I’m sitting on our screen porch this morning, listening to a slow rain falling on our woodsy back yard that was sorely neglected this fall, because life and love called our attention elsewhere. Stacks of leaves and limbs scatter the ground. A dead pine tree needs to be cut, but yesterday I noticed activity around a hole near the top, into which a red-headed woodpecker disappeared. And I remember reading once that old ticking clocks, mostly abandoned now for newer digital ones, were wise teachers. Their lesson in the rhythm was “there…is…plenty…of…time…there…is…”
Back in November we held a beautiful memorial service for my beloved who died in September. When contemplating who might speak for the family my two daughters and I quickly opted out, realizing there was no way we would not blubber our way through anything we might try to say.
So, sensing a innate fearlessness and groundedness I asked my 15-year-old granddaughter if she would speak for us. Her words and presence were a thing of beauty. One of the things she said resonates with your notion of magic..."to have known and loved my grandmother was magical." I wrote that on my little slip of paper, although I will carry her words in my heart forever.
Her hooked beak directed into the wind; she hovers effortlessly in a single spot. Searching the ground fifty feet below her, she descends slowly by simply straightening the ends of her wings. I have stirred a rodent from the high grass with my field mower and she wants to use it to feed her chicks. They wait anxiously in the nest nearby. As I come around the corner for another straight-line pass on the big field, she lifts off. She carries a tuft of grass in her talons along with her babies’ next feast. In flight, her defining red tail shouts this bird’s name.
I am joined by a squadron of blue aerobats. Their tails are forked and their backs are colored royal blue. Chestnut undercarriages flash as they swoop and swirl to catch the myriad of flying insects who are abandoning the grass in droves, with each pass of my mower.
For a few minutes, I am in fear of some sort of collision. The Barn Swallows are everywhere at once and I visualize bird on bird crashes or bird to tractor disasters. I am surprised that one of the lightening fast wingers hasn’t hit me yet.
So, this is chaos theory. Since they fly like bats, I wonder if they have echo location like their bug eating brethren.
I calm down. These flyers would be the envy of the most expert Navy pilot. We co-exist and do a very complex dance. They stay with me as I go up and down and around and around again.
The Hawk returns and lands on the fragile top branch of a Pear tree thirty feet tall. I look up at her and playfully flash a peace sign. She turns her beautiful fierceness toward me and I nod and smile. We reach a symbiotic accord. I will free up more food for her to feed her family and she will let me watch her perform her expert flying and hunting.
She remains on her perch, displaying a patience that the wildest of creatures possess.
This is my church. Surrounded by huge trees and undulating grasslands. Birds and beasts who will show me their world.
As much as I love your music, and I do love it dearly, I am beginning to think that you are an even more wonderful writer. Such beautiful language. “Under that dome of heaven, beneath bolts and bolts of celestial fabric tossed like a twinkling blanket over the wide shoulders of the world, I thanked The Astronomer for dumping oceans of stars into the cosmos, and that I, small and brief as I am, was allowed to spend time beneath such wonder.”
Reading about the blanket of stars brought to mind two things. First, since I moved to my current residence, I am able to see stars easily just looking out my patio door. Not the blanket you experienced but enough to satisfy this city girl's need for connection with the universe. The second thing that came to me is that when I go to my inner space of connection with the universe, and send Light out into this troubled world, my image is being with the Light of the stars holding the space for Love and Peace.
The image of the blanket of stars also brings to mind a story I connected with many years ago about the Kaballistic view of the creation of the world. As the story goes, when God was creating Light, He poured the Light into glass vessels. The Light was so intense the vessels shattered. The shards of glass represent our individual souls. Judaism has an important concept called Tikkun Olam. This translates to Repairing the World. On the physical level, I believe it explains the call for so many to try to repair the world via social action. But on the Spiritual level, I believe it means we all "repair" our individual souls, merging into that Light again so that Loving and Light will prevail over darkness and fear. Namaste.
Carrie, your opening essay is luminescent, as if your pen were filled with stardust when you wrote it. As one of your other readers said, “Wow!" Just wow! And thank you...
Teri I lover your comment. I had the joy of living in Green Valley for 17 years. A place were I experienced a miracle every day. Nor I live in Texas in a rental and my backyard is empty. I am thankful I can visualize where I have seen “ miracles happening every day.” In my 90 years I rejoice of all I have seen
Oh my heart, what beauty, yours shares with this starlight, grace and love! Thank you with every cell of my being!
Stunning images and writing to start the day…as always: Thank You
As a former science teacher, I can “explain” how a rainbow is formed. But when I see a rainbow, I am in awe of what a miracle it is!
I’m sitting on our screen porch this morning, listening to a slow rain falling on our woodsy back yard that was sorely neglected this fall, because life and love called our attention elsewhere. Stacks of leaves and limbs scatter the ground. A dead pine tree needs to be cut, but yesterday I noticed activity around a hole near the top, into which a red-headed woodpecker disappeared. And I remember reading once that old ticking clocks, mostly abandoned now for newer digital ones, were wise teachers. Their lesson in the rhythm was “there…is…plenty…of…time…there…is…”
Carrie this is beautiful. You are a word artist. Thank you for sharing!!
Back in November we held a beautiful memorial service for my beloved who died in September. When contemplating who might speak for the family my two daughters and I quickly opted out, realizing there was no way we would not blubber our way through anything we might try to say.
So, sensing a innate fearlessness and groundedness I asked my 15-year-old granddaughter if she would speak for us. Her words and presence were a thing of beauty. One of the things she said resonates with your notion of magic..."to have known and loved my grandmother was magical." I wrote that on my little slip of paper, although I will carry her words in my heart forever.
You write so beautifully, and your observations and stories are also like a comforting flannel blanket wrapped around me.
Her hooked beak directed into the wind; she hovers effortlessly in a single spot. Searching the ground fifty feet below her, she descends slowly by simply straightening the ends of her wings. I have stirred a rodent from the high grass with my field mower and she wants to use it to feed her chicks. They wait anxiously in the nest nearby. As I come around the corner for another straight-line pass on the big field, she lifts off. She carries a tuft of grass in her talons along with her babies’ next feast. In flight, her defining red tail shouts this bird’s name.
I am joined by a squadron of blue aerobats. Their tails are forked and their backs are colored royal blue. Chestnut undercarriages flash as they swoop and swirl to catch the myriad of flying insects who are abandoning the grass in droves, with each pass of my mower.
For a few minutes, I am in fear of some sort of collision. The Barn Swallows are everywhere at once and I visualize bird on bird crashes or bird to tractor disasters. I am surprised that one of the lightening fast wingers hasn’t hit me yet.
So, this is chaos theory. Since they fly like bats, I wonder if they have echo location like their bug eating brethren.
I calm down. These flyers would be the envy of the most expert Navy pilot. We co-exist and do a very complex dance. They stay with me as I go up and down and around and around again.
The Hawk returns and lands on the fragile top branch of a Pear tree thirty feet tall. I look up at her and playfully flash a peace sign. She turns her beautiful fierceness toward me and I nod and smile. We reach a symbiotic accord. I will free up more food for her to feed her family and she will let me watch her perform her expert flying and hunting.
She remains on her perch, displaying a patience that the wildest of creatures possess.
This is my church. Surrounded by huge trees and undulating grasslands. Birds and beasts who will show me their world.
My heart is beating a peaceful rhythm.
Hearts 💙feathery clouds ☁️ ~shimmering water 💧
Ephemeral gifts abound💙☁️💧
file:///var/mobile/Library/SMS/Attachments/75/05/AEB291E3-6B11-4A4B-A4E8-654A9809BF4D/FullSizeRender.HEIC
As much as I love your music, and I do love it dearly, I am beginning to think that you are an even more wonderful writer. Such beautiful language. “Under that dome of heaven, beneath bolts and bolts of celestial fabric tossed like a twinkling blanket over the wide shoulders of the world, I thanked The Astronomer for dumping oceans of stars into the cosmos, and that I, small and brief as I am, was allowed to spend time beneath such wonder.”
Just wow.
Oh I felt like I was right there with you in the stories you told. So beautiful and I thank you.
Reading about the blanket of stars brought to mind two things. First, since I moved to my current residence, I am able to see stars easily just looking out my patio door. Not the blanket you experienced but enough to satisfy this city girl's need for connection with the universe. The second thing that came to me is that when I go to my inner space of connection with the universe, and send Light out into this troubled world, my image is being with the Light of the stars holding the space for Love and Peace.
The image of the blanket of stars also brings to mind a story I connected with many years ago about the Kaballistic view of the creation of the world. As the story goes, when God was creating Light, He poured the Light into glass vessels. The Light was so intense the vessels shattered. The shards of glass represent our individual souls. Judaism has an important concept called Tikkun Olam. This translates to Repairing the World. On the physical level, I believe it explains the call for so many to try to repair the world via social action. But on the Spiritual level, I believe it means we all "repair" our individual souls, merging into that Light again so that Loving and Light will prevail over darkness and fear. Namaste.
Carrie, your opening essay is luminescent, as if your pen were filled with stardust when you wrote it. As one of your other readers said, “Wow!" Just wow! And thank you...
So beautiful thank you
Teri I lover your comment. I had the joy of living in Green Valley for 17 years. A place were I experienced a miracle every day. Nor I live in Texas in a rental and my backyard is empty. I am thankful I can visualize where I have seen “ miracles happening every day.” In my 90 years I rejoice of all I have seen