Keeping the Glow Alive - Part 2

 

 

(The picture above is not meant to impress.  In fact, it’s a retread from a journal entry I made in early January.  Its meant to invoke a feeling that I referenced in that entry – a feeling I experienced today.)

 

 

 

I had a particularly vexing day today.  A home project I have been working on all week – one that I thought was finally complete when I went to bed last night – managed to find a way to take up my entire day today as well.  Gone were the plans I had carefully laid, cast unceremoniously aside by the whims of the project that would not die.

 

As each additional step in the laborious process consumed twice and three times the amount of time I thought it should and the sun literally set on the rest of my plans, I finally reached the absolute final step.

 

There’s something about vacuuming that I loathe. Cleaning bathrooms, laundry, dusting - even windows – I don’t mind as much as dragging the old Kirby around the floors.  Its not particularly difficult or time-consuming, but its my least favorite of household chores – and somehow it seemed fitting that the final step happened to be the thorough vacuuming of the Great Room carpet.

 

My mood was foul and each pass of the sweeper seemed a mockery of my skills and planning abilities.  And then, as I stooped to lift the ember-resistant rug before the hearth, I saw it.  It was peeking out from the corner of the bottom of the fireplace screen – a place I’ve seen dozens of times in the last months.  But today was the day it chose to make its appearance – and I had to shut off the vacuum and simply smile.

 

Last January, as I waxed wistfully in this journal over the end of the Christmas season, I pondered whether we pack the spirit of that season away with the decorations – only bringing it back out for a limited time each year. I hoped that we would find ways in our hearts, once the normal rhythms of everyday life had returned, to keep the peace and the love of the season alive.   I closed the entry by noting that pine needles have a way of turning up at unexpected times no matter how thorough our efforts to remove every one of them – and hoped that at unexpected times during the year we would find a pine needle, and let it take us back to the special peace of the season.

 

And that’s what I found today.  At a time when I was feeling charitable toward few and anger at unspecified gremlins for wasting my day, a tiny, light green and brittle pine needle took me back to the tree and the light and the magic – and my day improved dramatically from there. 

 

When YOU need it most – I wish you a pine needle of your own.

Dance of the squirrels

 

 

I was running late this morning, trying to get out the door to dive into the day’s requirements.  I walked into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee to go, popped it into the microwave to get it good and piping hot and then turned around – and instantly smiled widely.

 

The deck wraps around the corner of the kitchen and a flurry of activity caught my eye through the sliding glass doors.  Four young squirrels, filled with the carefree exuberance of youth, were scurrying madly up and down the White Oak that sits inches from the deck rail – and using it as a launching pad to hop to the deck and then back again.  They chased each other up and down and around the tree, sometimes moving so fast that they literally ran over the top of each other in their eagerness to reach some imaginary and endlessly changing goal.

 

At about this time, the microwave sounded the end of its cycle – and I was faced with a decision:  grab the coffee and run to the car to stay on schedule or let the pace of life wait a bit while I retrieved the camera and tried to record the frenetic activity of those new to this life and eager to explore all it has to offer.  In a heartbeat, I set the coffee down and ran for the camera.

 

For the next 15 or so minutes, I sat on the deck and quietly enjoyed the tireless play of these athletic creatures - capturing what images I could in the split seconds that they were anything less than a light brown blur.  Of hundreds of missed shots, a few – amazingly – caught a moment in time to illustrate the glorious spectacle they played out for me, and two of those images are shared with you here.

 

When they finally scampered up the tree for good, I set the camera aside, grabbed the coffee cup and hurried out the door.  Would I encounter a more harried pace and additional traffic for my dalliance with nature?  Yes.  If I had the choice to make again, would I do anything differently?  Not on your life.

 

Life constantly presents us with choices – some large, but most small and seemingly insignificant.  And at the end of the day, the choices we make in each of these instances makes the difference between living our lives and having a life.  Sometimes we simply must budget our time according to the schedules of others and the rhythms of the day, but oftentimes we are not really quite as busy as we tell ourselves we are.  In those moments, when you are faced with a choice to adhere to the timetable or to stop and watch the squirrels I hope that you stop and let some carefree joy delight your eye and fill your soul – for your day and your life will be just a little bit brighter if you do.

 

 

 

 

On an unrelated, but very pleasant note: Greg Kiser, a professional photographer in North Carolina has chosen to do a spotlight article on your humble correspondent in his Journal Photo Trek  Take a few moments to visit if you can – and check out the truly wonderful photographs that Greg posts there and on his web site.  Sincere thanks to Greg for his encouraging words and his generosity of spirit – THANK YOU!

 

 

 

 

Nature's Circus Comes to Town

 

 

(The image above is but one small aspect of the story to follow, but try if you will to let your mind fill the rest of the picture.  And if it does, I dare you not to smile!)

 

 

As I lay in half slumber this morning, not yet fully awake yet no longer asleep, I became aware of an angry droning sound originating just outside the bedroom window.  As my mind slowly focused, it appeared that a swarm of hornets had somehow settled upon the front porch – and my curiosity was such that it was enough to draw me from the warm bed toward the cool air of early morning flowing through the window.

 

I slowly crept forward and crouched low before the bow window so as not to disturb whatever was making such a racket.  Upon first glance, there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary.  There were three tiny, immature brown birds with the general shape and beak configuration of nuthatches sitting in the burning bush just outside the window and a pair of titmice nearby – yet the noise continued unabated.

 

But as I watched, those three tiny birds began to busily hop from branch to ground to porch to brick arch and back again – mouths wide open as they moved in rapid and apparently random fashion.  And from this trio of less-than-fist-sized wonders  all of that noise was originating.

 

I watched in fascination as they fluttered and bounced from perch to perch, uttering their most unpleasant cries continually.  What their mission was I can only imagine, but it seemed that their cacophonous ruckus had woken more than just me. For as I looked, it appeared that all of nature had suddenly descended upon my vista:

 

A chipmunk jumped upon the woodpile and began loudly proclaiming himself its king as he perched upon hind legs and began the continuous clucking sound that requires such force that it shakes his entire small frame with each outburst.  In the woods to the right, I could see two squirrels chasing each other noisily and effortlessly as they zipped from branch to branch and tree to tree.  Further in the distance, the red-tailed hawk’s piercing cry echoed over the treetops.

 

There were silent visitors as well.  As the eye became more keen and the clutter of life dropped away and allowed the eye to truly see,  the lazy path of the bumblebee came into sharp focus.  To its left, a butterfly gracefully fluttered from marigold to marigold – resting and preening for a moment and gathering the morning sun upon her wide-spread wings before moving further into the yard.  A flash of bright green zipped by and then materialized as a hummingbird, hovering as if frozen in time by the feeder – and then gone again in an instant.  And below the feeder, the tiny toad who lives in the impatiens bed crept back to the safety of his home.

 

And then, in what seemed the blink of an eye, there was silence - and all the activity, all the commotion, all the glorious clatter was gone.  There was no movement save for the lazy dance of the leaves in a gentle breeze, no sound but the low rumble of cars from the road behind the house, and an occasional solitary cry from a distant chickadee. 

 

The show had packed its tent and moved on – but it would be back, in endlessly changing configurations.  And what a show it had been.

 

Sailing

 

 

(The photo above is from a recent Tall Ships festival.  There are more images from that event and some other miscellaneous sailing images in the album in the right column).

 

 

 

For someone who doesn’t swim well and who has never owned a boat or known someone well who has, its interesting that - as I look back on life -  some of the memories that stand out the strongest are all linked to being out on the water. 

 

Moonlight shimmering in a silver path over gentle seas to the exact spot on the ship’s rail where I stand.  Awakening in my blanket on a cool teak deck to see a billowing white sail catching the breeze directly above my head – the ship’s cat nestled snugly at my feet.  Quiet moments in contemplation as pungent salt air fills my lungs and cleanses my soul.  Watching from the balcony as green forest along the banks slowly transforms into the breathtaking dunes of the high desert.  Hoisting the sails at sunset as the ethereal sound of bagpipes signal both departure and hope for the new dawn. 

 

Each memory – some now more than 20 years past – deeply engrained to the point where I can taste the remnants of a tang upon my lips if I close my eyes long and tight enough.

 

Sometimes when life seeks to overwhelm, those are my favorite memories to evoke – for rarely have I felt as free and easy as when the sea breeze is in my face.   As I write this, I am there once again, hoping for that same healing strength to descend once more.

 

We all need that special place to which to escape now and then.  I sincerely hope that yours is as pleasant as mine.

Words to live by

 

 

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. - Albert Einstein, physicist, Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Personal Fireworks

 

As any of you who have stopped here before are aware, I usually try to build my entries around one of my photos or to take one to match the topic. In this particular instance, however,  I was unable to capture the image.  No combination of shutter speed, aperture and sensor sensitivity could duplicate what the eye so readily sees, so I will simply try to paint the picture in words – in hopes that your mind’s eye will see the beauty and feel the awe, as imagination creates what the camera cannot.

 

 

My last entry touched on the topic of celebrations and included pictures of fireworks from the Fourth.  Those photos were actually taken during a local community celebration the weekend before, so that on the night of the Holiday I was home.  As the sky darkened at the end of the day, the air became alive with the sound of celebratory explosions from surrounding towns and I wandered onto the deck to absorb the joyous cacophony.

 

At first, my attention was drawn above the treeline, as the sky lit randomly from the distant explosions – much as lightning will illuminate the clouds from great distance.  But as my eyes adjusted, my vision shifted to the valley below – and a sight that is my recurring favorite memory of summer since moving here, and which will always conjure awe and joy in my soul no matter how many times I am blessed to witness it.

 

The air was still and warm as the night became alive before me.  For in the trees and all around me – some near enough to touch, some far away – glowed hundreds, seemingly thousands, of fireflies.  Their tiny lanterns beamed for an instant, always replaced by the glow of another in a new location – and my mind linked the tiny lights before me with the explosions reporting in the air to create a July Fourth spectacle for my eyes and ears alone. 

 

Minutes passed and the thunderous echoes slowed and died as grand finales faded, yet the light show before and around me continued in mute silence – to my mind becoming all the more beautiful and poignant.  Sometimes the sheer spectacle of an event is so overwhelming that the combination of sight and sound and feel crowds out the ability to think – and when the sounds slowly dissolved into the silence of a summer night, the light itself and the quiet wonder of nature it represented was permitted its opportunity to permeate and become fixed to the soul.  Mesmerized, I not only saw, but felt each pulse of light – and the celebration moved from the external to deep within.

 

I neither know nor care the duration of my experience, but I know that my heart was at peace when I returned inside – a personal gift beyond price.  Whether it originates in a smile from a stranger, the laughter of a child,  the comforting hand of a friend – or the simple glow of a firefly – I hope that same peace fills your heart, soon and often.

Celebrations

 

(More fireworks pics in the album in the right column)

It seems the Spring and early Summer carry the majority of the year’s celebrations.   Beginning with Easter and following almost every two weeks like clockwork, there seems always a reason to celebrate:  Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day and now Independence Day – with Flag Day thrown in for good measure.  While some of the dates are fixed in history, perhaps it’s the changing of the seasons and the return to ‘outdoor times’ for much of the nation that provides the timing of some of the major ‘non-official’ holidays.  But regardless of the reason, an opportunity to gather with friends and those we love is still a gift to be cherished and enjoyed to the fullest.

 

But between these scheduled occasions, we should always be on the lookout for smaller, more personal reasons to celebrate – and to take the time to give them the recognition they deserve as well.  A new job, a passed exam, good news from the doctor all deserve to be recognized – if not perhaps with a gathering and a feast, then at least with a toast and a smile or a moment taken to write or call.

 

And then there are the celebrations of a more personal nature – the kind that can pass us by completely if we do not take the time to see and feel and appreciate.  The laughter of children in the park, an unexpected call from an old friend, a beautiful blue sky, a glimpse of a newborn fawn taking its first tentative steps, a remembered moment that touches the heart.  When we are busy, these moments can pass us by in an instant – and we, caught up in the latest crisis or drama or scheduled activity, can continue blissfully and hurriedly on our way, none the wiser.

 

But life is made up of countless such moments – so many more than those celebrations rigidly fixed on the calendar.  And the more of them we allow to pass us by, the poorer our lives become – small bit by small bit.

 

So gather together in these coming days.  Have picnics and share fireworks and squeeze your loved ones tightly to you.  But before - and after – take a moment to slow down every once in awhile.  Don’t just run from the house to the car to the store and back, but smell the freshly mown grass,  hear the individual sounds of chirping birds, delight in the exuberance of youth where you encounter it, look up at the sky.  These are celebrations we all can find – no matter location or circumstance – and each small celebration will ultimately shape who we are and the face we present to the world.  How many times will you celebrate today?