Foxglove is the name of my property, five acres overlooking the Lewis River Valley that was covered with the wildflower when I first moved here in 1996.
That time of year:
All fluffed up,
showing off one's stylish winter coat,
looking around to see who notices,
checking out the competition.
[First posted: November 24, 2014]
Dashing out the door yesterday morning, I was stopped in astonishment.
Up in the branches sat a magnificent owl, staring at me with an almost ethereal calm.
"Oh, wow," I whispered to him, "Don't move." I dropped my briefcase, unslung the camera from my shoulder and hurriedly removed it from its case.
This was a sign, I was sure, a sign for the day beginning. The owl was a symbol of wisdom to the ancient Greeks, a sacred bird from the other world, all seeing, all knowing...He was also a symbol of death's approach to the native Northwest coast peoples, but, if given the choice, I was feeling partial to the Greeks at the moment.
He sat up there, calmly observing me as I fumbled with the camera and kept begging him, "Don't fly away. Please don't fly away."
And he didn't. It was as if he knew that I meant him no harm, that we were brothers in spirit and that I honored his presence, that he and I were fellow creatures, both of us belonging to this hillside, equal in our right to be here, although I was the one stuck with paying the property taxes.
Or, maybe he was thinking, "This klutz can't be a threat to me. He can't fly. He can barely operate that camera--Oh, look, he's trying to take my picture with the lens cap on. How pathetic."
Anyway, I got his picture, determined he was a symbol of wisdom, and tootled off to work for the day.
[First posted: November 19, 2014]
Let both your living
and your dying
be beautiful,
be memorable
...and don't forget to compost.
[First posted: November 21, 2014]
This photo was a mistake (I love it when that happens.)
Standing in the bright sunlight, focusing on the rhododendron, I didn't notice the Buddha back in the shadows‐‐the shadows were much darker than this picture now cropped suggests.
But when I saw the photo, I was surprised--and delighted!--giving me metaphysical shivers.
The same surprise occasionally happens with my writing‐‐some plot twist I didn't see coming, or a deeper meaning to a story suddenly revealed‐‐and I think, "Wow, I would never have thought of that!"
And a voice from some deeper part of me whispers, You didn't.
[First posted: July 2, 2014]
Slightly used.
[First posted: July 7, 2014]
I watch the hummingbirds fight over the feeder, flaring their feathers at each other. Such territorial little fellows!
"There's more than enough for all of you," I want to tell them. "Have you considered sharing maybe?"
From what I see, they never really attack each other. Just a lot of hovering and zipping about with feather-flaring, trying to show who's the alpha hummingbird of the hillside. Almost human.
Pathetic.
[First posted: July 9, 2014]
They zip, swoosh, and buzz-thrum about my head as I refill their feeders.
Cheeky little fellows!
I tell them, "Really, you want to be nice to me."
[First posted: July 15, 2014]
This time of year
I see foxgloves every day
as I go to work,
as I come home from work,
as I walk around this hillside.
But sometimes--
maybe it's a certain slant of light,
or a certain slant of mood--
I see through the lens
of the miraculous,
and it's heart stopping
(or starting.)
[First posted: July 17, 2014]
Can't think of a better place to meditate.
No wonder the frogs around my pond
are always so serene.
[First posted: July 19, 2014]
Well named:
regal in splendor,
reigning in beauty.
[First posted: July 22, 2014]
