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?

September 2006

There is something about cool air traveling through the trees that excites me. There is movement everywhere. The trees are changing, not in color yet, but they are ready. And around my pond the birds are coming! -the ones that travel through and visit only a week or two, or maybe just a day, before heading out to warmer pastures. A Ruby-Crowned-Kinglet jumps among the rose stems that overhang the water. His tiny wings cause ripples on the surface when he dashes overhead. Never have you seen such a springy little fellow, and through my binoculars he flashes his ruby feathers just long enough to make me smile. Last fall the Golden-Crowned-Kinglet and I watched the setting sun among wild crabapples and blossoming bittersweet. This year there is a new development where the horse used to wander and the hedge, with its ancient crabapples and twists of orange berries, has been taken down.

I am glad to have a pond and an apple tree of my own and a place for the birds. It’s the least I can do. And so, here is a picture of my little Kinglets for you - perhaps they’ll be in your backyard next! Sometimes, if you’re lucky like me, the Golden-Crowned-Kinglet will come close enough for you to see his crown and hear his tiny wisps. But that takes wild places and cool breezes and patience.

Best of luck, because if you do, you’ll have a friend forever.

There are two Kinglets, the Golden-Crowned and the Ruby-Crowned, both are very small birds, but the Golden-Crowned is even smaller than the Ruby! Marigold accidentally called the female Kinglet “Queenlet” and he gave a very pretty bow, no one said anything but Anthea told him later they’re both called Kinglets!

August 2006

To sit on my deck in an August evening is to hear a symphony of strange and wonderful sounds; crickets and cicadas and the late cardinal. A handful of unknowns that one moment sound right next to you and the next, miles away; only a distant conversation.

My deck is screened eight feet up the sides, but there is no roof so that we can look up into the giant Sycamore branches and through to the sky. At night, if there is a full moon, the leaves cast intimate shadows that waltz when the wind moves through them. It has become too dark to read and, because our beloved cat isn’t ready to come in yet, my husband and I sit under the pale light surrounded by a ruckus of chatter. I wish I had a fairy to introduce me to this nightly cast of creatures with such powerful voices. Instead, I simply have to imagine who is making the “kah, kah, kah, …” and the spinning sounds like a baseball card on a bike wheel.

If I close my eyes (and get past the idea that a spider is going to land on me!) I can meet these creatures one by one in my imagination. Clicking and humming and reminding us that nighttime is just as alive as the day.

Here are a few imaginary little fellows; maybe you could do better….