A New Gentleness on the Land

Spring is tender and pastel. We respond as if we are seeing a newborn child or a miracle. We may dance in the fields but with light-footedness so as to not crush the new blooming violets or frighten the waking fairies. We smooth our joy with gentle giggles and with restrained if open-mouthed glances. Deep sighs and soft smiles are traditional as well.

This Morning

Long before the winter's sun broke over the black horizon, just when the sky was turning its cold pink, the red-tailed hawk could be heard crying high in the sky over my house.  His piercing call was the only sound in the cold desert of the morning's silence. Was it in celebration of the new day or in sadness over the shortness of the day before solstice?

Shorter Farewells

The sun moves away looking at my hollow of the earth almost with a sideways glance as if trying to get out the door without being noticed, as if tiring of our conversation and eager to move on to other business, but not wanting to hurt my feelings.   Its rays are more golden and appear warmer when in reality the kiss is a cooler farewell version of our ever evolving relationship.  In reality its visits are shorter, the conversation simpler, and each parting in the evening more bittersweet.  While glances thrown my way are far more romantic and golden, I know that its eye is ready to wander on and to have affairs with others.  I do not own its passion and so I must let it go and wait patiently for its return in time.

Hang On

 
The end of summer finds us wondering how we crammed so much activity into such a few months.  It was like we were stuck in 4th gear.  Planting, nurturing, harvesting and then waiting to catch our breath before we sigh in peaceful glee pausing to see if fall is ready to toss us colored confetti as celebration of a summer well spent.  Hanging in there.

Winding Down

The winter wind is shushing me
too loudly
pursing cold lips
against the flat window pane
and hissing and moaning
like some rude, unloved librarian,
having turned out 
all the lights,
having re-shelved 
all her dusty books
so that tables are cold-heartedly bare,
having glared with Stygian determination
across the vast echoes of time depleted of hope, 
and
drawing a gray bedraggled curtain
partially hiding that steel/still cold moon
as if darkening the winter night
with its pinpoint star...stark darkness
hurling one last angry rattle
to check 
that the doors are indeed locked
before throwing her cape across the gust
and pushing the wind
to bang relentlessly at my door.

Here She Comes

She is pungent pepper and sage that was crisply fried 
She is heart of oak with just a hint of Cabernet 
She is burnt chocolate that is chalky and slow to melt on the tongue 
She smells smoky and ghostly dusty and seared with lost angels' wings
She does not make you work for the sight of her beauty but she is a terrible tease 

All that is green now makes a bed for the brown that falls from above
Crunch and scutter become the new percussion sounds
At the end of the day
And everyone else (except for black, bold crows) becomes quiet and waits
For the grand entrance that is slower
Than gooey molasses across the fondant of Halloween candies

Every year, like her lover, I wait patiently for her arrival 
And watch as she drops calling cards hither and yon
in the weeds
of my life
Mixing sarcasm and flattery 
Just to keep me on the edge 
And to keep me distracted 
Before she shoves that first cold caress in my face
and then giggles with the cold dawn that seals her arrival.

Wild and Crazy Guy

I have been waiting for this Court Jester guest to show up and decorate for winter's partying time.  Jack at long last stopped by last night and with his usual enthusiasm for finally being the primary decorator at the party and the center of attention he spilled his loot everywhere.  Fragile diamonds caught on the edges and in the hollows of plants and even on the dark brown leaf-covered forest floor, giving it a fancy costume.  He is such a show off...this wild and crazy guy.  

Too bad that he is so cold, but it gives me an excuse to finally wear a coat and scarf and keep up with him.

The Artist

I can photo shop all I want but I cannot improve on the beauty that Autumn brought to my yard this week.  Pick a color...rust, blue, yellow, green... and decorate your life.

Letter From Home

I was late getting home because I stopped on the way to sit by the river today.  Remember those short fall days when sunlight spilled the color of the leaves across the blue glass surface?  The small brown trout waited in that hole beyond the maple root where the children always looked for them.  Trout at peace with the world because the water was now cold and refreshing and  determined children were now in school.  

I sat on "our" bench.  The place where you first touched my hand as I watched the breeze and sunlight play with the top of your hair and realized that you did have a few freckles.  We were at peace with the world back then as well, not looking forward or back but enjoying the moment.

The woods are damp from last night's rain and the pine smells sharp when mixed with the mustiness of the first fallen leaves.  The sun crosses my body in a warm caress and I loosen the green sweater that you said you liked because it brought out the red in my hair.  I wear it often these days.  

I bid goodbye to one more day.  Its end bringing you closer to home when we can sit here together once again.

Golden Hours

Those golden hours come ever sooner each day. I used to have time to eat a slow dinner and then slip on sandals and saunter down to the water to catch a sunset. Now the dinner is hurried through or even interrupted and the saunter becomes a careful old lady quick trot with camera clutched to my side.  I feel the cold dusting of raindrops as I bump the salt bush while my attention is on the soft muddy sand or sharp gravel.

Sometimes I get there early enough to see the mallards sorting their spaces for the night and pausing for food at the edge of the grasses.  There is one little one that was slow to hatch this summer and is behind in growing before winter.  The others seem to be paying special attention to it.  Other times my trot is too quick and noisy and interrupts deer in the nearby woods and startles the lazy squirrel from his tummy stuffing repast of fallen acorns and forces the mallards to hide from my camera on the far side of the river.

But the eventual "Goodbye" slows me down and makes me breathe deeper and I forget any food that was left to cool on the dinner plate.

Quiet

So quiet

I can hear the trees breathe

I can hear the fish move the water

I can hear the call of something wild

I can hear autumn's loving whisper

I can hear the sun kiss the water

Nothing wrong with my hearing.

Perfume

Sunset Peace

Seems that I have some type of activity every single day in the coming weeks.  I have signed up for too much stuff and all the stuff falls in rapid sequence.  I miss writing and thinking, but those activities will have to be put off until that "tomorrow and tomorrow" which in my life does not creep into a petty pace but pretty much rushes by like a full throttle ahead storm.  (Can you tell I have been reading a British mystery that includes a protagonist who is studying Macbeth?) 


Anyway, I have yesterday's sunset to share with you as recompense.  There is something so breathtaking about how the sun will reflect off the water bathing everything around it in golden light.  The skies do not reflect much color when there is low humidity and/or low air pollution as in the spring, but the air is so crystal clear that it compensates for the missing.

Across the river.

Last of the dogwood blossoms with underlighting.

Water reflecting the ropes from oyster nursery cages.

My neighbors sailboat.

More Dancers

They come to dance and flirt and tease and I am compelled to share their photos on this day. They skip and loop and flutter close past your forehead causing such a distraction that you unconsciously wipe your brow leaving a brown streak with the mud from your hand.  And just when you think you have been distracted  to the limit with their inability to form a serious parade, they twirl far away.

Summer's song is not too long

It is not too loud and 

Not so familiar

That you can sing along.

Your eyes begin to adjust

To the carnival lights

Your ears to the buzz of warm rhythms

And your nose to the smell of ripe honey.

And then Summer has waned

The days are smaller on each end

The earth no longer needs your care
And the butterflies laugh and all flirt away.  

My gift to you while I recuperate and miss being outdoors.

Hootenanny.

When fall arrives I am always surprised how the long angles of the sun can make everything so crisp and clean and new looking.  It is as if I am staying in a new place.  The sun has ended with its hot burn lighting making everything flat and bright and is pulling out all the soft hues and new gel filters even before the leaves begin to change colors.  That hot orb paints the last of my autumn blossoms with deep lavish colors giving me memorable visions to hold me over during the winter months.  The wind blows billowing clouds back and forth and even sometimes lets them pause long enough to allow some rain to fall.  The musty smells of the forest floor are dry and dusty this week and ground birds are noisily tossing leaves all around looking for the really fat fellows hiding below.   Squirrels chase each other scratching the back of the tree up one side and down the other as their larder must be filled.  The crickets sing, but sort of sorrowfully, as if they know their time is short.  Spiders hang out by my windows and doors trying to sneak their way inside before the cold comes. 


Last night deep in the woods as the fog formed over this river in the photo above, I heard the owls singing their autumn song.  I have my own front row seat to the regularly held Autumn Hootenanny just outside my bedroom windows as Halloween approaches.

Hiding or Hidden

I live in a world where the young, smooth, quick, colorful, shiny, loud, and moving is the beautiful.  This is what the eye goes to, admires with lust and what the eye cannot turn away from.  But this would not be able to exist under my gaze if it was not for the old, rough, slow, fading, muted, quiet and still that is around every day in every way.  Just remember all that must come before so that the new can exist.  It hides and usually works when the weather is very hot or very cold and may be just beneath your footfall while you are gazing at the beauty under your eyes.

Splish Splash

I live in the mid-Atlantic which means the summers are long and hot.  This year we have had a good amount of rain which makes it easier on all the plants and animals.  When a week goes by without rain in such high heat, the animals begin their search for water.  There are a few springs in our woods and the deer seem to be able to get through marsh grass to those.


I have two bird water baths.  One in front and one in back of my yard.  Birds rely on these often, both for drinking and for bathing.  Yes, they do drink their own bath water!  It is fun to watch them splash and shake the droplets every which way.  


I keep the bird bath in the photo above clean.  Washing it with hose water and little bleach every so often, but certainly spraying it out at least once a week and filling with fresh water.  We are on a well, so I do not have to worry about city chemicals, either for me or the birds.


I have read that the 3% of birds that are marine species have salt-control systems because they spend so much time away from fresh water.   They can remove the excess water by using larger kidneys, oily lipids that break down in the digestive system to produce water, and salt glands that sit in bony pockets over the eyes that are important for the excretion of sodium chloride.  They must cry very salty tears!

Exhilarating Winter

I did write that we had four seasons.  Some people dread the cold and gray of winter, dislike the stark contrasts and the biting air and the lack of warm colors.  Canadians see it as a time to be outdoors even more. They ski, snowshoe, hike, skate and slush cross country to their heart's content. The anticipation of the arrival of winter was almost palpable at the Canmore Nordic Center where the Olympians train when we drove by.  I saw athletes racing with in-line skates and ski poles up the sides of paved roads and up paved sidewalks.  Get out your woolies and make some hot chocolate, because I am bringing you a virtual winter that we encountered as we climbed higher...winter just a little early...below.

Me

ANOTHER waterfall.

Grassi Lakes

Awww!

Four Seasons in Four Days

We were smart to pack a large wardrobe of layers as we entered the magical land of the Canadian Rockies to the west and Canadian Badlands to the east. We encountered all four seasons during our 10-day stay and not necessarily in any logical order and sometimes two or three seasons in one day.  Below are fall, spring, summer and winter.

It Is Inevitable

The hummingbirds are regular visitors to the feeders these days and the goldfinch are raiding the seeds from the fading zinnias.  I saw a dozen geese in the finger of the creek just yesterday.  Rains are now coming with greater regularity.  It appears that voluptuous lady with the hot wet kisses and the heavy fragrant perfume will soon be packing her silk butterflies and gossamer webs into that old trunk.  She will be heading on down the highway once again as she does every time this year.  Just when you feel she has overstayed her welcome and you are tired of sweating all the time, you get that impulse to want to hold on tight to her chubby hands with the well-polished nails for just another week or so.