I walked during lunch today--along the dirt road across the railroad tracks, flanked by quiet homes on one side, pasture and mountains on the other. A sublime afternoon, with the late fall sun warming the remaining tansy leaves by the roadside, steeping their spicy fragrance into the air like a fine-brewed tea. In the tall aspen grove on the north side, tree trunks shone a dignified white, bright and unmoved by the fluttering loss of leaves. The two apple trees in the smaller pasture stood bare and slightly huddled with experience; the dry grasses rasped and rustled randomly in pale gold.
This is the type of day that is autumn's kind parting gift to us as we move into the colder, darker days of the year. Time is suspended for a few hours, and if we are still, we are able to notice the thousand small beauties released by summer's dying. Snowberries wait, white and ripe, on their bushes for whatever creature seeks them; chickadees flit and forage through the smaller trees; field mice scurry occasionally beneath the bent grass; and the landscape has matured from variations on green into an entire palette of straw gold, deep mustard, rust brown, honey, forest and crimson. The sky is bluer than in spring, as if it has aged and ripened along with earth's fruits. And the drier air wanders more freely, with a clarity not earned by summer's heat.
Treasure the small things in the season, whichever one you're in. We may repeat seasons, we may take them for granted, we may assume we know what they're about and not take the time to look again. But Now is what we have, and when we give it our attention, there is no telling what new joy we may discover there.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
late asters
A pocket of sun, a glint on cold water, the lull of September warmth and a glacial stream's clear notes. No wonder these purple asters want to hold on, are reluctant to give up to the inevitable.
I was that way myself a few weeks ago when the weather turned cold and dreary too suddenly, too soon. I was not ready for the change, wanted to hold on to sunshine, felt disoriented from my resistance to autumn. But the effects of resisting change are one of the few constants in life: it always makes it harder, no matter what.
Fortunately, the sun came back for a spell just long enough to let me align myself with the seasons' will. Sentimental and neurotic as it may sound, I actually needed closure with summer. But sentimental and neurotic were how I felt, and summer obliged.
But after all, maybe the asters weren't holding on. Often observations are tinged with projection, and I could see a hundred different stories in a single plant's life if I wanted to. The flowers are just being themselves, until it's time for them to be different. Maybe that's all there is for any of us to do. Just be ourselves.
I was that way myself a few weeks ago when the weather turned cold and dreary too suddenly, too soon. I was not ready for the change, wanted to hold on to sunshine, felt disoriented from my resistance to autumn. But the effects of resisting change are one of the few constants in life: it always makes it harder, no matter what.
Fortunately, the sun came back for a spell just long enough to let me align myself with the seasons' will. Sentimental and neurotic as it may sound, I actually needed closure with summer. But sentimental and neurotic were how I felt, and summer obliged.
But after all, maybe the asters weren't holding on. Often observations are tinged with projection, and I could see a hundred different stories in a single plant's life if I wanted to. The flowers are just being themselves, until it's time for them to be different. Maybe that's all there is for any of us to do. Just be ourselves.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
autumn path
Autumn has crept in on us with chilly tendrils and longer nights, morning cold in our nostrils and frost on the windshield. Although I've seen the occasional tenacious daisy or aster, or relentless yellow tansy, the flowers have surrendered to the greater strength in their roots for the next six months, and as the trees tuck themselves inward, they reward us with a last eye-feast of color, the inverse of spring.
However reluctantly, now we let go of our flower gardens and short sleeves, long outdoor evenings and the assumption of a sunny weekend. New gifts lie in store now, as we take stock of what to carry on into winter and what to pare away. We think toward holidays, having enough warm clothing, and playing in the snow. But our roots are important, too--the season's cycles are a way of recognizing that we have our own, although usually not so clearly defined. We are growing things, and our different seasons--of success, drudgery, elation, challenge, barely making it, and contentment--each serve their purpose toward our development, if we choose, in the greater, grander picture of our individual journeys.
However reluctantly, now we let go of our flower gardens and short sleeves, long outdoor evenings and the assumption of a sunny weekend. New gifts lie in store now, as we take stock of what to carry on into winter and what to pare away. We think toward holidays, having enough warm clothing, and playing in the snow. But our roots are important, too--the season's cycles are a way of recognizing that we have our own, although usually not so clearly defined. We are growing things, and our different seasons--of success, drudgery, elation, challenge, barely making it, and contentment--each serve their purpose toward our development, if we choose, in the greater, grander picture of our individual journeys.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
two medicine lake
Clarity, I've decided, is a condition which is always present; sometimes it's just that it's temporarily out of reach, beyond circumstances and mind clutter. When I can't get to a place like this crisp glacial lake, which I visited in Glacier Park, to restore my connection with it, I can look at the photo instead, and be reminded.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
study in gold
Expect the unexpected--words to live by, in a way. Only when we're in a state of readiness, when we're able to be flexible with our lives and reactions, can we really handle the curves well. No matter how many tantrums we might throw, or how much pouting we do, things will not be as we want them to be just because we want them to be. Acceptance and agility are among the most practical virtues we can acquire.
Slowing down helps. When we slow down, we're able to have more of our attention, our mental and physical energy, available in the moment, with what's happening right now, or about to. And the wonderful byproduct of slowing down is an increased awareness of the quality of life around us. Details, small beauties, messages that could be missed or opportunities lost. Or just a nice photograph, upon noticing the way a group of grasses blends a variety of shapes and textures and shades of gold.
To live in our heads, ahead of ourselves and behind ourselves, is to divorce ourselves from our senses, from being able to experience what's really happening in the moment. I know, because I am an expert at this, and have missed out on too much of my life as a result.
But I took this picture, which I like. So I must be doing something right.
Slowing down helps. When we slow down, we're able to have more of our attention, our mental and physical energy, available in the moment, with what's happening right now, or about to. And the wonderful byproduct of slowing down is an increased awareness of the quality of life around us. Details, small beauties, messages that could be missed or opportunities lost. Or just a nice photograph, upon noticing the way a group of grasses blends a variety of shapes and textures and shades of gold.
To live in our heads, ahead of ourselves and behind ourselves, is to divorce ourselves from our senses, from being able to experience what's really happening in the moment. I know, because I am an expert at this, and have missed out on too much of my life as a result.
But I took this picture, which I like. So I must be doing something right.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Rainbow on the falls
Rainbows have been popping up all over the place lately. Over the falls, in the sky, over the mountains, in the desert, and in three states: Montana, Idaho, and Washington. It's rainbow season.
It's remarkable how fragile humans are, and how easily swayed. Events in our lives and in the world send currents through us, and we cannot be completely immune because we are feeling beings, and because, at some level, conscious or not, we understand that everything is connected. "No man is an island", "ask not for whom the bell tolls", etc.
But however we may be affected by the sad or tragic events we are witness to--earthquake and flood victims, civil strife in Africa, the plight of missing children--there are those very simple occurrences that bring us joy, as well. And rainbows are a prime example.
Everyone, with the odd exception I suppose, loves a rainbow. Something as simple, as accidental, as the way light hits water vapor brings people outside with cameras, brings them to their windows pointing, turns faces upward with smiles. We pause to enjoy it, a moment of beauty. We feel awe.
Of course, scientific fact can rarely measure up to the stock we're willing to invest in what we want something to mean. A rainbow may be light refraction, but what it really is to us is magic. Promise, ever since the Bible. A pot of gold, a bridge to heaven, a natural wonder. The human soul craves beauty and hope, to keep itself whole and innocent through the times of heartbreak. I believe a single rainbow possesses more healing power than an entire apothecary of medicines.
Find the simple moments of beauty in your life. Soak them in, fill up on them, let them move you. You're bound to walk away a happier person, and better fortified for whatever life may bring.
It's remarkable how fragile humans are, and how easily swayed. Events in our lives and in the world send currents through us, and we cannot be completely immune because we are feeling beings, and because, at some level, conscious or not, we understand that everything is connected. "No man is an island", "ask not for whom the bell tolls", etc.
But however we may be affected by the sad or tragic events we are witness to--earthquake and flood victims, civil strife in Africa, the plight of missing children--there are those very simple occurrences that bring us joy, as well. And rainbows are a prime example.
Everyone, with the odd exception I suppose, loves a rainbow. Something as simple, as accidental, as the way light hits water vapor brings people outside with cameras, brings them to their windows pointing, turns faces upward with smiles. We pause to enjoy it, a moment of beauty. We feel awe.
Of course, scientific fact can rarely measure up to the stock we're willing to invest in what we want something to mean. A rainbow may be light refraction, but what it really is to us is magic. Promise, ever since the Bible. A pot of gold, a bridge to heaven, a natural wonder. The human soul craves beauty and hope, to keep itself whole and innocent through the times of heartbreak. I believe a single rainbow possesses more healing power than an entire apothecary of medicines.
Find the simple moments of beauty in your life. Soak them in, fill up on them, let them move you. You're bound to walk away a happier person, and better fortified for whatever life may bring.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Broken Top mountain
Peaks and valleys, with an occasional magnificent view. That's life, isn't it?
This trail was more magnificent view than anything. Starting at Todd Lake by Mt. Bachelor, in Bend, Oregon, it climbed into the Three Sisters wilderness area. Meadows, woods, and a ridgetop stroll that revealed cracked and snowpatched volcanic peaks in most directions. Butterflies, wildflowers, and scattered pumice stones of red, lavender, gray.
A place like this can really restore perspective. A walk in nature for me is like a chiropractic adjustment of the mind and soul. My head may still be racing during the first mile, and my emotions might still be fuddled up with a grudge or a confusion or an unpleasant encounter. But if I keep walking, the trees and the fragrances and the vistas and the hard-soft earth trail just seem to suck out the bad energy as my feet thud along, and then crack-click-sigh-shrug everything comes back into place and I remember that none of those little things actually matter. In fact, they'll take the life out of me if they can, if I let them. Life is too big, and Love too important, to give power to minor irritations. Let them be, forgive, extract your energy from them and keep going at a steady pace.
That's the better way. The peaks and dips are just peaks and dips. The walking, the Bigness--that's what lasts.
This trail was more magnificent view than anything. Starting at Todd Lake by Mt. Bachelor, in Bend, Oregon, it climbed into the Three Sisters wilderness area. Meadows, woods, and a ridgetop stroll that revealed cracked and snowpatched volcanic peaks in most directions. Butterflies, wildflowers, and scattered pumice stones of red, lavender, gray.
A place like this can really restore perspective. A walk in nature for me is like a chiropractic adjustment of the mind and soul. My head may still be racing during the first mile, and my emotions might still be fuddled up with a grudge or a confusion or an unpleasant encounter. But if I keep walking, the trees and the fragrances and the vistas and the hard-soft earth trail just seem to suck out the bad energy as my feet thud along, and then crack-click-sigh-shrug everything comes back into place and I remember that none of those little things actually matter. In fact, they'll take the life out of me if they can, if I let them. Life is too big, and Love too important, to give power to minor irritations. Let them be, forgive, extract your energy from them and keep going at a steady pace.
That's the better way. The peaks and dips are just peaks and dips. The walking, the Bigness--that's what lasts.
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