Silhouette

Living in communion with creation gives me a front-row seat to breathtaking appearances by the wildlife inhabiting this land. Over the weekend, while driving down River Road, I spotted a barred (bard) owl perched in a tree near the road. It turned its head as we passed, so of course had to go back for a better look. Then, a few miles later, we spyed a Red Shouldered Hawk surveying his domain from the white branches of a sycamore tree.

Big deal? Yes, a very big deal considering I've not seen either in the 2 1/2 years I've been here.

Yesterday, Mocha and I were headed out when something very large lifted from a tree near the car and flew silently to perch a safer distance away. I stood very still and there, looking west, was the largest owl I have ever seen. It too was a barred (bard) owl and did not seem the least bit interested in me or my dog. I returned to the house for the camera and approached the subject silently across the saturated lawn. I was able to capture a silhouette, but wanted badly to photograph it from the front with the golden rays of the setting sun illuminating its face and elaborate network of barred feathers. As I raised the camera to frame the perfect shot, so rose the owl from the tree branch and he dropped out of sight into the lower meadow.

Take my word for it, this owl was spectacular.

All About You

We've all received them. Some of us have even sent them. I did a few days ago.

What? Emails that ask you to answer a myriad of questions about yourself under the guise that it will help your friends know you better.

It occurred to me last night that even though I'm guilty of participating, I really don't want to know these trivial things.

Here's what I really want to know:

1. What makes your heart sing?

2. Can I call you at 3 am to bail me out of jail and will you do it?

3. If you could, at this moment, go anywhere and be anything your heart desired, what would that look like?

4. What is stopping you from realizing #3?

5. How can I be a better friend to you?

If you care to respond, the comments are open.

Sycamore

Today was the day to capture you
in your state of undress,
your white-as-chalk limbs
glistening in the sun.

I was too late.

Your high crown still shimmered,
but your body dissolved in shadow
as winter's piercing rays
slid silently west.

Tomorrow, I'll return
and you will tell me
how to take root in
unforgiving soil

and thrive.

Really?

So these dudes show up on Monday at the Retreat Center and tell me we don't have termites, but a mouse infestation problem. Really? We're located on 135 acres in rural Tennessee. Do you think we might have some field mice living out here? Maybe in the corn field across the road? And maybe when it gets cold, they seek shelter. Do you think, maybe?

So one of the dudes with the clipboard and the starched white shirt with the name of the company embroidered on the pocket hands me his business card and his title is "wildlife specialist." He prattles on and on about how they (mice) carry disease and it's just awful and they can guarantee that after their procedure, no mouse will ever be able to get into the house, blah, blah, blah.

So he just called with a heightened sense of urgency in his voice that we need to schedule an appointment immediately for him to come out and measure and analyze and I don't know, count mouse turds and he'll let me know how much it's going to cost to be mouse-free.

I scheduled the appointment, i.e. baited the trap. Y'all say a prayer for this poor schmo.

Wintery Mix

That's what "they" call it when the weather Gods give us snow, rain and sleet at the same time. I popped outside about 7 pm last night to make a mailbox run and it was snowing big, wet flakes. It was more like clumps, compared to the dry snow of past winters. Mocha was not deterred and we romped in the meadow until it started to rain and then snow and then rain and then sleet and then snow some more.

When I awoke this morning, I expected to see a blanket of white, but alas, the wintery mix meant it melted in the night. Now drops of rain are suspended on the tips of branches and edges of eaves in anticipation of becoming icicles. They are putting up a good fight against gravity.

As I was donning my winter wear to go outside this morning, the hymn, "Oh, How I Love Jesus" popped into my head, with a little substitution in lyrics:

Oh, how I love my scarf,
Oh, how I love my scarf,
Oh, how I love my scarf
because it keeps me warm!

Feast

Make each movement a prayer, each breath
an exaltation to the God that swells within you.
It doesn't matter if your God has no name,
you know it.

When you touch the one who makes your heart sing
let love ooze from the tips of your fingers,
drip from the corner of your eye like a savory tear

sliding down your cheek.

Reach gently for the next thing,
as if caressing the essence of life.
Land softly on your spongy soul,
feel it bounce with joy.

This moment...
it's what you’ve been given.

This moment...

it's what you live in.

Feast.

Finding Neverland

I dart in front, then behind
the curtain changing
masks changing
minds changing
costumes changing
lives

From the wings,
I peer into the faces
of the onlookers

do they see me?
do they hear me?
do they touch me?
do they want me?

I'm not what they think I am

I stride onto the stage,
avoiding a backward glance
in the mirror

I'm not what I think I've become

Once Was Rain

I love the sound the lake makes

when its belly is full,

a basso snoring that wakes the creek.

Bubbling and wubbling,

churning and chortling,

it trips over roots and rocks

and its own feet,

letting out a woo hoo (!)

as it free falls down the cascade.

Deep In My Heart...Texas

Christmas Day, 2007

Washington, Texas

The Next Generation

Instead of "pass the gravy" I heard "pass the baby" at Christmas this year. 2007 marked the arrival of Brady, third son of Melissa and Preston born in May and twins Grant and Grace to Gus David and Bubba born in August. Brady is such a happy baby and I'm sorry I didn't get a picture, but here is my cousin Donna holding a sleeping Grace and a lovely family portrait of Bubba and Gus David holding Grant.

Welcome Brady, Gus David, Grant and Grace to the family. Your presence gives us another chance to open our arms, hearts and minds to the hope of our next generation.

Morning Mist

The sun's rays

coaxed the water to rise

in a swirling, dancing mist

'round the island home

of heron and panther
one is light

one is dark

and in between...

mystery.

Three Cheers for Untethered Women!

We met a decade ago. Since then, we've cried, laughed, danced, fallen flat on our faces, helped each other back up, shaken our heads in disbelief and shared some pretty fine wine. KC encouraged me when my spirit said, "write." Now it's my turn to encourage her in her journey. Her spirit has yet to speak its desire, but I'll be there to cheer her on when it does.

Heavyweight

My mind lies fallow.

Words catch
in the stubble
of autumn’s harvest.

The blank page
blows onto the river.

It too (the river that is)
is being pushed,
its only defense
to rise up with clenched fists
white-knuckled,
punching the black water.

The choice:
stand still or outrun the wind.

'tis the season

'Tis the season to lose sight of peace, joy and humanity. I suggest everyone stop for a moment and take a collective breath into a brown paper bag.

There, there...it's going to be ok.

First Snow

A light, soft snow is falling. I've been anticipating the first appearance of the season for the past two days, waking in the middle of the night, lying still in my bed listening for the signature silence that accompanies freshly fallen snow. I would rise and rush to the window, only to be disappointed and return to bed.

It began about 9 this morning and I am thoroughly delighted.

No She Didn't!

This dog...this little dog just dissed me!

Uh-huh, she uttered dog-mockery behind my back, with the righteous indignation of a put-upon teenager. I actually turned around in disbelief with one raised eyebrow and asked, "What did you just say?" and I swear she rolled here eyes at me. All because I let out an "Awwwwwww," (admittedly dripping with estrogen) while looking at this picture.

I ask you gentle reader, whose heart could not be squeezed by the likes of a 5 week old coyote pup?

Homecoming

and on the seventh day,

there was a glorious sunrise

a hint of blue sky

dotted with whispy white clouds

the gray ceiling has lifted

senses awaken

golden rays of morning sun

a homecoming parade

Shrouded

...in my own personal advent.

Driving, my mind wandered much the way the river road bends, slopes, climbs and dissects the thick tangle of woods between home and town. Tires cling to the gray slick ribbon of road, navigated more by memory than by sight. White-washed farm houses perched atop hills with their red-shuttered windows lean slightly forward as I pass, nudging my psyche into awareness that something is missing. I shake myself into the now, realizing the slow-footed river (usually to my right) has vanished under a shroud of fog. So deceivingly dense, it transformed the dark water into a white pristine beach.

Where had my mind wandered? Into the paradoxical thicket?

I cannot taste what I hunger for.
I can only smell what lives in my memory.
Sight is diminishing, yet I yearn to see more clearly.

A mirage on the contemplative landscape is seductive. The familiar crunch and groan of gravel under the weight of the car registers in my ears. I jerk the steering wheel to the left, inches from driving onto the fog bank and being swallowed by the slow-footed dark waters of the Cumberland.

It's a pj's kind of a day.

After a great struggle between the sun, mounting storm clouds and a raw north wind, the promise of a bright day has diminished into a cold, damp and dark cave with little contrast between now-barren branches and the sky.

I'm hunkered down in my big comfy chair looking at the birds outside my window who are feeding feverishly on thistle seed. Because my living quarters are in the basement, the bottom of the window is nearly flush with the ground, which gives me a great vantage point from which to observe creation.

Although winter has not officially arrived, today feels like the familiar gray days of winters past. Since my psyche is susceptible to the lack of sunshine, I'll move upstairs and park myself in front of the fireplace, working, reading and writing in the warmest and most well lit room at the Retreat Center.

This time of year puts me in a reflective state of mind. I'm not sure what it will produce, but I feel something churning inside me that's part melancholy, part anticipation and part gratitude.

American Pie

pluck the note from my throat
replace it with a sob

sharp wind of discord lofts
a soaring refrain into the air

what crescendos from the breast
snags on the swallow of intent

now

when branches bend
when leaves tumble

I hear a chorus