A Simple Reflection

Birds have always fascinated me To see them brings me great joy, and in so doing connects me to spirit. Nothing exists in that moment but focused attention and a great welling up of emotion ( excitement, joy, connection ) in my heart. I always feel priviledged to be allowed to see them ... to have a glimpse into a piece of their world. I say thankyou before I move on. This piece of writing describes one actual and amazing encounter


Making our way through the woods on snowshoe, a small body of still water becomes visible through the trees. On the far bank a dipper is bobbing and pecking. I am spellbound, watching. The line where shore and water meet is so exact, as if drawn. It divides two worlds, the real and the reflected; the water a perfect mirror. Another bird moves in exact unison. Like dancers or skaters, their actions are choreographed, beak touching beak, then separating. I watch them both for quite some time.
A moment of inattention and she is lost from view, so well does her color match that of the rocks. But I find her in the reflected world. She would not have been visible but for the reflecton she cast.
As she steps into the water the images somehow merge; this new line between them less defined. Then, further merging in a dive, they both dissapear, the spell broken. Radha

Winter Poem

Winter poem with notes from January 2007

The photo is more recent of the same river farther up the valley where another stream enters

first thoughts: reflecting on how, in the freshness of your absence, walking where we so often walk, I looked at the river and thought of our lives ..... how they move on like the river

the poem ; The River Flows on

The river flows on

I walk its boundary

Boots crunch on the trail

Made firm by frequent users

Though I meeet no other soul

And am blessed by the sun

The river flows on

Dispite its frozen edges

Rocks in its midst frosted with snow

Long crystals sparkling

Snow sculptures perch on pilons

Air chilled and silent

The river flows on

Where often we've walked

Now alone , watching the ice floes

Rushing and shining, silver in the sun

Life flows on as the river

Hearts stretch to touch across miles

The river flows on

Two streams either side of a sandbar

Each solo, then merging

Ever onward, one current

As threads in a tapestry

All part of the whole

Radha

Too many pockets?

In response to a friend's inquiry about my well being, I try to explain how overwhelmed I feel. I find myself saying "my life has too many compartments." It is like a coat with too many pockets. There are those pockets which are stuffed and overflowing, constantly requiring attention and those completely neglected; ones you feel guilty about for not having reviewed their contents, and ones you long to dive into and hide. There are quite a few you didn't know were part of the coat at the outset. Who could have known ; a simple twist and you have another pocket to attend to. I think " if only I could be more organized" but wouldn't that just be more pockets within pockets all lined up in pretty rows? What of those deep and cozy pockets you can thrust your hands into as you inhale slowly the natural world and exhale into true bliss ? There are never enough of those, amongst the torn and frayed edged pockets and ones not yet completely sewn on. Always there is at least one hidden pocket, deep and dark, where you never venture; pockets you pretend are not part of the coat.
My spinning head attaches to a new idea, a revelation; maybe, just maybe, this coat needs some alterations, some attention from a tailor with a needle and thread and even (a radical thought ) a pair of scissors.
This coat has so much value and beauty. There must be a thread that connects all these pockets. I reflect and hope that this thread starts in the breast pocket and returns to it. Perhaps it has gotten too slack in some places, too tight in others. I believe I need to pay attention to this thread; to kindly examine it and offer it some tender loving care. Then maybe this coat won't feel so heavy, and will fit me better.

Patience

Well to be sure rubber boots may not seem to be related to patience. I do find that most aspects of my life do relate to patience in one way or another. Just minutes ago I created my "writers blog" In my excitement of entering this new venture I didn't take time to investigate how to add a photo before pressing the publish button ................ so here is my photo on a new post ............ a lesson learned in blog management and yet again in patience. The photo belongs with the entry of earlier today on puddle walks , garden seeds etc...

Spring Thoughts on a Puddle Walk

written March 5th before more snow and cold temps

Its a sure sign of spring when Mia, my cat, ventures outdoors. She makes her way through collapsing snow and finds all the passageways under trees, along house and shed where snow has pulled back revealing the dirt of the mother earth
Its time to pull out the rubber boots and go for puddle walks with my granddaughter. Her boots are red, mine are turquoise with pink flowers, a gift from my beloved. Rainjackets and woolies replace winter jackets and, free as the fresh air, we don't miss a single puddle.
Spring feels early to me.Its all very subjective. Some love to watch the snow melt away with the rain, the lanes turn to mud and grass appear. I feel cheated of the end of winter and secretly wish for one more beautiful clean snowfall, another chance to test my skills with the tractor/snowblower and see the land covered in soft white. I join the skiers in hoping the rain is snow in the mountains. Not just for recreation, I think this one step further. As we have had lalmost no snow since early January, the snow pack is very low. I know this means less runoff and the possibility of water shortages come summer.
Spring will come whenever and however, I also know. Although I have attended with joy, the local seed exchange event, gathering local and heritage seeds in the hope to switch over and do better with the vegie garden, I am not quite ready.
Perhaps I am one who has some trouble with these major transitions. It seems it is difficult for me to let go of present conditions and move forward into future ones. Slowly I will say goodbye to the snow and the quiet activities that I never quite catch up with, and prepare for the glory of springtime and the wonderful work of gardening