Circles

Some secrets are unhealthy and some are nuggets of treasure. Lovely day. We needed rain, gray is beautiful, all the greens so soft, all the world shadowless. Tomorrow a new quarter.

Spring Day

Densely woven bird song threads among the branches in the lowland woods today. Willow gold shifts to green in graceful waves of similar shades. Dogwood blossom buds are swollen and just beginning to show some white. Bloodroot blooms here and there, and both yellow and purple violets. Young green-gold poplar leaves, and mist of red on the maples reach toward the high blue.

Surrounded

Yesterday's dense fog gave way to a sunny evening and this morning the fog is light. In the meadows, in the valley. two willows and a large forsythia shine with the gold that does not last. As Robert Frost writes, "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold."

Here on my hill I am surrounded by daffodils, gold and white, and their sweet, light, fresh scent. How beautiful the world can be when Springtime touches it. The dogwood is already in bud. The sunshine is bright enough to cast shadows. I am going to visit my son in his new home, and this old life is full of new things.

Potential

There's a precise scientific definition, and there's the intuitive sense of the Spring day.

Kevin Kling, and what the dog says

Humorist, storyteller, writer Kevin Kling has lost the use of both his arms so he writes using voice translator software. One day while he was working a dog and cat began to fight behind him. The machine dutifully transcribed, and on the screen the dog said, "How?" and the cat said, "Why?"

In this first day of Spring with new losses and new arrivals, with the soft, moist air making the world shadowless, I laugh and catch my breath at the depth of metaphor in all of life.

Every Day

Every small act of kindness blesses the world.

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

All Things Change

Another death in the family, and springtime is bubbling up and bursting with old and new and wonderful life. I cannot wish for these deaths to stop, because I cannot wish for the births to stop. All things need to continue to live and change, and also make way for next things.

My soul rests

world love spills into my senses

the horses and the manure new on the fields

yellow daffodils, their beautiful faces

coffee to hand, scent and flavor

rising morning light

singular bird songs

and my heart breaks open

Go Read Dr. Richard Beck

Instead of reporting gathering clouds (they are) and leaves tenderly moved today from new growth (so fine to observe new growth directly at hand) I would point you to this blog by Dr. Richard Beck:

http://experimentaltheology.blogspot.com

I came to Dr. Beck's writings through the eyes of someone who is anti-religious in general and anti-Christian in specific. This person referred to an article in which Beck talks about hypocracy, with some solid modern examples of how Christians could set a better example of kindness and compassion to the world at large. Well, yes.

And it led me to Beck's February 29 blog post (Same Sex Marriage in the Image of God?) about two Christian aruguments-- one against gay marriage, one for gay marriage. I've just now read his series on Freud. I never laughed and loved Freud quite so much, and come away with solid food for thought.

This is a guy I'd go to Texas to meet. Barring that, I'll read his sermons and musings and probably his book.

Sunshine

Near December 21 the horse shelters take big mouthfuls of light, not a dark place remains inside them on a sunny morning. Now, even when the sun slants full into them, they are about a quarter shadowed. This winter the horses didn't spend much time in their shelters.

When I'm outdoors the political and culture war chattering voices lose their power. I can hear my own song. I know old songs, and some new ones, and when alone I sing. Long light in the evening, now. All good.

Spring Forward on Sunday

This astonishing warmth, so early, and four of the daffodils are already blooming, ones I planted just last fall by the huge poplar near the drive north-west of the house. I see them from many of the windows as I move through the hours. They're lovely, and one of the few flowers the deer don't eat. Also, on the south side, giant crocuses, and more every year are popping up at unexpected places in the lawn where little critters planted them. The critters dig up from wherever I planted, and replant as they choose, don't you know. Such a fun surprise, every spring, to see what has wandered to where.

So many things that are not my stories to tell, yet here I stand close enough to feel the tsunami waves of experience washing over. Days are lengthening and life is short, and long, and it's what we have. So I give thanks for all, thanks for all.

Five o'clock Friday

Vacuuming done, house quiet, sit down to check email and facebook for word from friends. Begin a breath. Notice how your soft body gently expands, then deflates. Notice how the cat on your slouched chest has a soft, gently expanding, inflating body too. How she kneads and purrs. How flavorful the spiced wine, the last remaining from Christmas.

I walked this morning in bright sunshine, crisp air. Now the sun is setting without a flare, brightness fully hidden by clouds, and a drizzle falls. I could feel gray, too, but there is this cat and this wine. Every minute, every breath a new beginning, and most of these new beginnings-- begin again, begin again--most new beginnings are ordinary and pleasant and not made because trauma upended my world.