May 6, 2017. Our Mexican Sunflowers began blooming early this year, bright spots, especially in a windy drizzle. I noticed one bloom whipped by the wind, its petals all gone except for one – tenacious, flapping wildly like a kite unsure whether to soar or crash. I went inside for the camera, expecting it to be blown away when I returned. But no, still hanging on to its familiar center in spite of prevailing forces – seeming a model for fidelity to my core principles in the midst of a turbulent world.
April 4, 2017. Not typical Spring Fever! My restless state stems from too many changes I am unable to influence – this urge to tackle something tangible, make something prettier, even if insignificant in the larger realm of unpredictables. Why not transform a once-stately (still-comfy) rocking chair into a bright turquoise meditation station?
January 11, 2017. I can’t recall a more turbulent November/December than what 2016 dished up. And 2017 promptly slapped down a hard freeze. No more meditative consolation from my landscape! Or so I thought – but observing Buddha and St. Francis staying put in spite of the devastation captured my imagination, and a poem crept in as solace.
And listening to our President’s farewell speech last night gives me resolve to stay put in my stance that we are all in this together, more alike than not, and together we will grow from whatever follows.
December 28, 2016. The year 2016 is just about spent – a year to be remembered for many losses. On the numerology front, 2016 is a “9” – the completing year in recurring 9-year cycles; 2017 starts us off on a new “1”. Perhaps losses are obscure completions we must reluctantly release.
The image is a mesquite seed pod, aglow at sunset in the Rio Grande Valley. Hanging on with tenacity, intrigue, beauty. But not for long.
December 21, 2016. Solstice dawned clear and sunny, a welcome followup to our first freeze a couple nights ag0, repeated, repeated – now history except for the abundance of plants turning into mush piles. The Brugmansia was trying to bloom another round. For a week prior to the freeze I gave it daily encouragement (with a hint of hurry up!) This morning I stood transfixed by rising sunlight beaming through the still-green wilted leaves and the still-yellow tubular buds – a different sort of beauty, a different sort of strength holding my attention – model for stepping into a radical change of seasons. Many dire circumstances could derail its Spring emergence, but Brugmansia isn’t burdened with worst-case scenarios. (Oh, for such clarity of being.)