January 2008

Where there is darkness,
There is Light.


Where the soil is black,
Sprouts appear

Where winter trees darken,
A window emerges

When hope cascades
Into a pile of rubble

There it is.

Waiting
Ready, to lift you back up.























I like to think of this as “Church of Trees” or maybe “Cathedral”, as Rob likes. Doesn't it look just like a stained glass window? This little scene emerges out of my back window every evening through the woods. Thank goodness for that. And reminds me that no matter how frightening things get, or how very sad or unthinkable, where there is dark…….there is light.


















When an animal or any loved one is not feeling well, Anthea and Marigold spend lots of time praying and thinking good thoughts for them. They imagine their friend light on his feet and romping through the warm, green grass. Anthea is very good at joyful thoughts, she has lots of them. Marigold sings tiny springtime songs to remind their friend what is to come. Together, they make the most wonderful bedside company. They know that no matter what happens, all is surrounded in Love.

It’s terribly hard, isn’t it, when loved ones don’t feel well. Send them a prayer and a happy thought - One that would make them smile if they thought it themselves.




















Rob showed me how to do this. He learned it in 4th grade. First, paint a background in any sky colors you choose. You must let it dry. Then, wet some darker paint and paint a horizontal streak across the bottom., use plenty of water, it should be very wet. Now, take a straw and blow upwards on the paint, the most beautiful trees will appear. As the trees begin to grow, move your straw further up and you can aim in different directions and blow the most delicate little branches into them. (Rob's is on the left and reminds me a quiet winter evening, mine on the right looks like walking trees) You should give it a try.

December 2007

Wishing you all your favorite blessings . . .

November 2007

I have an interesting friend out these days. We saw him first in October being carried by his mother back to the nest. I have never seen a mother squirrel carry her baby. It didn’t look like a squirrel at all, but one giant mound of fur hopping gently across the lawn, through the hostas, up the tree, and finally disappearing into a ball of leaves.

A few days later, the baby crawled across the yard to where I had scattered sunflower seeds. He crawled. Squirrels hop merrily wherever they go - it’s one of their gifts. This one crawled. Not because he wasn’t merry, but because his back legs didn’t work. They dragged on the ground. Both of them. He moved here and there using his front arms to pull him along.

I felt horrible. Horrible that he was hurt, horrible that I didn’t know what to do for him.

We set out fresh water low to the ground and seeds where he could reach. Every few days, we saw him. Pulling along. Eating acorns from the driveway and seeds on the path. Even playing with his brothers and sisters by the fairy garden. We thought, perhaps, we should catch him. Bring him to a wildlife rehab where he could be watched over, fed, kept warm. Sheltered from the breeze, the rustling leaves. But whenever we spoke about it, he would disappear and we would end up saying prayers for him instead. Maybe he just wanted to be free.


















It had been a week, I hadn’t seen him. The clouds were gray and I looked out toward the pond just to see if the frogs would come out despite the lack of sun, and there he was! Sitting under the hanging feeder picking up seeds. I knew it was him because when he grabs a seed, he has to lay on his belly to eat it. He can’t stand up. He was beautiful. Content. Letting the breeze touch his ears, enjoying the rustle of leaves as he searched for seeds.

Enjoying the rustle of leaves as he searched for seeds.

I watched his fur glisten, I watched his happy eyes when he found seed after seed at his feet. I watched the changing leaves curl by his side.

I enjoyed the rustle of leaves as I search for my own seeds.

P.S. I call him Harvard because he’s just so smart.

Anthea & Marigold, of course, take extra good care with the gentle ones. Mari's been floating around all afternoon storing up acorns!

October addition

Hey there, just figured out how to enable the "comments" part. Ok, I'll give it a try. In the meantime, enjoy the leaves . . . .

October 2007

They let them go so the deer can eat.
That’s what the oaks do.

Share your song, let go your gifts
- Sing!


Autumn Harvest

Come one, come all
There’s plenty to share -
Crabapples in red,
a seed to spare!

Come one, come all
There’s plenty to share -
A field of Goodness
A glorious fare!

September 2007

I'm a little late with my paintings this month (too many deadlines!) so I'll just go ahead and put up the words for now.

There is a word you might know called Namaste’ From my understanding it means:
I honor the God in you. Or I honor the Good in you, or the Beauty perhaps.

I had two nice apples that fell from our tree that I almost removed this year as it is leaning at a 45 degree angle and practically taking down our fence. I decided to give these apples to the deer that on very happy days, come wandering down our path in the woods. I strolled out, rather hastily at first, when a wood thrush galloped along a pile of brush slowing me down with the chatter of his feet. Oh yeah, I thought . . pay attention.

I arrived at the spot where we set out corn and other goodies in hopes they will be found. I placed the two apples in as pretty a position as I could and asked the fairies to make sure someone found them and put them to good use. With my blessing complete, I turned so that I might head towards the meadow that surrounds the church and there she was. Just a baby. Ears perked up, eyes wide and watching. I paused, motionless. “Namaste”, the word filled my mind and it was sent as a love letter across the 20 feet of path that divided us. The little doe stared back. I have some apples for you, I said silently. Again, she stared back.
This is the time I usually watch, so taken to be eye to eye with such a quiet, peaceful creature, until at last, they turn aside, or spring away into the woods. This time, I turned away. I let her stay with the blessing I had left for her. I took my share. I didn’t use it up like usual. I left full.
























My garden is so full of life right now, almost anytime you come out you get a surprise. Goldfinches are chipping away at rich seeded centers of the black-eyed-susans. Catbird is testing out the pyracantha berries willing them to ripen. A set of robins have started to enjoy the crabapples, the size of plump peas with crimson coats. The hummingbird who has been visiting my zinnias all summer long has joined the buffet of my newly bloomed sedum. The large leaves of the black-eyed-susans are peppered with dropped seeds which I turn in my hand and toss to the back of the bed for harvest next spring. The cleome seeds are bursting from their long slipper-like pods preparing for a lush meadow of blooms next year. Everything is giving back, tenfold, or maybe hundredfold. That’s the way a garden works.



Marigold practices drawing the Goldfinch, lucky for Marigold, he is very patient.
















Mrs. Goldfinch hasn't as bright a coat as her husband, but Mari loves her just the same!

August 2007

August, even the name sounds pretty. It conjures visions of peach, dusky skies, open prairies dotted with white Queen Anne’s lace and a sort of quiet that you don’t get when things are gearing up for the summer. Everything’s here now, there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to do but watch,

and let it come. . .

Can you see it in the field wading between the branches of milkweed working its way toward the breeze who moves it slowly in and out through the fence poles and gently, in the next moment, the very next moment, right into your breath? Peace.

Can you see it in the catbird who lingers softly on the edge of the birdbath, dripping, content, not ready to leave the poolside just yet? Can you see it in the spider webs, in the circles and circles of gentle work? Can you see it on a morning when you are lucky enough to have nothing to do and you sit for no reason, unaware that you’re yearning . . . and there it comes . . . Peace.

I saw for the very first time this afternoon, as I was bargaining with the raindrops to hold off just a bit longer while my clothes dried on the line, something I had never seen - 8 or 10 herons flying side by side overhead, above my trees. Silent. Completely silent. In three more seconds, they were gone. Their long legs showing the grace of flight. I had sat myself down, for the briefest of moments while my kitty decided whether he was going in or out of the porch. And for some reason I looked up.

August has its own quiet way of whispering – and with her clever disguises, shows us peace.