I am driving from Oregon to Utah and noticing the colors of the grain fields, sage brush, juniper shrubs and the ever so subtle warming colors on the south side of maple trees.
I have to disagree with you on two things. My wife and I laugh she agrees, but on one of your songs you mention that a summer tomato is a thing to rejoice, she likes tomatoes, and I do not, and although I am a tea drinker, mint tea is not happening
I very much appreciate our community and this helpful reminder about mindful speech. As for the change in seasons, where I live, in the stateline area of NW Illinois (20 or so mins south of Wisconsin), there was some really cool weather and now it is getting quite warm, but it definitedly feels fall-like. The trees here are still mostly green but starting to turn and there is definitely a sense that soon it will be cold and I will be dealing with snow. Another year (of many) for me in this circle of life.
I enjoyed your poem exchange with Hafiz. As always, Hafiz and Rumi are constant reminders that we are one with the Universe and each other. Namaste.
Looking up at the sky, I couldn't help but focus on the leaves overhead... Still green, but not as vibrant as they were a few weeks ago. Curling a little at the edges. But not fighting it. Still basking in the September sun, not hastening to fall and not struggling to hold on. Just being there.
I've been sitting on our small balcony, a former convent turned into now a senior living campus. My beloved hubby snores as I try to silently climb out of bed - we are in the autumn of our lives and he is in winter, with alzheimers. II am awake, well rested and make "shroom hot coffee" then watch the light from grey to yellow and the glow of sunrise easing into the sky slowly, not a burst... canadian geese noisily soar overhead. I see (but don't hear - a plane) in the high now blue, with clouds forming. autumn is full of life preparing, leaves duller green now, some brown, a few with a bit of yellow or red.
My fall pause is noticing how sweet baby Jackson (our Corgi) coat is more fluffy and as I rubbed him outside sitting on the deck the hair floats through the air. He is shedding that summer fur for his fall coat. Then off he trots to bark at the squirrels that are back in the yard. Another sign of fall...running squirrels and running Corgi after them. Love the poem Carrie especially this part:
"When all the while
The autumn light
Is streaming down through the amber leaves
Making the dust sparkle
And the whole world glow from within."
So visual! It also reminded me that they call Corgi fur when shedding Fairy dust and it sparkles too. Thank you.
On this date 61 years ago my mother, my sister, and I saw the Beatles in concert. The sky then was quiet, and today? Quiet and carrying peace. “Hey, Jude”
I also was reassured to find I am not alone in reading a book that holds much wisdom, only to find I remember so little!
I am drawn to the breaking September dawn sky, a mystery unfolding; crispness in the air promising nothing except this moment. Silhouettes of trees, some fully clothed, others with bare arms outstretched to greet the new day. Breathe in, breathe out..
My first observation of the autumn light was not the light itself, but what the seasonal angle allowed me to see. Tiny insects, and mostly their wings, glowed as if the sun was a stage spotlight in a darkened theater. Near and quite far, I saw tiny gnats, black wasps, and dragon flies, because they reflected the sun.
Then my attention turned to the falling leaves, some in groups, others in solitude, they each had their own style. Some spun like tops, others like inverted parachutes, taking their own sweet time. Each one of them reminded me of children saying, “Hey, look at what I can do!” The Yogi Berra quote came to mind, “You can observe a lot just by watching.”
So much gratitude for this assignment and community.
I went outside to pay attention to the autumn sky around 11. The sun danced on the leaves of the large silver maple tree. Blue jays called and the tree creaked in the breeze. There was not a cloud in the sky, just an expanse of blue and the sun. Thanks for encouraging a moment to pause and appreciate the now. Grateful for this gathering of spirits.
I love fall. Fall speaks to my spirit more than any other season. It calls me to breathe in the crisp air, the smells of fall, the sunshine, memories of past autumns…the beauty of this part of the cycle of life. I feel deep connections to the earth and all of life.
Carrie, it was reassuring to read your words about reading a book to soak in all the wisdom, only to realize when you finished the book, you couldn’t remember much of what you had so eagerly read. It is good to know I am not the only one!
I often tell people I was 14 before I realized the sky was blue.*
That’s because I grew up in an industrial city in northwest Indiana where the sky was usually a dingy brown.
These days I love the sky. In Alabama. New Mexico. Alaska. And even on the Isle of Iona in Scotland where rain clouds and mist often obscure the blue—but you know it’s there.
And I say that if you can’t walk out the door and say “Wow!” when you look up at the sky (or simply gaze around) you may be misunderstanding the meaning of spirituality.
*(I was also 14 before I realized that the words “play ball” were not part of the national anthem.)
I stayed three days on Iona in June. My third visit. I find that tears come quickly when I am in that sacred space. I like to sit under the trees that house the rookery and watch these incredibly social birds going about their lives with abandon, finding myself longing to do the same.
Thanks, Corinne. I spent 3 days on the isle a dozen years ago. Pretty much a gale the shole time I was there. I was never completely dry. It was like G!D was weeping. But beautiful tears
I LOVE Iona!! Been more than a minute since I was last there- but the frequency of that place! Wow. It lives in my bones and washes over me instantly as I savor the memories.
I get a newsletter from a woman who spent 3 months volunteering in Iona Scotland. She shared pictures and stories of her adventures. Such a beautiful place.
Took my coffee and journal out to the patio this morning. Then immediately headed back in - for a blanket. The skies promise rain, waves of lowish darkened clouds flow, until they coalesce. September- the middle time- in between and letting go. One more day of 80 degree temps promised this week. I am still swimming- until goosebumps and shivering gets the best of me. Fall is beautiful, with beginnings that are exciting and endings that bring grief.
The line in the poem that stopped me is, “The time it takes”. Feeling that to my bones. The important things seem to take so much more time than I prefer.
In this in-between seasons and current cloudy day, I have reflected on the weather in our nation. This week felt different. Darker. Posts on both sides sharing memes that concluded “we are not the same”. This is so wrong and dangerous. We are more than “same”. We are connected. We are human. And we need each other. I also found a third group speaking up. Those who decry violence for any purpose or ideology. I joined these voices. Now, more than ever, it seems we need to understand how similar we are and how we share this same September sky. (Which is still technically summer for another week). just sayin’ ;-)
When I step outside my door, the air has a welcomed coolness. As I stop and listen, song birds have joined our neighborhood briefly on their journey to their winter home. Perhaps they will decide to stay.
Stepping into my pool, the water has a chill. Just enough to make me catch my breath as I plunge in.
Arizona fall is a welcome relief from the intense heat of the summer,
I am driving from Oregon to Utah and noticing the colors of the grain fields, sage brush, juniper shrubs and the ever so subtle warming colors on the south side of maple trees.
I have to disagree with you on two things. My wife and I laugh she agrees, but on one of your songs you mention that a summer tomato is a thing to rejoice, she likes tomatoes, and I do not, and although I am a tea drinker, mint tea is not happening
I very much appreciate our community and this helpful reminder about mindful speech. As for the change in seasons, where I live, in the stateline area of NW Illinois (20 or so mins south of Wisconsin), there was some really cool weather and now it is getting quite warm, but it definitedly feels fall-like. The trees here are still mostly green but starting to turn and there is definitely a sense that soon it will be cold and I will be dealing with snow. Another year (of many) for me in this circle of life.
I enjoyed your poem exchange with Hafiz. As always, Hafiz and Rumi are constant reminders that we are one with the Universe and each other. Namaste.
Looking up at the sky, I couldn't help but focus on the leaves overhead... Still green, but not as vibrant as they were a few weeks ago. Curling a little at the edges. But not fighting it. Still basking in the September sun, not hastening to fall and not struggling to hold on. Just being there.
It felt like it was pulling me upward. As if to remind me to look at the changes fall brings from above so I can acknowledge that change is beautiful
I've been sitting on our small balcony, a former convent turned into now a senior living campus. My beloved hubby snores as I try to silently climb out of bed - we are in the autumn of our lives and he is in winter, with alzheimers. II am awake, well rested and make "shroom hot coffee" then watch the light from grey to yellow and the glow of sunrise easing into the sky slowly, not a burst... canadian geese noisily soar overhead. I see (but don't hear - a plane) in the high now blue, with clouds forming. autumn is full of life preparing, leaves duller green now, some brown, a few with a bit of yellow or red.
My fall pause is noticing how sweet baby Jackson (our Corgi) coat is more fluffy and as I rubbed him outside sitting on the deck the hair floats through the air. He is shedding that summer fur for his fall coat. Then off he trots to bark at the squirrels that are back in the yard. Another sign of fall...running squirrels and running Corgi after them. Love the poem Carrie especially this part:
"When all the while
The autumn light
Is streaming down through the amber leaves
Making the dust sparkle
And the whole world glow from within."
So visual! It also reminded me that they call Corgi fur when shedding Fairy dust and it sparkles too. Thank you.
On this date 61 years ago my mother, my sister, and I saw the Beatles in concert. The sky then was quiet, and today? Quiet and carrying peace. “Hey, Jude”
I also was reassured to find I am not alone in reading a book that holds much wisdom, only to find I remember so little!
I am drawn to the breaking September dawn sky, a mystery unfolding; crispness in the air promising nothing except this moment. Silhouettes of trees, some fully clothed, others with bare arms outstretched to greet the new day. Breathe in, breathe out..
My first observation of the autumn light was not the light itself, but what the seasonal angle allowed me to see. Tiny insects, and mostly their wings, glowed as if the sun was a stage spotlight in a darkened theater. Near and quite far, I saw tiny gnats, black wasps, and dragon flies, because they reflected the sun.
Then my attention turned to the falling leaves, some in groups, others in solitude, they each had their own style. Some spun like tops, others like inverted parachutes, taking their own sweet time. Each one of them reminded me of children saying, “Hey, look at what I can do!” The Yogi Berra quote came to mind, “You can observe a lot just by watching.”
So much gratitude for this assignment and community.
Such a beautiful description. Thank you Jeff. Such lovely details and observations. Thank you for sharing..
I went outside to pay attention to the autumn sky around 11. The sun danced on the leaves of the large silver maple tree. Blue jays called and the tree creaked in the breeze. There was not a cloud in the sky, just an expanse of blue and the sun. Thanks for encouraging a moment to pause and appreciate the now. Grateful for this gathering of spirits.
Lovely…I’m grateful too my friend.
I love fall. Fall speaks to my spirit more than any other season. It calls me to breathe in the crisp air, the smells of fall, the sunshine, memories of past autumns…the beauty of this part of the cycle of life. I feel deep connections to the earth and all of life.
Carrie, it was reassuring to read your words about reading a book to soak in all the wisdom, only to realize when you finished the book, you couldn’t remember much of what you had so eagerly read. It is good to know I am not the only one!
I too experience this with reading!!
I often tell people I was 14 before I realized the sky was blue.*
That’s because I grew up in an industrial city in northwest Indiana where the sky was usually a dingy brown.
These days I love the sky. In Alabama. New Mexico. Alaska. And even on the Isle of Iona in Scotland where rain clouds and mist often obscure the blue—but you know it’s there.
And I say that if you can’t walk out the door and say “Wow!” when you look up at the sky (or simply gaze around) you may be misunderstanding the meaning of spirituality.
*(I was also 14 before I realized that the words “play ball” were not part of the national anthem.)
I stayed three days on Iona in June. My third visit. I find that tears come quickly when I am in that sacred space. I like to sit under the trees that house the rookery and watch these incredibly social birds going about their lives with abandon, finding myself longing to do the same.
I found the “veil” so thin there. Day visits only. But felt like seconds and weeks at the same time.
Thanks, Corinne. I spent 3 days on the isle a dozen years ago. Pretty much a gale the shole time I was there. I was never completely dry. It was like G!D was weeping. But beautiful tears
I LOVE Iona!! Been more than a minute since I was last there- but the frequency of that place! Wow. It lives in my bones and washes over me instantly as I savor the memories.
I get a newsletter from a woman who spent 3 months volunteering in Iona Scotland. She shared pictures and stories of her adventures. Such a beautiful place.
It is an amazing fierce landscape. It’s written about in the book “The Solace of Fierce Landscapes.”
Took my coffee and journal out to the patio this morning. Then immediately headed back in - for a blanket. The skies promise rain, waves of lowish darkened clouds flow, until they coalesce. September- the middle time- in between and letting go. One more day of 80 degree temps promised this week. I am still swimming- until goosebumps and shivering gets the best of me. Fall is beautiful, with beginnings that are exciting and endings that bring grief.
The line in the poem that stopped me is, “The time it takes”. Feeling that to my bones. The important things seem to take so much more time than I prefer.
In this in-between seasons and current cloudy day, I have reflected on the weather in our nation. This week felt different. Darker. Posts on both sides sharing memes that concluded “we are not the same”. This is so wrong and dangerous. We are more than “same”. We are connected. We are human. And we need each other. I also found a third group speaking up. Those who decry violence for any purpose or ideology. I joined these voices. Now, more than ever, it seems we need to understand how similar we are and how we share this same September sky. (Which is still technically summer for another week). just sayin’ ;-)
Yes, there is a third way. It is so important we share that message…we are many and we are great with love.
When I step outside my door, the air has a welcomed coolness. As I stop and listen, song birds have joined our neighborhood briefly on their journey to their winter home. Perhaps they will decide to stay.
Stepping into my pool, the water has a chill. Just enough to make me catch my breath as I plunge in.
Arizona fall is a welcome relief from the intense heat of the summer,
Humor, humility, be here now. And then reflect on them again when you lose conscious awareness of the impermanence of it all...!