January 18, 2019. Winter weather changes certain habits – like wandering about in the yard looking at the day’s blooms and potential blooms while Labrador Buttercup tends to her morning business. A heater on the enclosed back porch (our seasonal greenhouse) tempts and I navigate toward the rocking chair near by, leaving the porch door cracked for dog’s return.
Often porch time becomes reflective, more so these past few days as I’ve begun reading Alan Watts.
January 13, 2019. Reflecting on my recent routine visit to the Ear-Nose-Throat doc – a remarkably pleasant space for waiting your turn – light coming through windows along the outer wall of the receptionist area – then passing through a cheerfully frosted panel into the make-yourself-comfortable area. Usually, one or two others share the wait. But this last visit got crowded.
January 8, 2019. One of those stop-in-your-tracks encounters showed up in the sky late yesterday. In a rush to get away from the day’s frenzies … forgot all about those energies … standing transfixed in the driveway. Colors and textures overhead gave the appearance of winter-bare tree limbs ablaze. Just our imaginations, our luck to walk out when we did.
December 26, 2018. ‘Tis that time of year for tending to things put off … I don’t make New Year Resolutions, but I do focus on major to-dos, getting some of them off the list, off my conscience before the year ends. Like cutting back the yaupon holly – arched trunk extending over the sidewalk, into the street. Of course I took photos before we began cutting. The chore is done, off the list, but my conscience is unsettled. If only I could’ve moved the street instead …
December 22, 2018. Winter Solstice caught my attention this year. Long dark nights suit me just fine – not so for all of us. Hence a number of reflections in groups I mingle with. Yesterday @ 4:21 pm Solstice arrived, between two memorable experiences with our Tundra. First, getting stuck in the mud out at my daughter’s tiny house; then, the battery just quit flat at the car wash.
Standing around outside the Battery store, the moon (almost full) beamed … in a trickster joking kind of way … telling me it’s daylight hours that bring problems … night hours would bring relief!
Home finally, new battery dismissing angst, I took camera and tripod outside to see what I might capture. Luck was with me: Several clear shots and a big smile noticing how this incredibly bright moon was totally undoing “long dark night” … trickster indeed!
This morning I woke early and found the moon peeking at me through trees and clouds. Not 100% full until 11:50 today … but plenty full of light and mischief.
December 10, 2018. Today marks 2 weeks since a hurried scurry in my driveway left me flat against the concrete wondering briefly what all have I broken? And who saw me fall? Good news on all fronts – nothing broken and no distressed neighbors hovering. I got myself up slowly, marveling that everything still worked, and began puzzling why I tripped on something always right there, why on the day before I go to my aunt’s 94th birthday, why, why, why?
Richard Wehrman’s poem “Traveling” helps make sense of a seemingly senseless stumble. I’ve added bloom and swirl to a photo of my purple-puffed chin.
P.S. I am back to normal skin tones. More attentive in the driveway. Pondering still.
December 5, 2018. Once upon a time, when younger and more flexible, I would lay out a labyrinth on the mountain up above Cloudcroft NM each summer. In a national forest, one “leaves nothing and takes only pictures” – hence no permanent stone-lined labyrinth. My challenge included: repeatable installs, rain proof, cattle proof, materials must fit in the back of an already-crammed car.
Each summer, I would spend a spiritually connected day creating the labyrinth before the group arrived, and a frenzied couple of hours at close of the gathering – pulling up anchored straps and packing materials snugly back into their container.
Near the labyrinth center, I placed a bowl of polished gemstone fragments – and encouraged walkers to stir the collective energy as they passed.
This collage puts a smaller capture of the bowl near center over a larger capture of stones within the bowl