many flowers, colors, sounds and visitors. I am glad I walked out and into the night time paths to hear the new arrivals shimmering with expectation for the season ahead. Who are you hearing in your neighborhood?

Welcome shadows, Welcome Spring, welcome sky, night noises, you and me.

• 1 Comment

•

While walking down a tree-lined lane, I tried to imagine the words, or the paint that would "capture" the experience of witnessing Spring arrive this year. Yet, this sense is not something I can put into a phrase, a photo, or a painting. The ephemeral transition offers a constant, nearly invisible motion of emergence, and unfolding; like an interval of breaths. One occurring right now, when all I can see is green. I look at the landscape or the field, and everywhere, the color of green is bleeding into one experience, into one expression of translucent light.

While gazing down the road, I feel unsure of where one thing starts or another ends. When I peer more closely, I get the impression that this light is a silvery green one. An elven silver ~ an emanation rather than a still-life experience. It as though the green is acting as a foil to draw our attention to itself. This light unfolding is barely hiding a laughing diamond sparkling light beneath the surface of chlorophyll. Sparkling codes that shine into my eyes, skin, senses and heart.

I notice, there is the way that the young leaves, so newly emerging, unfurl so tenderly that I can scarcely breathe when looking at them. Their openness holds them in contact with every cell of the universe- you, me, birds, stars, moon. Everything.

There is the way the very young animal bumps shoulders with each other without a care. Birds land within two feet of me. Red efts watch me with curiosity; I often find myself reminding the young chipmunk that, indeed, the black puma sitting nearby on the pathway's rocks warming himself, is in fact, a predator, eager for the chase.

There the way, the first sighting of anything, is such a treat to share with friends and neighbors alike. Or a field of dandelions in bloom feels like the most glorious expression of joy, and illumination of hope that one has ever experienced. Today, that field is also filled with bees.

There is the way, the day feels when I walk out of doors, onto the first truly warm day, and the air, sounds, smell, and warmth all combine to something more than those words can say, more than the sum of the parts. And you look into the person's eyes next to you, and you see that they feel it too. That you both have your mouths open, and your arms shiver with goosebumps. Sheer beauty has that magic.

These moments
These are the ones I wish I could share with you today and every day of Spring.
Hoping you feel some of this silver diamond magic wonder, seeping into and through the cracks of your hearts too this Spring.

So much love.

•

I await, for their return. Hopeful, with anticipation. I pause, listening intently, in the in-between hours, knowing that, any dusk, or any dawn now, might be the one, when I will hear the first Flute-like song of the thrush. The reclusive thrush who have come home to nest once more.

The Spring rains have arrived, the streams run through all the forest floors as the grounds, soaked through with water, are ready for the growing season, and the forest floor is soft with wet duff - all creating a perfect ecosystem for their return.

Other things that have emerged overnight too, showing the map home ~ the coltsfoot bright yellow flowers, the Red maple buds which are beginning to fall, young nettles emerging quietly from the thawed ground.
And from the animals ~ the mourning doves court in circles, bobbing after each other like the flirtatious spring warmth. The amphibians practice the music of their lifetime, with a deafening call and response. And me? I pause, always with an ear out, waiting for the unmistakable song. Practicing patience.

Today, while drinking my tea, sweetened with the last drops of honey made from last summer's coltsfoot, I had additional reasons for gratitude. The bright beautiful blooms of the colstfoot has indeed returned in abundance. Last year, I had cried in fear of loss, when the road crew dug deep, with the appearance of attempting to plow out these beautiful plants. I hoped they would be resilient and reappear. I wasn't sure... And indeed, like anything you try to ignore or suppress, the more you attempt to eradicate, rather than embrace, the more they will rear their heads triumphantly and multiply. This year, the soft plants line the sides of the of my road like trumpeters announcing their triumphant return. Welcome back!!

Now, all there is left to do is wait for the thrush. We still have a few more weeks of cold nights, which may keep them quiet. Yet, maybe tonight, just maybe, with gentle rain moving in, maybe soon, I will hear the gift of their song. The song of the gentle thrush

Wishing you gentleness as the Spring gifts nourish and emerge. Namaste

•

Snow and rain mingle on my roof this morning, arriving to bring A Surprising Spring Storm. Winter and Spring sing together, making an unusual yet quiet harmony. An a-cappella beat, in concert with the songbirds of Spring who still twitter and flit with their irrepressible vibrancy. The combination reminds me of the Thoroughly Magical life force of Spring. The ode plays on, and throughout the edges of the day. My yard today, gives the appearance of only winter~

The birds, the elementals, and the wind know better. We, like they, will ride this storm. Here and there are reminders of what secrets under today’s soft carpet of winter~
Below, are recent photos taken of moments reminding me of Spring. Whether they are of water moats around islands of snow, vernal pools, magnolia buds, daffodil leaves or maple flowers emerging I hope you enjoy these early messengers of magic ~

Namaste dear friends, Happy April storms to you. Let's ride this changing times with glee

• 1 Comment

•

it all starts with the simplest ingredients
a peek into the cupboard ~
a few potatoes, some carrots, and a chunk of cheese,
the phase of the moon, the running of wild water, a lifting of the breeze~
all these elements arrive, combining in one particular moment...

and then suddenly, there is alchemy.
The imagination feels the spark of possibility and the weavings of the moment bring whispers of hope to the soul. Suddenly, one can ask, once more, surprising oneself, the question, "What, may I create today, with these ingredients, at this moment?" here it is - possibility unfolds ~ what can we offer, today, now, from the simplest ingredients of life.

it happens just like that. one moment, there is nothing, the emptiness, the silence. the void.
the next moment, something catches the eye, catches the imagination and our notice, and in streams ~ possibility flows through us like the waters of life. when I let my edges soften, when I look around, my eyes begin to notice ~ and slowly the elements mix bringing inspiration with opportunity. a spark ignites. impressions mingle and meld into an idea and flow into the pot of life before me.

it is a random place to start. this moment. when magic and opportunity spread into fractals of shapes and vectors, when memories, feelings and desire all create motion. such an seemingly inconspicuous moment. and yet....

i root around in the cupboards hoping, trusting actually, that my hands will find the right spices to add, the joyous stroke of color to blend, the right words to speak, the beautiful notes to sing. Soon, I discover the inspirational treasures that I will add to the cauldron of life.

The winds blow softly and gently today. The colors mix with light. The light sparkles in prisms on the droplets hanging from the trees, the places where the sweet life-giving water last and linger. Smiling, I notice that the boiling water simmers the potatoes in my soup already; the red shouldered hawks circle overhead in diagrams of infinity, laughing, like gulls, and announcing their return, laughing, as if in the joy of the here and now. The sun peeks through the clouds. This moment reminds me that now is full of the miraculous, it surrounds me~ I catch the wind today and I fly.

Somehow, Equinox has arrived, today! Today, we move from the waters of Piscean dreams to the fire of Aries momentum. Happy balancing to you. If you like to read more, I wrote a little on seasonal event which you can find with this link : Seasonal Happenings

• 5 Comments

•

The air is fresh, the light enchanting, the elemental magic inspirational. I want to write about the transporting beauty I find here. Instead, I must be present to a different influence pressing on me today ~ my heart knows sadness, the place between, the uncomfortable grey edgy unknown of stillness and loss. Of expectations ground to a halt. Of being stopped midstream. When the form of what I love, leaves.

I notice during these moments, that I tend to hold my breath. As if the act of delaying the next inspiration, might improve the result. That by abstaining from breathing, I might decrease pain, or better yet, Never feel it. As if the more I can put the receiving of life on pause, the less pain I might feel. Despite this response, our path of living in a sentient body does not work that way. The longer I resist the gift of breath, the greater the experience of discomfort in my chest and body. As any natural numbness wears off, my body will indeed begin to feel. The longer, I delay this breathing into the pain, and exhaling to this moment, the worse I will feel. I can attempt to desist from it all, I can put feeling on pause, or shield myself from life itself; yet experience has taught me ~ This Won't Work. The longer I refuse the healing flow of living waters of breath, the more despair of life I will experience.

I notice during these times, how I often hold my chest still, forcing my body to refuse the connection to life. Yet, the tears I withhold sting and fester, the attempt to suspend all sense, causes my chest to ache more with the pressures. Now, is the time to surrender and allow in the abundance of life force residing all around me in the form of breath

Today, instead of avoiding the sadness, and the gift of life, I choose to breathe.
I breathe in the greyness around me. The heaviness of clouds above me. I breathe in the sense of pain and I release the unshed tears.

During the moments when no Sun appears to lift the spirits, no rain falls to soothe the heart, when it seems impossible to ever feel enjoyment of the light again, when questions of how/why seem louder than gratitude/wonder, and the pain creates a louder no, than the yes, still, I choose to breathe. To allow for the healing of inspiration and access to my soul, to let her divine presence return me to the dreams of my heart.

The pain is felt, the tears transform, the heart is softened, and though in pain, I feel less ache. Trust your heart; trust that your body, soul, breath and sound are enough. The tools of breath and sound are enough to express the unfathomable life that unfurls in mystery with endings and beginnings.

I read recently that there is something called Yin Water. While a lake and a body of water is tangible and beautiful, these are not Yin water. Yin water is the falling of snow, the mist that drifts, the spray on the wind. The tears that dry. This is the divine kissing our lives with the ineffable. This is a reminder of the ephemeral nature of spirit in form We need this. Let the tears flow, the mist moisten, the waters nourish.

The yin that nourishes, changes us and our world.

Outside my window at work, I may have mentioned, stands an ancient Sugar Maple. This aging tree... has only years in its counting left. This spring, the tree seems to know this and has started to bleed sap out of the trunk, creating a short sweet icicle. Creating sweetness in the sadness. I drink in this life. I drink in my time to share its beauty with you.

So much love.

For Luke and for those we remember, and the times when their spirit and matter danced with us.
Thank you and we love you forever

There are more short pieces of writing that describe other events in this Northeast lands. If you want to read more, the most recent piece is in link here: Seasonal Happenings. <3

• 2 Comments

•

"Everything begins in the dark
the same miracle that splits open the seed's heart,
splits open mine" Excerpt by Elise Stuart

A Pileated woodpecker knocks, knocks knocks on a hollowed tree. This early riser assiduously drills into the nearby tree, a rhythm unique to his liking, and asserting the discovery of excellent habitat full of potential for summer adventures and the raising of young.

The beat repeats throughout the morning, giving me the impression that this bird knows something about Spring's imminent arrival, despite the 6 inches of wet, spring snow that will arrive soon to coat twig and limb with blessings of white magic. This beatboxer is ready for love. Ready to shout out loud for all to hear.

I think I spy him in one of old beaches, lingering near the tippy-tops.

I laugh and inform him that he wins the prize this year, for the First woodpecker to announce the arrival of Spring. I have heard Chickadees calling out a mating song, and, as I wrote elsewhere, once a mourning dove cooing out a tentative trill. This is the first woodpecker.

The rhythm makes me curious to find other signs of Spring awakening in the woods. I want to discover any that may hide under the heavy snow, or at the tree tops. The playful season can come in mysteriously, and I like to see the first signs. Indeed, I found them : The waters are irrepressible now, feeding from deep aquifers, they bubble up mellifluously, gurgling and babbling along under the snow, in these hills. Above me, I can see that the willow has the barest hint of yellow on the swaying branches. Soon the light will turn these branches a golden yellow. And, in some areas, the ice floes are melting, and the rivers opening.

These are the outward signs that the inner fires of Spring awaken, within the Earth, within ourselves. Spring pushes up and out like a green shoot through frozen ground, like our dreams. Nature is beginning to feel the first initial loosening and unfettering of freedom. Asking us to drum up the song of our dreams. The beat of our hearts.

I listened again more closely, to the rhythm of this Pileated, wondering what might the words be that he taps out so diligently. What does he say to me?
These are the words I hear ~

Listen to your heart. There is a music and a beat there, bubbling up like Spring, no matter how grey or dark the day. No matter what storms may come.
Listen to your heart's truths and believe them. No matter how preposterous they may seem, no matter how different they feel from the norm of your day, or how your environment may contradict them.
Listen to the heart and visions of hope ~ the whispers may not be as loud as the storms and tempests that swirl and threaten, still they carry the power of life. They come from the eternal

Transitions of any kind cause disruptions as change moves up and out, like water through the permafrost. This powerful movement may shift the ground on which we stand, let us adapt, flow and grow.

The predicted snow does start falling now, and sticks thickly to each burgeoning bud. The beauty is like magic. Like the season.

In Celtic traditions, tonight starts the celebration of Imbolc which is a seasonal moment of the year, halfway between solstice and equinox. It celebrating the gifts brought with the increasing daylight
One can celebrate with fires, and greenery which reminds us that all around us the earth, the creatures and elements are responding with life. They reflect the inner awakening that unfolds within ourselves.
Some suggestions for celebration ~ light candles, cook with aromatic herbs (rosemary, bay, lavender, sage,) and plant seeds of new intentions for the coming season.

Thank you and so much love

• 5 Comments

•

They start deep in the belly
In the deep dark,
In the deep silence
In the dark of the moon

They start as embers, when the day has not yet started and one rises to sit. In the pre-dawn half light.

During this time of day, in the season of winter, there is a penetrating silence. When all motion feels loud in contrast. When sitting is the only response. When the stillness beckons me to listen.

I tune and feel a slow burning fire within that burns like a coal in my winter stove.

Some think the Spring starts in March.
Some feel the season starts when the first sap rises to greet the tree limbs with new life; Some say it is Imbolc, or St Bridget;s day, when magical tradition meets practical lambing and helps to catalyzes change in our environment,

We can see the visible sparks begin to emerge from the Earth for new life during these later Spring days.

For me, and for the birds, it starts now.
When the moon is still dark, and sun occluded by the earth. When all feels like stillness at the bottom of the ocean, or in the thick of a kelp forest.

In the stillness of the dark moon.

All quiet, a small fire ignites and purrs. Deep within an ember grows redder and brighter. A flicker of light burning like the glowing coals in my woodstove, an exhale of warmth and light

Despite the temperatures, the raging storms, the rebellious winds, the cracking of thermometers. Spring is here.
Spring stirs.
Soon to swell and surge

postscript~ I wrote this piece in the new moon, today, indeed the temperatures do drop. Birds hover near feeding sources. Winter calls out a last dance, we revel with this dance partner and swirl with the winds that blow, until the winds have blown themselves out

And stillness will return and remain bright

The Above image created by Nate Marshal, etched in honor of Solstice. and our courage to stay blazing in the storms ~ "The light may be bent, it may be dim.. but it is not extinguished."