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?

Lessons and Blessings

 

In my very first entry in this Journal I wrote something to the effect that I have been blessed in many ways – including some that many might not consider blessings.  At the time, I left it at that and alluded to a possible future entry to explain.  Perhaps Father’s Day lends itself to such an occasion.

 

The gentleman appearing at the top of this entry is my dad.  He will be 85 this year and I think you can see the life and light in his eyes from this photo taken on his birthday last year.

 

What isn’t evident from the picture or his demeanor was that the picture was taken at a nursing home and it was his first full day there, following hospital rehab for injuries from a fall at his home.  It was his third time in the nursing facility for rehab since his stroke almost three years ago.

 

Dad was always an impatient man.  He moved quickly and expected everyone else to keep up with him.  He had the energy of 6 younger men it seemed – mowing his own lawn or shoveling his own snow – and that of two or three neighbors for good measure – golfing at least twice a week and driving anywhere and everywhere.  And then his stroke took away the use of most of his left leg and hand, slurred his speech and affected his ability to swallow – and now all of the things that came so easily and quickly take painfully long periods of time to accomplish,  and then imperfectly.

 

To watch this proud man become dependent on others for the basics in life has been painful, and to watch him grow weaker over time yet still fight to live in his own home (with assistance) has torn at my heart on so many levels and in a thousand different ways.  I watch him grow weary of life, and - sometimes - I grow weary for him and with him.

 

But this message is about blessings – and that is what I consider my dad and every moment we have left to share.  Each day, this strong, quiet man teaches me lessons about life and patience.  He fights not to give in to his limitations, yet demonstrates a sense of grace in handling them.  The frustration shows sometimes, but he rarely complains – and each night he says his prayers and asks more for help to others in need than anything for himself.  I know there are quiet times when he wishes this burden will be taken from him, but his grip is still strong and purposeful, there is still a look of steel on his face when he needs to dig deep to do something most of us would take for granted – and there is still that light in his eyes.

 

 

Our parents continue to teach us long after we’ve grown.  The lessons themselves and the method of instruction may change, but we should always be wise enough to stop and listen – for we still and will always have much to learn, and the teachers, and the blessings of what they teach, will not always be physically with us.

Life from life

 

Last fall I wrote here of the loss of a different kind of friend – the tree outside my bedroom window that always helped me greet each new day.  She is now split and stacked and protected from the elements under the deck, seasoning so that she can warm me one final time this coming season.

 

In her place last fall, I planted a new tree – small and spindly by comparison to be sure, but a reminder of she who once stood so proudly and a reminder that life goes on despite loss.  I rushed against the changing seasons to prepare the site, chose her carefully and planted her straight and tall in the sloping ground.  I fed her roots to help them unfurl and grasp her new home firmly, provided a stake to which she was lovingly secured to fortify her against the January winds and driving snow – and then watched anxiously during days of bitter cold and howling wind in hopes I’d done enough to help her start her new life safely.

 

As the days grew longer and the temperatures more mild, I checked every day for signs of life – gauging what I’d been told of her growth patterns against those of other trees in the yard.  And then one day, in the soft glimmer of a cool morning sun, I saw an unmistakable bud and – the closer I looked – more and more of them.  In the unseasonably warm Spring, the buds grew quickly – filling every branch with burgeoning life that grew larger and stronger with each day.

 

 

 

One morning, the air was filled with a rich, sweet fragrance.  Fuchsia blossoms that had delicately sprung forth overnight quivered in the breeze - and a bumble bee already busied himself, drawing sweet nectar from the tiny trumpets even as they began to open.  Birds chirped in approval nearby – perhaps planning a few years down the road when these same branches would be strong and sheltering enough to protect the births and first tentative flights of their great-grandchildren.

 

 

Now the blossoms are gone – replaced by shining, healthy leaves that reach eagerly toward the sky, seeking the nourishment of the sun and capturing the gentle rain for her roots to drink.  I visit her almost daily, both to ensure that she is appropriately nourished and to proudly watch her grow.

 

On the roadway behind the house and down the hill, the hustle and bustle of life and commerce continues - unabated and uninterested by this quiet microcosm of all that is good and right and full of light and new life – and all too soon it comes time to go back inside and deal with the issues of the day.  But each morning from now on, the space once occupied by my beloved friend will not seem quite so empty anymore, for she who now stands in her place will draw strength from the same soil and carry on her legacy - and the world will seem a little brighter place as a result.