I continue to find little treasures as I go out for my walks. This morning I came across this inspirational painted rock. We had a lovely sunny morning but unfortunately winter continues to be reluctant to let us go into spring. The forecast for more snow helped me choose the Mary Oliver poem I am sharing.
THE STORM (BEAR) Now through the white orchard my little dog romps, breaking the new snow with wild feet. Running here running there, excited, hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins until the white snow is written upon in large, exuberant letters, a long sentence, expressing the pleasures of the body in this world. Oh, I could not have said it better myself.
I’m re-posting a photo that was taken at Durand Glacier, British Columbia, a number of years ago and I hope it will bring a smile to your face despite all the swirling uncertainty.
Perhaps we can use this time of social distancing and social isolation to regain an appreciation not just for each other, but for our beautiful earth as well.
I wish good health to all of you who read this post. Be kind to each other.
Hope and fear cannot occupy the same space, invite one to stay.
Remnants of winter wash down the storm sewer at the end of our street, a steady stream of grime, dead leaves and leftover dreams. The smell of Mother Earth shedding her winter weight, a moist decay, fills my nose. Bits of green poke through melting snow on lawns, through espresso black loam in flower beds where early morning conversations were tossed out the door along with coffee grounds.
I run away from my neighbor who says hello, a slight panic that we might be too close. Deep embedded Canadian courtesy has me stop and turn around, ten feet away. With eyes lowered I say “hi”. “My bad” is his quick response, this first time pandemic for most of us, hard to get used to.
A smile, a wave, we carry on not knowing exactly where we are going, not knowing where this will lead, not knowing if we will recognize each other should we meet again when the virus has traveled its corkscrew route, twisting us to shreds like a dried out cork.
Will we look back and remember things we must never do again? Will we look back with gratitude as those who survived? Survivors who know greater kindness? Who lead simpler lives? Who know how to connect when it seems no connection is possible?
I pray when we look back it will be to celebrate the changes we make, with a bottle of Mt Brave Cabernet in hand.
Today I am sharing with you bits of ideas and hope that I have gleaned from others. I hope these words will also bring a smile to your face and a moment of peace into your life.
I start with a beautiful, illustrated deck of cards from The Faeries Oracle by Brian Froud with text by Jessica MacBeth. There are faces in the trees. Behind an owl, another looks out at me. Sairie, the Faery Godmother, smiles beneath a crown of stars, flowers and branches. Peace and contentment are sent on fairy dust into my home. Everything is shifting, energy is shifting from dreaming to get up and go. “She gives us grace to help us along our way. It might be a little touch of faery dust to lift a mood, it might be a conspicuous miracle, it might be anything in between. She untangles the snarls in our psyches and bestows gifts upon us – whatever she feels we need. Sometimes she gives us choices when we thought we had none.”
From Marie at http://www.notenoughcinnamon.com, a beautiful blog about clean, healthy eating: “Let every hand you didn’t shake be a text-message to a friend who needs company. Every hug you didn’t give, a phone call to a relative who needs comfort.” Social distancing doesn’t have to mean we are all isolated.
When you are able to slow the frenetic pace of this new reality, and move away from the constant bombardment of the daily news, when you start to find a nice rhythm again remember how it feels and use it again tomorrow!
I’m sending virtual hugs to all of you.
By Jan Zwicky On a bad day, you come in from the weather and lean your back against the door. This time of year it's dark by five. Your armchair, empty in its pool of light. That arpeggio lifts, like warmth, from the fifth of B minor, offers its hand - let me tell you a story...But in the same breath, semitones falling to the tonic: you must believe and not believe; that door you came in you must go out again. In the forest, the woodcutter's son sets the stone down from his sack and speaks to it. And from nothing, a spring wells, falling as it rises, spilling out across the dark green moss. There is sadness in the world, it says, past telling. Learn stillness if you would run clear.
Today I am sharing from Sharlyn HiDalgo's "The Healing Power of Trees." In her book March 21 - April 17 is Hawthorn Month Here is a sample of what she says: "Despite the jubilant celebration of spring's arrival, this month is a time to quiet oneself and go within. ...it refers to personal sovereignty in which we reclaim our personal power and pay attention to our own inner life. Fasting, ritual cleansing, and refraining from one's usual habits and patterns is encouraged. We may want to seek retreat and silence in order to reconnect with the divine and the unseen worlds." How timely!!
when day equals night may signs of love emerge from the fear