About finding joy in the landscape of life, in the everyday luminous-- family, friends, food, flowers, books, films—wherever beauty is to be seen, laughter to be heard, peace to be savored.
Tea & chocolate Stretched out on the couch under my youngest son's blanket bathed in golden sunlight not working! reading a novel not a great novel just a story about a woman who is not sure which way to turn. Maybe life is like a garden. You could design it this way or that and it would probably be just fine either way, there are probably lots of ways it would be really lovely. And Nature will come in and do Her own majestic and messy things, too.
I don't mean to freak you out, but I have a dead hummingbird lying on my nature table. I found it on the pavement outside of Talbot's two weeks ago, where I had gone to buy a new pair of black pants. My old pair, which could go anywhere from work to the opera, had died. I don't know about you, but I really need a good pair of black pants.
Karen, the best saleswoman on the planet, was there because I was praying the whole time I was walking up there that she would be. She's even tinier than I am, knows the merchandise in and out, and has the gift of knowing exactly what I, not a good shopper, should buy. I explained my predicament. She walked several paces to a rack of trousers, plucked off a trim pair-- exactly my size-- and swung them in my direction. "This is it," she said. "You can wear them anywhere, throw them in the machine and they're ready to go. Perfect every time."
Leaving the store triumphant, I noticed a speck of emerald green on the expansive esplanade in front. Emerald is an unusual color, so I was curious and approached the speck. A dead hummingbird, of all things, in the middle of the sea of pavement! My immediate thought was to fish a tissue out of my purse, scoop him up and gently deposit him under a bush. But-- how often do you get to see a hummingbird? If you see them, as soon as you see them, they are gone, out of there, faster than the blink of an eye...
So at first, I stared. At his plumage, shimmering emerald. At his long, needle-thin beak. At the tiny ruff of feathers around his neck-- a circlet for a prince. (I'm guessing this bird was male because male birds seem to get all the gorgeous colors.) How did he come to be in this sea of pavement?
I walked home holding him in the tissue, and soon, when I can bear to let him go, he'll be buried amidst the ferns of my garden, ashes to ashes, green to green, another bit of stardust in this shimmering web of life.
Leaves scattered like runes on the sidewalk portents, prophesies glistening, serpentine ribbons slug trails signs telling of the past and foretelling the fall to come. And the little black squirrel filling his belly with scarlet dogwood berries relishing this warm September day.
September 15, 2009
Yes! There are dogwood berries. But look quick, or they'll all be gone
I hear someone’s spoon clinking on a cereal bowl craving sustenance a teenager abroad in the night stepping away from imming looking out the window above the sink into the velvety darkness should be in bed not quite done with homework not quite done with life for the day ready for more and his mother’s upstairs hoping that he gets it and that it’s everything he hopes for.
January 31, 2008
For Arran, my 17 year old son who left this week for France. xo
Summer wanes but it’s doing it with some pizzazz, some splash and flair. Thunder storms crackle, summer annuals are rich with flame-colored blooms, and while the cicadas are winding down (the husks of their huge green and black bodies are sadly starting to litter the sidewalks) their confreres the snowy tree crickets and katydids are thrumming in the tree tops, squirrels are scurrying (there’s a little black one dashing along my fence right now), and the farm market overflows with goodness, corn, peaches, tomatoes, herbs and greens, so death is just a whiff, a note in the singing symphony so full of life and juice and the tap-dancing celebration that is summer’s end.
Have you tried Twitter yet? I began tweeting this summer as an experiment, doing research on social networking on behalf of the non-profit I work for. Twitter content can be inane and totally disconnected, as if each person is chatting to the universe with no response, over and over-- “I wish someone would buy me sushi” or, “I’m giving a presentation on 21st century algorithms”.
But there have been some highlights. The way Twitter works is that you find people who’s thoughts interest you, and you follow them. Ditto for others who find your thoughts interesting (or who want you for their sales lists). Then whenever someone you’re following posts a thought, it appears on your list. You might follow the BBC (too many tweets for me), the White House or Number 10 Downing Street. I recently discovered the Joint Chief of Staff is tweeting!
My top 3 highlights so far : A poem of mine was re-tweeted (RT for short, i.e., shared around after I had tweeted it) on Poetry Central, by a medievalist at Yale; Yoko Ono is following me (of course, I ‘followed’ her first); and Greg Mortenson just joined twitter, and is tweeting from Afghanistan! He happened to start the day I finished reading his greatly inspiring book Three Cups of Tea (see previous post). How utterly thrilling! Rather like Mother Theresa tweeting.
Yoko Ono, by the way, tweets lovely things about world peace and love. On August 11th she wrote, “The town is shining, sun, rain, or snow. We live in a beautiful universe. Enjoy the miracle you are part of.”
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