Marking Time

 I am reprising this poem from last year in praise of the colors and coming of fall.

The kinglets have come
ruby-throats are gone
and today I heard the sapsucker's
whine.

Gold plated pawpaws
crimson painted sassafras
frost asters blanket the fields
in lace.

Red-tails circle above,
white-throats rustle through the garden,
and days like black walnut leaves,
float one-by-one
away.

Jewels

 

My cat's eyes are like topaz flecked
  with garnets.
I never noticed until
one day I stopped 
  and stared.
I wondered how 
  such wonder
should go unnoticed.

I glanced into the garden
and spotted
  that crimson
in princess feather plumes
and frying peppers
  and tomatoes.

Can we ever get enough
  of beauty?

Companioning

 When the day dawns dreary
and your strength falters,
may you be opened to the life around you,
the bees' gentle buzzing
and the hummingbird's zest.

When the night has been too long,
filled with sorrow or fear,
may the morning dew greet you
and the rising mists 
lift your spirit.

When your moments are lonely
and far too quiet,
may you be comforted by the insects' song
and the twittering of young birds, learning
their own voice.

When your eyes are weary from too much work
or too many tears,
may autumn's hues soothe you,
bronze mums on the doorstep,
September's first crimson leaves.

When all is not as you had dreamed
nor hoped,
may the companions outside your door
carry you tenderly as you find
your way.

Hospitality of the Hedgerow

Wild and unruly it is,
an untamed profusion
of blackhaw and arrowwood,
winterberry and shrubby dogwoods
weaving a tangle
of hiding places,
an autumnal banquet
for the wild ones.

Wild perennials wander here,
wingstem growing where it will,
and stands of goldenrod
jockeying with the asters,
nectar and pollen in yellows, pinks and purples,
swaying with the movement 
of bees and beetles feeding.

As mistflowers beckon
to the swallowtails and Monarchs,
goldfinches echo unceasingly 
from the sunflowers planted by chipmunks
and the pokeweed's purple berries
invite the catbirds to dine,
and the thrashers,
and thrushes.

Autumn's palette splashes
across the hedgerow 
in glad abandon,
welcoming everyone,
welcoming
all.

Hidden Gifts

Today has not been the loveliest of days.
Freezing rain, sleet and slippery slush
coat every visible surface and do not invite
the lingering contemplation of 
surrounding fields.
And yet...
How could I not notice the sheen
on the twigs,

their interlacing design
and the beauty so often obscured
by the humdrum everyday.

And by what I expect to see.

Christmas cactuses don't look like much

when they aren't blooming,
(which is most of the year.)
Just a tangle of dull green, toothed
fleshy leaves, almost not
worth a second glance.
And yet...
during this darkling season of cold,
of shorter days and longer nights 
they suddenly surprise
with buds and blooms.

Patience comes hard in these bleak days
of grays and browns.
And yet...
there lurks, 
or beckons,
the always-present invitation towards 

the goodness that was poured into
the world at its beginning. 

And into all of us
at ours.

Deeply Rooted

 

Windflowers
(because they are deeply rooted,
with a nod to Psalm 1 and St Paul)

Tall
and graceful,
supple dancers
straining heavenward,
though no one tends them,
swaying in the slightest breeze
storm-blown but not broken
in autumn as others fade
cheery pink and yellow 
welcoming faces
hosting hungry
bees.

Solstice Respite

I began this day, wanting to write something about creating safe spaces for ourselves and those we encounter during these troubled times. I wanted to offer words of encouragement to keep working for the well being of each other and to offer illustrations of community and sustenance from the natural world. But I can't seem to find the words, as I made the mistake of looking at the news a little while ago.

And so, all I can offer today is the invitation to step into beauty, as I did this morning. Best would be for you to step outside and into whatever beauty you are afforded where you live. But I offer these pictures of what surrounds me in this place.  

Do not make the mistake of thinking that these images are of frozen lifeless, and barren landscapes for they host an almost infinite number of birds, hidden in the shelter of the grasses, cattails and tangles. Maybe there is an analogy there for us, waiting to be written on another day. 

In these moments as you look, breathe in deeply, feel the frosty air, hear the geese and ducks, woodpeckers and sparrows that are not in the pictures, note the muted hues of tans, and browns and grays and how they play together. Mourn if you need to, be renewed and gather strength for what lies ahead in your day. Breathe a prayer of thanksgiving for life, in all its forms, and a prayer for its protection, as well.

Blessings to you, on this day of the winter solstice.

Sacred Spaces

Do you have sacred spaces, where you meet yourself and Him who breathed the world into being? Spaces in which you find refuge or comfort, exuberance or vitality? On this wild and windy autumn day, I have been thinking back to those spaces that have welcomed me, taken my mind off of myself and garnered my full attention for a time.

Spaces like the yard I nudged towards abundance when we lived in Pennsylvania.

Or the marsh that lies between us and the Potomac River, as day breaks and I watch and listen in the day.

Or a patch of leaves in the grass, so arresting that all I can do is stop and sigh a prayer of thanksgiving for the momentary gift of beauty.

And then there was Trail Wood, where my days were filled with noticing and reflection and a kinship with those who had gone before. The following is a piece that came out of that week, in deep appreciation for Edwin and Nellie Teale and the land they stewarded and loved.

Beneficence

I have been brought to this sacred space, for sacred it has become to me who has never been here before. Perhaps a pilgrimage, I have come to watch for fireflies over the fields by night, swallows by day…to listen to crickets and katydids, to late summer bird song and, if I’m lucky, rain on the roof of the old house. I have come to be a small piece of the history of this place, whose future is yet to be written.

 I spend my days outside, a solitary audience, eager to witness the unfolding dramas of this refuge. They come as unexpected gifts, barely audible echoes from Eden, fulfillment of a life time’s longings.

She walks close behind me, as I sit at the picnic table, the mama turkey, murmuring softly to her seven, worried-looking babies strung out behind her, trying to keep up.
Again I sit, and a red-shouldered hawk drops into the nearby catalpa tree, steadily watching me watching him. Does he, as do I, sense communion, as we stare into one another’s eyes?

I wonder at the young rabbits grazing along the driveway, watchful, but not overly concerned with my coming and going. And, in the meadow, downy woodpeckers forage on mullein stalks, gazing steadily as I pass by. Do wild creatures know when they are welcomed?

 “A magic place?” he asked me. A Beatrix Potter kind of place, it would seem.
If there be magic, it comes not by accident, but by the many long years of beneficence towards this land. A living invitation by one who loved the wild for its own sake, who equated ownership with stewardship, who was at home with the untamed inhabitants of this farm.

There is holiness here, born of gratitude for what has been given, where man is but a participant in the life around him and an observer of that into which he cannot enter. Long years of kindliness have fostered fellowship between the wild ones who have flourished within these bounds and the humans who have lived alongside them. I pray that, far into the future, when we who love this land are gone, the kinship between man and creature will persist and this sanctuary, birthed and rooted in peaceful coexistence, will live on.

Where are your own sacred spaces? 

Let There Be Beauty

I am borrowing the title of this post from Rebecca Reynolds, who wrote the words, and Ron Block who wrote the music on one of my favorite CD's, Walking Song. The words and tune go through my mind often, but this afternoon I lost them, for a while, anyway. All of a sudden the nation's and the world's pain became overwhelming and I was at a complete loss to know how to respond, both to other's pain and to my own. I felt paralyzed in the knowing. 

 I thought a bit about writing, but what could I possibly have to say that would change anyone's situation or lift anyone's spirits? The kinds of things I write about seemed superfluous, almost a luxury and a voice in the back of my mind condemned my best efforts, "Why would you think that writing about the natural world would do anyone any good, anyway?!" Why, indeed.

In what felt like desperate attempt to reconnect with who I am and the life I have been given to live, I grabbed my camera and went outside to document (and maybe prove to myself) that there is, indeed, still beauty to be found in the world. Perhaps some will consider this an escape, a way of dulling or turning away from the hurts that seem to surround us, right now. Perhaps it is, but I have found that, at the times when my own life felt like it was falling apart, that it was the outdoors and the beauty I found there that helped hold me together and gave me hope that things would not always remain as they were in the moment. This afternoon, I did the same.

And so, I offer these glimpses into the world around where I live, in hopes that they will bring comfort or smiles to any who need both. The beauty found here doesn't change circumstances, but it reminds me that God is at work, and that we are not forsaken. 

The first, above, is simply the house in which we live, filled with flowers on the porch and the playing of sunlight and shadows.

Zebra swallowtail and carpenter bee on Virginia mountain mint

A pot of humble purple coneflowers, waiting to go into the ground

Visitors in the backyard

A welcoming haven-winterberries for birds and white snakeroot for pollinators

Up close

White wood asters in the front yard

And flowers for a friend's going away , an expression of love and appreciation

And, in case you are wondering about the title, the refrain from their song....
"Let there be beauty for beauty is good, the made and the making and the bliss understood. 
 Let there be beauty for beauty is free. Go swim in the waters, go drink from the stream"