The Enigma of Time

Time has a way of continuing to move on. It doesn't matter if we are moving with it, or if we are watching it go past from our easy chair. 

When I am in Florida, as I am now, time has a different quality to it than it does back in Vermont. Despite being here for several months, there is something of "vacation" about my time here. I struggle against this, by transporting my kombucha scoby and sourdough starter 1,434 miles, and making meals from scratch, despite the prevalence of dining options within walking distance once I arrive. I walk every day as I do back home, but here I have the luxury of choosing to walk on a beach or a palm-shaded path. I read the news and do the New York Times puzzles, but when I glance up and away from the screen, the inland waterway is glistening right in front of me, boats lazily making their way out to the sea for the day, and, just beyond them, the golf course stretches as far as I can see.

Florida wants to teach me how to slow down. It wants me to notice the beauty of a white bird foraging for bugs, a manatee swimming by, flowers in full bloom despite winter's chill, lizards darting across my path when I least expect them. I want to comply, I really do, and I think there is a part of me that might be starting to let time to flow by me or through me, but there is a greater part of me that still wrestles with it. There is something within me that assumes it is important to create meaning in every moment. There is a part of me that wants to prove I have achieved something with each day granted. 

I imagine that someday I will discover that there is a balance between the two, a balance between achieving and learning how to appreciate and embrace the beauty of each moment. Maybe this is the year I will take the lesson to heart.

So Much Space: An Exercise in Trust

 

So much space

expanses of time

breathing room, for sure

but for what?

Leaving work life

I imagined

opportunities 

unfurling at my feet

showing themselves

in splendor and possibility.

I find myself 

weighing the choices

looking far down each path

but more unsure than Frost

which one is for me

where my destiny lay

that "one wild"

and don't forget, 

"precious" life

I long for

and imagined

was searching for me.

Now,

here I stand

arms open

expectant

heart welcoming

daring to hope

seeking a glimpse

of what may come

into this space

that is my life

Trees and I

I have a fondness for trees, 

a relationship, really

as it goes both ways

between trees and me

as I walk through the woods,

it is common 

for me to speak 

to the trees as I pass

reserving particular attention

for the elders,

those who have been around

for a while

wisdom seeps into me

as I walk by

reaching out

to caress the bark

of sister Pine

as I prepare to step over the stream

to touch the leaves

clinging to brother Oak

despite winter's chilly winds 

The quiet

the peace

soaking into me

in the forest depths

heals something within

that I did not know needed healing

 

In This Moment

In this moment

all seems well

I am warm and well fed

I have a place to lay my head down

In this moment

I have all that I need

but if I look beyond 

the immediate present

out into the world at large

my heart starts beating quickly

anxieties arise.

So many things I used to count on

freedom

justice

compassion

law and order

are blowing in the wind.

Innocent people 

are being shot

by government agents

black and brown people

are being targeted,

harassed and questioned

new immigrants

are being deported

for no reason

except that they

do not align 

with racist ideals 

of what Americans

look like

speak like.

In this moment

all may seem well

but trouble is close

breathing down our necks

we dare not ignore

the signs

of an approaching storm.

Winter Winds

Wintertime can be harsh

for those who live outdoors

birds flock to black sunflower seeds

scattered over frozen earth

as squirrels perform acrobatics

upending the feeder

What was a cozy nest in springtime

now hangs by threads

woven branches and fluff

exposed

offering no respite

from these winter winds

My friend and I wandered through the town cemetery today, talking about our lives, stopping to marvel at ancient cedars, inscriptions on the gravestones, and to watch a hawk fly. Somehow, being in the cemetery, with its evidence of so many lives lived, did something to my heart. The air was cold, and it was windy. When we came upon this broken-down nest, it made me think of those who do not have a home where they can shelter from the cold. It seemed symbolic of the unravelling of safety nets in our country.

I know we can do better. We can care for one another. If we put our hearts into it, we can push aside power-hungry greed and make way for kindness and compassion. We can ensure that all are protected from the harsh winter winds.

 

So Many Decembers

so many Decembers

I long for snow

for some sign

that the season is 

more than sticks of brown 

against grey skies

today, a gift

bright blue overhead

cumulous clouds floating by

sparkles everywhere

as snow continues to fall

 

Bear Tracks & Gratitude

When I visit my sister, down in New Jersey, we make sure to take a nice long walk together. It was late afternoon when we found our way to the trail on this snowy and cold December day. "Let's go to the second bridge," she suggested, and I agreed. 

We walked along, talking about our lives. Fresh from our uncle's funeral, we reminisced about our childhood, when our families gathered to celebrate the holidays. The length of time between then and now took our breath away. We walked in silence for a while.

Reaching the second bridge, I saw tracks in the snow. Bear tracks. Sue went on ahead of me, while I stood over the tracks, taking pictures and marveling that only a short time ago, a bear had walked this very path! 

The encounter got me to wondering about all the creatures who walk along the same paths as we, of whom we never see any sign. I thought about our responsibility for those hidden neighbors, to ensure the waters run clear and the winds blow fresh. To ensure that there is freedom and space for the wild ones who prefer to keep their distance.

I also contemplated the uplift my heart feels whenever I see a sign that some rare (or common) creature has passed this way. The gift of knowing that we share this place, this earth, with those who are so different from us, and yet who are also, in some unique ways, so similar.

Gratitude filled me up, and buoyed my spirit as Sue and I, and her faithful dog, Nik turned back toward home.

Beautiful Silence

The snow is falling steadily today

beautiful

just beautiful

but

when it comes to snow

vision is not primary

such silence

everything hushed so profoundly

I hear each snowflake

fall through the sky

a descant

coming down to earth

landing as a tiny secret

indistinguishable to the eye

 from all the rest

beautiful

just beautiful

 

Thanksgiving

I am grateful for the little things that make life so meaningful:

Nourishment for body, mind and spirit

Family gatherings

Friends around the table

Conversations that draw me in

Sunshine after clouds

Earthy scents of fresh air

Flowing streams and ocean waves

Deep breaths that calm

Smiles of welcome

A full heart

 

Tiny Doses of Gratitude

 

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and because of this, thoughts of gratitude are in the air. 

So often, we think that gratitude has to be related to something BIG. We assume that the bigger the better, the bigger, the more gratitude generated. But I just listened to a program on the radio on which the professor spoke of research that has proven gratitude is especially valuable when we feel it for many little things throughout our day.

It is better to look for and notice small things you are grateful for as you go about your daily life. Weaving appreciation through your day is more effective in terms of actually helping us become more grateful, more positive, than setting aside a special time to reflect on what you are grateful for once a day.

The whole idea is to build your gratitude muscle, as you might any other muscle. 

The picture I posted above is of my favorite vacation place. When I am there, I definitely feel gratitude for all I see and experience. But what that story reminded me, is to recognize what I am grateful for in my ordinary life. To remember that there is extraordinary value in appreciating the simple pleasures of my home and my life here. 

Tiny doses of gratitude can add up to big changes in attitude.

Last Tomato

sitting on the cutting board

half gone already

to Gary's salad

unaware

(both he and perhaps the tomato)

this was the last one

fresh from the garden

of good friends

shared with generosity

out of abundance, yes,

but frosty nights 

loomed

And here we are

the last of a whole red basketful

bursting with flavor

sweet in a way

store-bought cannot comprehend

delighted in with

slow breaths

closed eyes

wide smile

ecstatic tastebuds

savoring summer

 

Golden Light

Golden light 

surrounds me

just for a week or so

when the beeches turn

from summer's green

to autumn gold

This gold 

a kaliedescope

of every variant

green to yellow to brown

overwhelms me

every time

I stop my car

trying to take it in

but that is never enough

I get home

climb out of the driver's seat

and walk back

to that beautiful 

tunnel of molten light

stand

taking it in 

with every molecule of awareness

When the leaves are gone

blown by wind

pummeled by rain

too tired to hold on

when stark branches 

lift against wintry skies

remember what it felt like

when golden light

was everywhere

 

While the Sun Shines

 

While the sun shines

there is much to do

fill the woodbox

hang out laundry

mow the lawn

wash the windows

So easy to consider

all the details

making up survival

these, of course

must be done 

sometime

easier in clement weather

But what about thriving?

what about joy?

caring for the soul?

lifting my spirits?

My new list

while the sun is shining: 

wander in the woods

sit by the stream

soak in the golden warmth

stretch out in my hammock

paint the light

write a poem

Sophia's Circle

 

I look around

eight women

from 40-something to 91

so many years

of finding pathways

through the chaos and joys

living brings

Holding faith

in heart and mind

letting it guide

encourage

and simply hold steady

when the storms are rough

roads treacherous

and uncertainty reigns

In this moment

after so many tears

and "opportunities for growth"

wisdom is shared

no clear-cut answers

simply insights and support

as we sit in this circle

face to compassionate face

Each Breath a Blessing

I walk a lot

Even when arthritis is acting up

I can't help myself

There is so much that feeds me

out in the world

trees, flowers, mosses, streams, rocks

and all of the creatures

scurrying or flying away in alarm

I murmur my apologies

for upsetting the natural order of things

wishing I was more an accepted part of it all

Settling down by the stream edge

even when the water has gone underground

there is peace here

a quiet

that my soul needs

Breath by breath

blessings given and received

Aware that I am the one

most blessed

by these walks

by these moments

Capturing the Scent of Well-Being

I am a part of a writing group that receives prompts each month from the librarian on Monhegan Island, a place that I return to twice yearly, and find soothing to my sense of well-being. In June, Mia asked us to send scents to each other. Most of us, despite good intentions, did not manage to do this.

 But the idea of the prompt took hold of me, and while I was sitting in Gull Cove, one of my favorite places on the island, I was inspired to write about a scent that pursues me, and that I, in turn, pursue. I was nestled in a crevice in the great rocks that overlook the ocean there, comfortably supported by the warm rock, cooled by the wind, and energized by the nearby crashing waves.

It is subtle here - not as pronounced as I have experienced its cousins in other places. You have to breathe deeply, and it only comes to you at the very tail end of your breath - a small tease inviting you to try again to more fully capture its essence. 

But each breath can only do so much, can only bring in air until your lungs are full, then, no more. And no matter how deep, no matter how prolonged and drawn out, no matter how fast or painstakingly slow, each breath can only offer that almost imperceptible jewel - the elusively subtle sea-salt air that is particular to Monhegan. 

It is so different from the scents of Cape Cod that hit as you drive over the Sagamore, or the boisterous boardwalk-infused sea air of the Jersey Shore or even of Florida’s sun-baked beaches. Monhegan’s sea air is more retiring, unwilling to flaunt itself, and in its rarity, all the more precious. 

Wishing I could capture it on a cotton ball or in a paper cup, or send it to myself in an envelope marked “Special Delivery”, I take another breath, in the hopes that I might be able call this scent to mind when I return home.

Not Knowing

 

I have a very hard time dealing with uncertainty. It is difficult for me to relax into a moment when I do not know what is coming next. I like to plan ahead as much as I can, so that I can count on accomplishing the things I set out to do in a given time frame. This morning I even did a meditation that focused on helping me be more present in this particular moment, and not falling back on the habit of always thinking ahead to my next step. 

I should have known that the Universe would set out to solidify this learning experience. 

There is work going on at the condo in which Gary and I are living at the moment. We have been dealing with obnoxious sounds of drills and the toxic fumes of paints and solvents for the past few months. But now the ante has been upped. Today, or tomorrow, the painters will start sealing and then refinishing the walkways outside our door. Once they begin, we will not be able to leave or come back to the apartment between 8:30am and 3:30pm. This will be true for the full three days that it takes to complete the process. 

Did you catch that I said "today or tomorrow"? That's because the process depends on the weather, and it might rain today, so the site supervisor has to decide whether to start today or wait until tomorrow. 

Those of us who live on this floor are having a hard time with the uncertainty of it. One neighbor had a delivery of sheet rock scheduled which they had to cancel, and may have to wait to have delivered after the flooring material has fully set - at least a week from now. Another neighbor has an appointment for her drapes to be cleaned at 11. She is waiting to see if they start the walkway or not before she cancels. I am waiting too. I finally found a new home for an old sofa we have, and the thrift shop folks are coming to get it at 1pm today... or not.

Gary and I plan to leave Florida for our trip back to Vermont on Wednesday, but we may not be able to roll heavy things on the new floor by then if it rains today and the workmen don't start working on the walkways until tomorrow. Oh, and there is also a new futon we are supposed to pick up and bring into the apartment on Tuesday, which may or may not be too heavy to roll over the new and still curing floors.

Suffice it to say that there is a whole lot of uncertainty in the air here. As a result, I have the golden opportunity to really work my meditation practice hard as I attempt to be present with what is rather than worrying about all of the possibilities that might be. I don't feel up to the task, but I actually don't have a choice, so here I am, waiting, and breathing as slowly and steadily as I can manage.

Make Way for Ducklings

 

I counted the ducklings again this morning. Despite the possibility of heart-plummeting disappointment, I can't help myself. Every time the Muscovy mother duck wanders into view I stop whatever I am doing and count the ducklings as they scurry to catch up to their mama. Although their mama is not what I could call conventionally attractive, the ducklings sure are, with their brown and yellow markings and fluff ball looks. 

When they hatched a few weeks ago there were thirteen adorable little ones. This morning there are ten. Their numbers have been holding strong at ten for several days now, which I count as a good omen. Last year, their numbers went from a solid dozen down to two remaining ducklings by the time they were ready to go off on their own. They do live in the wilds of this suburban environment where birds of prey and unwitting humans also roam. This morning I saw them in the lawn near the lagoon, but other days I have seen them basking in a puddle in the middle of our parking lot - a far less safe place for them to wash up.

My friend and I saw them searching for tasty morsels amidst the foliage surrounding the pool a few weeks ago, and while we thought they were pretty darn cute, I have overheard other folks comment on their presence in far less complimentary ways. One evening a duckling fell into the pool and had to be rescued by a by-passer with the pool's skimming net. Suffice it to say that it makes me nervous when the ducklings so blatantly avail themselves of the condo features meant for human enjoyment.

A few years ago a wildlife specialist was hired to capture the whole bunch, mama and ducklings, in order to relocate them further from human habitation, but that ploy obviously did not have a lasting effect. And this year, no one seems to be making noises to do the same, or perhaps I am just not privy to those conversations.

These ducklings are such a sign of the season, a sign of Spring and a sign of hope. Easter cards and decorations celebrate their hopeful cuteness. It breaks my heart a little, when my headcount shows that another duckling is missing, but I can't seem to stop myself. I feel like I am one of their protectors, somehow. When I count them, I send blessings to them, along with prayers that they make their way safely through another round of the sun. It is the least I can do, in gratitude for their presence, for their perseverance in the face of the enormous odds stacked against them in this environment that is becoming increasingly inhospitable to all forms of life. Their perseverance, their presence, is just the sign of hope I was looking for today.

Beach Cleaning as a Heart Practice

MacArthur State Park is one of our favorite beaches to spend time at while we are in Florida. There is an estuary to explore in kayaks, where we see all kinds of birds flying overhead or hidden in the mangroves around the shoreline. There is a boardwalk across the estuary, and finally, an expansive sandy beach where we can sit or walk for hours undisturbed. 

Storms can alter the shape and scale of beaches overnight, and one day we were shocked to see MacArthur Beach littered with all kinds of debris thanks to an overnight storm. The wind was still blowing when my daughters and I walked down to take a closer look. We saw the remains of someone's freshly built dock - the wooden planks and stairs, although scattered many feet apart, were still raw and freshly treated. A small boat, mostly made of foam and plastic, lay half buried in the sand. We sat for a while on a piece of lumber, and watched the crashing waves as the wind continued to blow strong and steady.

It was too windy to sit for long that day, but the next Gary and I returned and picked up a bucket and trash grabber that were stacked near the entrance to the beach. Walking up the beach that day we each collected a bucket full of plastic bottle caps, bags and fragments well on their way to becoming microplastics that cause so much harm in the worlds oceans. There were ropes and sharp bits of glass and wood, as well as a syringe that definitely gave me pause, walking barefoot as I usually do when I am there.

Since that day, when we go to the beach I often grab a bucket and add litter pick up to my relaxing beach walks. This practice helps me to feel that I am contributing in a positive way to keeping the environment I care about in better shape. It also slows me down. 

I am a person who has spent most of her life hurrying from one place or activity to another, taking very little time to reflect or pause between. How ironic that something that feeds into my need to keep myself occupied and feeling like I am accomplishing something worthwhile is also teaching me about the value of its opposite! It is important to learn how to simply BE, how to slow down to the speed of life. I know this intellectually, but find it difficult to actually practice it. Now, thanks to my desire to contribute by picking up litter, I am reaping the benefit of actually taking time to notice my surroundings, down to the smallest fragment of plastic or shell or seaweed or stone.

The discernment process of determining the difference between trash and treasure is serving me well as I allow myself the time to discern what is next in my life. I am not very patient, least of all with myself, but this is helping, and it enables me to do some good while I wait.

 

Solar Eclipse

 There was a solar eclipse today. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of it. Gary stopped by our local library to pick up a couple pairs of the special glasses they offered to community members through which to safely watch the sun slip behind the moon's shadow. I tried them on, and even went outside to see how effective they were, but it was so cloudy that no light at all got through the safety lenses. "Oh well," I sighed. "Guess we are not going to be able to see anything this time around."

When we went on a walk in the early afternoon, it was pretty dark, and I did think for a moment that maybe that was the effect of the eclipse. But the clouds were thick, so I thought it could also just be one of those gloomy, cloudy fall days. There were hardly any sounds at all, and very little movement. Even the chipmunks and squirrels seemed to be hiding, despite the fact that it was still early afternoon and the temperature was pretty comfortable for small creatures to be running around in. "Hmm, I guess autumn is really starting to settle in. The birds aren't even singing," I said to Gary. It was quiet as we made our way up the road, and, honestly, it felt kind of depressing.

When I returned home, I busied myself around the house for a while, getting food ready for supper, sorting through some mail and answering texts from my daughters. 

A little while later, I made my way outside again and had to stop in my tracks in wonder. What a difference! Even though it was only the tiniest bit brighter than it had been when we were on our earlier walk, we were surrounded by a literal cacophony of sound. Every variety of bird seemed to be singing and chattering up a storm. Chipmunks were running back and forth along the rock wall. It was a remarkable contrast to the rather somber mood of the natural world just a short hour before. The world was exploding with life, with sound and movement.

I was struck by the fact that the entire natural world seemed to have experienced the eclipse and responded to it instinctually. They laid low when the unnatural darkness fell over the earth, staying quiet and out of sight, but as soon as the light started to return, they went about their activities again with a renewed burst of energy and, dare I say, enthusiasm.

We may not have been able to see the eclipse today, but we sure heard it and felt it in our bones - us humans and all the earth's creatures too, it seemed. It was awesome to feel so intricately connected to the natural world by sharing in the eclipse with the birds and chipmunks and the other creatures who noticed that today was different from other days. There is something inside of each of us, that longs to be woven into the tapestry of life, to be a part of the larger whole. Today, I felt the pull of those threads.