Magnolias announced Spring a hare’s breath before Japanese and other flowering Cherries in the Pacific NW. Magnolias, holding tight to their magic in fuzzy bud scale-tipped twigs waited until the perfect moment. It was an overnight awakening after a spat of short-sleeved weather that splayed the white-bright petals out like a child’s rendition of a tissue-paper star. A sweet aroma enticed me to breathe deep. Cherries, not to be outdone, have erupted like small firework displays on their branches. Pompoms clustered like small fists ready to punch wonder into my Winter addled brain.
Grief in the Aftermath of a Storm
I began writing this Thursday, January 18th before I lost power a second time due to the storms in the Pacific NW. Instead of rewriting in the present tense, I’m going to leave the opening as is: “A cold spell is caressing the Pacific NW like hands just pulled from a freezer. I’m finding it difficult to string more than five words together as a malaise has settled into my bones. This Arctic Traveler didn’t followed the forecast and leave town on the scheduled flight yesterday and is lingering, unwelcome. The trees that thawed briefly are once again coated in a veneer of ice. A hummingbird returns time and time again to the rhododendron outside my window and sits for minutes, shivering. I can see the small heart beating, trying to maintain heat. Someone must be maintaining a feeder, for he does leave and return. Could I go out and cup him in my hands? Would that help?
Noticing & Listening Beyond Words: Invitations to Connect
Ah, 2023 has arrived. What have you noticed in these first days? Me? The weather words: “atmospheric river.” My poetic-self loves imagining what I can create with that. However, California is not fairing well under the weight of the rain these rivers carry and folks and landscapes and beings are suffering. At this writing there seems to be no end in sight.
Weatherscapes are shifting across our planet. Images inundate our social media feeds and from some of my recent readings and webinars, English words (perhaps others, but that is my learned tongue) can lack the deeper meaning needed to convey the urgency behind the shifts. I am not sure what to do with this information yet (except sensing loss and a need to grieve.) I love reading and written words, but there are times written language fails to convey urgency…even my beloved—poetry. So I will continue to explore-expand my connection to the natural world I inhabit. I will take more time when Rain patters on the brim of my hat as I walk and listen to the story Rain may want to share. Those “in-sky” rivers are “raining” down stories. Are we prepared to listen?
Lessons from the Pandemic: Invitations of Winter & Grief
Winter Solstice is near. Solstice, when Ancients believed Sun stood still. Night pausing before passing into Winter. This turning point from Autumn to Winter is full of silent invitations waiting for my noticing. I walk in the pre-dawn enveloped in Night. When Rain saturates Air, slow rising Sun scarcely brightens Sky. On Star-speckled walks the beam of my flashlight fades to nothing as Sky turns lavender to periwinkle to jaybird-blue well before the appointed “sunrise” time. I wonder at it all. That I should be so blessed to witness this offering.
