What was that wild emotion
as I stood grinning,
gazing up into the bare trees
and balancing on two legs and a walking stick
so as not to topple over?
What was that exhilarating sense of freedom
as I gazed at their dance,
me tethered to the ground,
them swaying far above,
blown back and forth by
every gust of wind?
When I prayed
(something I had never asked before),
in Your kindness
You blew a breeze
that gently lifted every twig,
a whisper that rippled through the woodland
and then was gone.
What was that glad response
emanating from my deepest self?
That continues on in the memory
of the moment?
Wonder,
Awe,
Joy,
Gratitude.
Moving and moving on is a tumultuous endeavor.The physical work of relocating belongings is over but the soul work of transferring affections and identity and sense of belonging is ongoing.
Rather than filling this space with words I'll offer pictures of the beauty I am finding when I look for it. These scenes are a couple of miles up the road from where we live and make for lovely walking.
The woods here have a different make-up from the ones I rambled on Maryland's Coastal Plain. In this Pennsylvania Ridge and Valley region the hillsides are carpeted with low-growing blueberries and the understory is a mosaic of mountain laurel and witch hazel and, in places, acres of young pines.
Moss is plentiful in open glades, a surprising woodland chartreuse that I am rather sure I would not choose in an indoor setting,
and sometimes disguises the remnants of another time.
I will surely have further reflections as I settle in and accept the invitations this new land offers. I wonder at what unknown adventures await, beckoning me towards what I cannot now see, towards the One who brought me here and even towards a deeper knowing myself. Gratefully, I wonder.
Some years ago, my mind in tumult,
I came to you,
and you bowed,
(or was it a curtsy?)
Dressed in green
(or was it gold?)
your nimble limbs swept toward me
when there was no breath of wind,
beckoning and offering blessing
in your wordless way.
The winter woods around you are seldom silent,
usually filled with chips and twitters,
unmelodious whistles, squeaks and squawks.
But today there is music -
the single, lilting phrase of a hermit thrush,
promise of hope for what lies beyond
this frozen moment,
promise for the future.
On this end-of-year solstice morning
I have come seeking you.
Clothed now in tans and silver,
limbs stiffened in the cold,
you move less easily now.
And yet, again I have come.
I have come for your benediction.
I have come to say goodbye.
Ten years of old pine floors and wavy windows
that let the outside in,
secrets held in unknown histories.
Walls that were, doorways gone.
Rooms and roof lines gained and lost,
mysteries beyond unraveling.
The marsh is clothed in browns and tans,
as when we first arrived,muted promise of discovery.
The years have changed it.
Populations of cattails, wild rice and jewelweed
jockey for position.
Like life itself,
never static.
Ten years taller are the trees.
Sycamores and yellow poplar scrape the sky,
long-fingered twigs stretching toward the clouds,beech and holly growing together in community,
thin places where the Divine stoops low. Yet some are gone,
remembered only by fallen remains,
ghosts among the living,
reminders of an earlier time.
I miss them.
For ten years we have been gifted.
Gifted with an old house with old pine floors,
by trees and fields, woodlands and water;
Gifted by life itself,
and ten years of memories,
of blessings and of growth.
Ten years of gratitude.
Every fall she appears forlorn, bedraggled,
with feathers missing and
bare patches on her rump,
surely cold and damp without her full plumage,
which is yet to come.
A time to endure
and hope for renewal.
Massive skeletons against the sky,
they stand stripped, devoid of color,
foliage shed.
Perhaps it doesn't matter whether
by the gale's force or a gentle letting go;
The outcome is the same,
entailing a long winter's wait
for green and new growth
to resume.
They float on the river,
waterfowl bound to the earth
for a season.
Unable to fly,
they must bide their time and watch,
vulnerable,
eyes on the sky they
cannot inhabit until
new flight feathers emerge.
Browned and brittle,
stalks that were supple and green
stand drying in the cold.
Goldenrods and asters,
yellows and purples blanched to tan,
holding pale, fuzzy seedheads
soon to be
dislodged by the breezes,
sowing promise
of life to come.
Molting, Shedding, Waiting.
Emerging, Sowing, Hoping.
Believing.
Thanks be to God.
O, blessed somber day of
ferocious winds and coming cold.
Color remnants hurled against the overcast sky
tug at my my unsettled soul.
Wistful day of
wild gales that strip away what was,
time slipping through my fingers
as I grieve what is passing,
not yet ready to embrace what will be...as if I knew.
Rooted companions, the trees
twist and writhe in the tumult,
trunks and branches whipped by forces
beyond themselves.
Responsively, they bow.Their survival depends upon surrender.
And what of mine?
On this turbulent late-autumn day
latent fears rise to the surface,
fears in the pit of my stomach,
fears of my own rigidity and
desire to cling.
And yet, where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your Presence?
It is enough.
I haven't posted in a while but am reposting this, as it is as true today as it was a year ago.
If you are very quiet you can hear the leaves fall,
following their twirling, swirling dance with your ears as well as your eyes,
until they come to rest gently at your feet.
Even in the noisy tumult of the gales that loosen their grip,
Even amidst the strident tumult that rages in your mind,
If you stop, and if you will yourself to listen,
you will hear their falling-gently-to-earth whispers,
rustling through their companions
on their once-in-a-lifetime descent.
Background noise so fills our minds right now...
Outer noise of destruction, of greed, of power wielded wrongly.
Inner voices of fear, of sadness, of outrage, of powerlessness.
Noise that will surely drown us entirely if we let it and render us deaf,
even to the Good.
We desperately need times of stillness.
We need to turn our attention to that which is beyond ourselves
and all our thoughts.
Our heart and soul's very functioning depend upon them.
Grace breaks through as I gaze at reddening and yellowing trees,
standing and swaying in the autumn winds that strip their leaves.
I am renewed.
If you are very quiet, you can hear the leaves fall.
Listen....
