April 2007

If the titmice and cardinals and chickadees never ate any of the seed I put out for them, I would have a mound of seed piled a mile high in my garden, and I would be a very sad person. I’m thinking of giving and receiving. I imagine a giant, gentle hand taking care of all. And I get to be a little hand doling out seed here, a smile there, and, in the same breath, I remember it is also my job to receive.

What good are cherry blossoms without the wind to carry their scent, the eye to sit beneath them and ponder their shape, the heart to float among them and dream? They are beauty, yes. But that beauty is tripled a thousand times with each note of thanks; with each nod of appreciation; with each breath of wonder. And so I’m glad the birds receive from me. They show us a very good lesson as we look to follow our dreams. Are we receiving the opportunities, the helping hands, the cherry blossoms, or letting them pass unnoticed?

Think of a time when you helped someone (or some thing). Remember how good it made you feel? Remember to return the favor! R e c e i v e.

So this month’s diary is devoted to giving and receiving because they really are the same thing. Next time you receive, take a glance at the other person’s face, notice how you give them the opportunity to smile, how you allow their heart to flutter with happiness…..hearts always know, don’t they.

As you can see, Anthea & Marigold are experts at both giving and receiving; they’ve had the best teacher – Mother Nature!

March 2007

If you want to smell Spring in the middle of Winter, all you need do is ruffle your nose into my kitty cat’s fur. Fresh breeze, tulips dreaming, and a promise of hope, it’s all there in his fur. (I wish I had hair like that.)

On the first day of this month I was greeted with a batch of bright, buttery, yellow crocus in my front bed. Today, they are closed tight with a few inches of new snow on their heads. They came when they did, I suppose, to remind me to keep watch; a change is coming. They are covered in snow now, I suppose, to remind me to be patient and not to interfere with the natural timing of things. So, I have hope and trust and patience in a little batch of crocus and my kitty’s golden fur.

So it is with Spring!

Here are my crocus, you can almost hear them singing for Spring. Anthea and Marigold keep very good watch over the bulbs in the garden, singing them to sleep in Autumn, and waking them with gentle taps in spring.

February 2007

Our Carolina Wren stays a warm burnt sienna brown, even in winter. She doesn’t gray like the other birds. I like the idea. Although winter is the essence of sleepy wistful rest, the spirit is never still.

This morning I found my favorite stream to be thickly frozen over. It’s about a mile from my house and makes for an invigorating walk, like knowing you’re going to win something when you arrive at the fair.

I sneaker skated leaving wide uneven trails where the fine snow had already fallen. How does water turn to land? I saw places I don’t normally see. The echo under the old, stone bridge was more hollow than I imagined. And on the other side - running water; pure, whispery, alive! Just like us . . . in winter.

Anthea and Marigold enjoy the beauty of winter – At first, Marigold is a little uneasy on his skates, but Chickadee promises to go slow.

This is the dark-eyed-junco, (otherwise known as “Snowbird”), as you can see, he is quite agile on skates.

January 2007

With windchills hovering at a meager 0 degrees, we finally have a day that feels like January.

The woods call, don’t they, on a day like this. Still, cold, but very present. Wondering if I might disturb their silence, or swim in it. I leave the scurry of birds at my feeder – finches, titmice, cardinals, nuthatches and a brave flicker – and enter into a hush of winter.

The woods smile. They hold a deep knowing of almost everything…faith, perseverance and a silent gentle welcome, that if I listen to, always invites me in.

Always what I need.

If you were a bird, you would undoubtedly enjoy the special perks that come with winter - a silent, slower world; feeders miraculously filled with treats and cool wind lifting beneath your feathers.

December 2006

The sounds and the hum started well before we walked in the doors. It began through the cemetery beneath the quiet stars.

Hearts were swelling. Inside, people gathered in their Christmas best; girls in plaid skirts, boys in pressed collars. The bells began their song. Hearts were growing.

A brave young woman steps to the front to sing “Oh Holy Night” for all of us. She stumbles through the first chorus and we will her through it. A young man played saxophone while nimble fingers followed along on piano. Hearts were uniting.

Amid all of this were messages of love; for everyone. Hearts were remembering.

Outside this small church made of stone, there was a horse who knew the meaning of love. He wandered free taking in companionship as it came and missing his mother. There are bluebirds outside this church who display themselves on the ancient tree I still don’t know the name of. And inside, stars. Tonight, the trees hold stars in their hands. We all do.

An old woman sat in the pew ahead of me. Beneath her dress, she wore black flat boots in place of heels. She was gray, leaning a bit, but her foot swayed - with each note of the bell choir, the sax and the piano. Hearts were stirring. She was my favorite, though I sat next to a little star myself. We lit each other’s candle during Silent Night. I sang, sometimes I watched and I believed it could be like this; always. I am seeing it, so it is possible. I think of the animals and the earth on a night like this. I know the earth feels it. I hope the animals do, the ones who need to be remembered. I remember for them and ask for their peace. Just as I ask for my own.

Wondering as I wander.

November 2006

I have a habit of picking up every beautiful leaf on my morning walk. By the time I return home, I’ve got a rainbow of colors spread out in my gloved hand. If I take them inside, they’ll dry and crinkle so I tuck them neatly by the pumpkins to save for later.

Usually, there is no later. But my intentions were good, to paint, paint, paint every nook and cranny of those natural wonders. When I watch leaves falling from trees I am amazed at how happy they look. How carefree, they never look back.

I lost a dear friend of mine last year at this time. I missed her. I missed her and did not see her again. I was late. I watched a star go out two nights before when I prayed for her, but I didn’t listen. I called it coincidence.

But she is a good friend. And good things never truly go. I sense her still; in the falling leaves that tell me it’s okay to let go; in the falling leaves that say slow down and just ride for a while; and in the falling leaves that whisper you are beautiful. Still.

How can a tree let go of everything she has and not worry?

I have always found trees to be very trustworthy. They know that letting go is part of life. They know it is the beginning of renewal.

October 2006

Autumn Joy

Have you ever tried to catch a leaf

that tumbles from the sky?

It’s almost there inside my hand

then Whoosh! it passes by

A roaring wind- the game begins

my heart anticipates-

Yellow-red or fiery gold

which one will I chase?