Sweet Encounters

Grace grows best in winter.

Samuel Rutherford

Every morning, I hang out the feeders.

This winter is especially snowy and cold,

So I don’t chase anyone away.

I thought I was doing it for the animals-

But when the buck came, watching the squirrel

struggle to get food from the squirrel resistant feeder,

and began dropping seeds on the ground… sharing…

I realized they’re giving me a greater gift.

I am witnessing the grace of a wild life.

The doe also came, with her fawn -

Standing at the feeder together

Eating together.

They will survive without my help.

They will find other feeders, other food

When I fly south,

But the doe and her fawn,

The buck and the squirrel

Have shown me their love.

They’ve been my close companions

In the silent calm of morning

In the loneliness of winter

Where the white blanket has fallen

And stayed. And I am warm with

Affection for this snow,

And the grace it brings

Wandering out from the woods.

I will miss it when I leave,

but I am grateful for it now.

Seek teachings everywhere,

Like a deer that finds

A quiet place to graze,

Seek Seclusion to digest

All you have gathered. . .

Namkhai Norbu

Oh it is going to be hard to leave this snowy wonderland, but, alas, the next time I write I will be in Miami - looking for iguanas and night herons.

Thank you so much for being here. See you in a week or two.

The heavy winter skies have only allowed the moon to shine through a few times this month, but here she is, rising through the trees - not quite full. The wolf moon.

Morning Ritual

When we do what we love, again and again, our life comes to hold the fragrance of that thing.

Wayne Muller

I wake in the dark of morning

and wherever in the world I am -

I walk outdoors.

Morning calls.

I feel the breath of it

on my skin,

hear its music,

the sound of waking birds,

filling my ears.

My mind is quiet.

Worry has not woken.

Only wonder walks with me,

as I watch the moon

departing,

and the first light of dawn

breaking over the fields;

into the trees.

No matter what the day

before has brought me -

No matter what dreams

haunted my sleep -

I wake in the dark of morning

and wherever in the world I am

I walk outdoors.

Morning calls.

Sunrise through barbed wire and a thorny vine

I hear the sound of birds singing above me

Texas sun blazing through the bare oak branches

View fullsize

A starling sings from the top of the utility pole, silhouetted against the gradually lightening sky.

Every morning it’s a little different - a haze on the horizon softens the edges of light

A big buck staring across the field toward the rising sun

Above the trees in the big Texas sky

The sacred is not in heaven or far away. It is all around us, and small human rituals can connect us to its presence. And of course the greatest challenge (and gift) is to see the sacred in each other.

Alma Luz Villanueva

I had to make a road trip to Texas this week - it was quickly thrown together, and it could have felt rushed and stressful, except for my daily pre-dawn walk outdoors. There is always this quiet time before the sun rises, when I can be outside and walk in peace, before worries or plans begin to fill my mind. I go out in cold, in rain, in snow, in wind, in heat -whatever the weather. It is harder to do somedays than others, but I never regret doing it. It is a ritual that comforts me by making every place I go feel familiar. Wherever there is a morning, I am home.

Hope your week was beautiful too. See you next week.

The waning moon in the early morning hours, just before sunrise in Texas

Monochrome Vision

The rare moment is not the moment when there is something worth looking at, but the moment when we are capable of seeing.

Joseph Wood Krutch

monochrome

color eludes my eyes

the dormant grass, the bare trees,

the tangle of fallen branches and leaves.

it is all - all one giant mess,

confusing my sight-

and yet there you stand,

nearly hidden

in brown and white;

just like another branch=

before me.

standing tall and (nearly) straight, the bare trees

a rain drop lingers on the surface of a puddle…reflecting

The messy reflection of barren things in the fen waters (Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, MO)

a nest that fell on the stone path (Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, MO)

a mass of volcanic rock, slowly etched and worn by a river finding its way through (Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, MO)

There is a sense of patient waiting in the gray skies, bare trees, and dormant fields.

The days are short,

The sun a spark

Hung thin between

The dark and dark.

John Updike

I have been thinking about beauty in late fall - mainly whether or not there is any. In the U.S., in the Midwest, it can be very gray, cold and wet this time of year. Everything seems to be the same dull brown or gray. I struggle to find something colorful to photograph - a rare blue sky, a bright berry, a bird, a sunset…but then I thought, why struggle? Why not try to see beauty in this season as it is? It is a darker kind of beauty, a melancholy beauty; but still worth the effort of seeing.

Thank you so much for being here. I will see you next week!