Nature-Writes

So, lately I have been enjoying some delicious reads by one Edward Abbey and one Robin Wall Kimmerer.   Mr. Abbey (RIP) had the classic radical view of how to approach protecting the good mother earth, and Kimmerer (very much alive) comes at it with all the love and kindness of walking mindfully, letting your "foot meet the earth like a greeting"< a paraphrasing of her words.  

Reading them at the same time sort of gives this elder heart a good balance, like sitting with a hearty group of friends who are unabashedly free to speak from their hearts (tho old Ed might say he was speaking from an organ less romantic).

Of course I have a naturalist crush on E. O. Wilson, and Rick Bass is my sort of local, Montana practical imaginary writer friend.   Doug Peacock is the mysterious exotic, having earned my deep respect, and I would not want to rile him by spouting careless attitude.   In my estimation each of these folks have the right and wisdom to see the holes in my own statements of cause.

I always feel that despite my deep passions for our wondrous natural world (and maybe because of them), I come off sounding like the eternal fool, because I say something that leaves out some important factor, or I cannot draw forth the latest fact from my brain to support an argument.   I would make a lousy lawyer.  

I am at my best when I am conversing with the plants by walking next to them, learning their names, smelling them, touching them to see whether they are spike or smooth or sticky.  I am at my best when I am stopping to wonder at the hawk overhead, or on my belly at nose level with the frog at the pond's edge, or when I am looking at just the right time to catch the eye of the weasel, muskrat, beaver, or deer.  

Hopefully there is a place for the fool in this world as well as for the gifted of words.  

 

What!? Is it 2015 already?

Yup.  I have long been gone from this page, but have been thinking of getting back to it, so this is my effort at seeing if it still works.....and that is all for today.

Honest

(I shared this on facebook, too, but really, it has been in my awareness awhile now, so here it is:) Our world is loaded with stories based on the premise of someone not being as honest to others as they would have others be honest to them, and the drama that ensues. When will we heed our own stories?

Really?

Two years? 

Really?

A month or so ago, after a very dry period for writing, I realized that if a day goes by with nothing remarkable, I am not living the life I intend.  I started journaling at least for each day's remarkable events. 

It's working.

I am even dreaming again.

More to come.

a meditation

Today I give thanks
for every life that has touched my own
for each molecule, atom, particle and wave
as it has moved through me.

I give thanks
that he said
"You look like hell" and
"You surprised me... I never thought you'd amount to much."
that she said
"Go on, write."

I thank tears, paper and flame
the small warm hand in my own
the arms that held me
the vastness behind those questioning eyes

Croonings and shrieks of unseen birds
the wounded and the whole

Mosquitoes and bats, seeds and finches
the mouse I released into the yard this morning
the cat that had left it corralled in a box

The stone in my shoe
the bone in my foot
the juice of strawberries
staining my chin

This day

My goals for today were to finish cleaning the floor so I could have a studio day, and to take a bike ride.

I had breakfast sitting on the east deck in the morning sun. I was listening to a streaming radio show from Lincoln NE (I do that to feel more connected to my son and family) when I realized sandhill cranes were calling from the creek. I muted the computer and listened, sharing it with BiL who had been inside. After a minute the cranes were silent. I listened to the show again, and again, the cranes began. This time I muted the computer, and even tho the cranes stopped soon after (maybe they heard something crane-like in the banter of the program) I left it off, and enjoyed the rest of my breakfast to chickadee and finch song.

I finished the floor as I listened to streaming NPR from California (again, a link with a son who lives out there). I swept water and mud from the garage and set the fans to dry it (this is swamp season in our garage if we don't stay ahead of it). I got very hungry and ate my lunch. I put in a new load of laundry.

I stepped outside to hang a shirt on the line and have a cup of tea, and I could not bring myself to go inside, even to have a studio day.

I did some repair work, instead, to the fencing that discourages marmots from using the deck for a toilet.

For the first time this spring I got to listen as a light rain fell on our metal roof. No bike riding today, but I don't feel compromised.

I felt very satisfied and very hungry by dinner time. I ate again, watching a movie with BiL.
We also watched our first rainbow of the season.

So much satisfaction in one day.

A call to unwire

Hmmm.... It has been a voice in my bones lately to become unwired, whatever that means.

I guess I will find out.

My motivation is that being online is severely limited everything else in my experience.

nuff said.

Call me if you like.

Peace, out,
Rox