Of a Different Feather

daiga-ellaby-h43VqtlnV7U-unsplashA cup of steaming tea in hand

From my padded perch with propped up pillows

I gaze out the bay window

Observing morning activity at the feeder

 

Among the usual finches, chickadees, & nuthatches

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Author’s photo

Unusual activity catches my eye

A petite junco carefully feeds seeds to a juvenile robin

Three times its size

 

Wait, this cannot be!

This bird is of another feather

With no natural obligation

But my eyes do not lie

 

This little junco is clearly committedimage2977637_web1_shaw-1

To care for this young robin

As another to its own

From mindful feedings

To standing by at the edge of the concrete bath

As the youngster bathes and drinks

 

I wonder, what is the story of this orphaned robin

And how did it come under the junco’s care?

I would like to think mercy to save another not of its kind

2018_bird_week_15_dark-eyed_juncoI can only conjecture

But still, I find hope

In the actions of this tiny little bird

And its very big heart

 

*Note: According to the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology, “cross-species” feeding is a very rare thing to observe.  You can read more about it here.

 

 

The Art of Germination

Growth drawing

It’s the growing season and my garden is being planted in stages.  I marvel at the magic of seeds- how something so small can germinate to become a huge sunflower or a plant that offers juicy red tomatoes.IMG_2158

With the exceptions of weeds, seeds cannot manage successfully on their own in a garden.  The soil must be tilled and enriched.  Then once the seeds have been planted they must be nurtured with proper watering and attention lest they be eaten by some pest or choked by weeds.  It’s work to bring seeds to their full potential of flower or food.

Ideas are so much like seeds.  The soil of the mind must be fallow and fertile.  To have a fallow mind, one must be open and ready to receive the seeds of ideas.  Fertile means paying attention and being open.  Ideas often come when the mind is relaxed like when you’re taking a shower, on a walk or doing something innocuous like washing the dishes.  Having a head is full of earbuds and social media is not conducive to collecting seeds the muse has to offer.

IMG_2164When they come, catch them by writing or sketching them in a notebook less they blow away into someone else’s “garden”.  Then give them the attention they need to germinate.

Like seeds, not all ideas will manifest.  Some are not viable. Then others are past their shelf life.  Don’t be afraid to throw them out and get new ones.

I’ve had ideas like these artichoke plants that surprised me and grew into something much more than I expected.  I started these plants last year from tiny seeds and now they are 6-foot record-setting monsters!IMG_2146

You don’t have to plant a garden.  Just get a pot with healthy soil, some seeds, water them, and enjoy the magic of germination.

 

In Every Seed a Promise

A germ of possibility

Tucked into a tiny package

Waiting to unfurl its cotyledons

Up in the sunlight

From the depths of fertile ground

 

The sprout will grow vigorously

With the right conditions

Beneath the suns rays and the spring rains

With the breath of nature whispering

“grow, grow”

 

Tend it with care

Lest it be choked by weeds or eaten by pests

Then feast from your labors

and natures’ mystery

The wonder of a tiny bit of matter

That waited to reveal its purpose

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Conversation with the Universe

Recently I met for coffee with a friend that needed help starting a blog on WordPress. startup-594090_1920 (1)After building the “infrastructure” of the site we talked about content and posting.

This got me to thinking about the intent of my blog and how I go about finding ideas for my posts.  Originally I was motivated my blog was to promote my artwork but blogs tend to evolve on their own (see I Was Supposed to be Blogging about My Artwork).  After 2 1/2 years of blogging my posts range anywhere from the creative process to what is going on in my personal life.

When I was a young woman embarking on my life’s journeys I wrote pages of heartfelt letters to friends miles away (see  Letters to the Universe).  That process gave me so much mail-1923198_1920perspective on my life and the world at large. Letter writing in our busy digital age seems to have become a tradition of the past.  I miss them. Unconsciously, I think my blog has become a series of letters written to the universe. I have no idea who might read my posts. The important thing is that I write them and send them off.  It makes me pay attention to my life- a sort of a writing meditation. I’ve been a bit inconsistent as of late. We’ve had some health challenges in our house making blogging more difficult to fit in. Life happens.  You do what you can do.  Continue reading “A Conversation with the Universe”

The Borrowed Souls of Four-Legged Friends

img_1747Last week was difficult.  I had to put down my almost 14-year-old Golden Retriever,  and the little stray cat, Lizzie that adopted us last year died due to complications due to feline leukemia.  Dougie was a devoted companion for years, Lizzie a bright spot in our lives her sweet face peaking in our screen door requesting a meal.IMG_1869

It got me to thinking that these creatures we love are just borrowed souls- and I do believe animals have souls.  Our pets connect us to our best selves. Their lives are far briefer than ours but add so much.  Theirs is a b191b6b2a5a1e5779ebdcd2fb968d468language of the eyes, of touch actions and acceptance. Now the grief has subsided, I am filled with gratitude I had the privilege of borrowing their sweet souls on their short stays on planet earth.

 

 

The following poem speaks to all the dogs that have shared my life’s journey…..

IN MY GOOD DEATH

by Dalia Sheven

I will find myself waist deep in hight summer grass.  The humming

shock of the golden light.  And I will hear them before I see

them and know right away who is bounding across the field to meet

me.  All my good dogs will come then, their wet noses

bumping against my palms, their hot panting, their rough faithful

tongues.  Their eyes young and shiny again.  The wiry scruff of

their fur, the unspeakable softness of their bellies, their velvet ears

against my cheeks.  I will bend to them, my face covered with

their kisses, my hands full of them.  In the grass I will let them knock

me down.

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#19

'11 Ray 'n A kayakIt was unlikely that we’d find each other- a big man that pumps concrete connecting with an artsy middle school science teacher, but we did.

We were to celebrate 19 years of being together as “spousal equivalents” by spending two nights at the Cannery Pier Hotel that juts out into the Columbia River in Astoria Oregon.  Massages were on the books.  I’d always wanted to stay there and have a romantic getaway. There we would lounge around in a lovely room while sipping glasses of wine watching tug boats maneuver barges and huge cargo ships up and down the Columbia cannery-pier-hotel-day

As luck would have it, our 14-year-old Golden Retriever, Dougan was on his last legs, IMG_0400and Lizzy our adorable little feral cat that adopted us, disappeared and returned quite ill.  We were hardly in the mood to celebrate so we canceled. No matter- we enjoy our days together.  Another time IMG_1869awaits.

I decided that 19 would trump 20 as a big milestone.  It’s a prime number that hardly gets any recognition being overshadowed by its next-door neighbor, 20.  I find comfort celebrating the obscure, including feral cats and second-hand dogs.

Both of us had been married before, twice each.  This time we decided to shed all expectations creating a framework that worked for both of us.  We lived apart for the first 8 years raising our own kids.  No use complicating things.  We have been cohabitating since.  Our hearts bind us rather than a piece of paper.  The foundation of our relationship is built on mutual respect- which we both work on.

Bath TimeBeyond all the other complexities of life, the chance to be loved and loved back by other humans (and furry four-legged) is where it’s at.  You don’t have much without loving relationships.  Lucky me.  Lucky us

The hotel will still be there.  When the time is right eventually we will get to watch the tug boats guiding their ships on the mighty Columbia River. Continue reading “#19”

Being a Verb

fairy-2573105_1280It’s a risky business calling yourself an artist or a writer.  People tend to hold you in higher or lower esteem than you actually deserve.  Then there is a matter of assumptions…  Attend a social gathering and then introduce yourself as a brain surgeon to one group a people and then a waitress to another.  You will be treated accordingly.  Thus I prefer to avoid labels entirely preferring when asked what I do using more of these descriptors:

I write, I make art, I play guitar, I sing, I garden, I am recovering from teaching middle school, or whathaveyou.  Then there is the added pressure of living up to your label.  It’s far more enjoyable to be a verb.

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Verbage

I would rather be a verb than a noun

I would rather emerge, shine, fly, dance

And kick up my heels

Rather than just be a person, place or thing

Let me describe an action, state or occurrence

And wedge myself in the predicate of a sentence

Give me the energy to escape the box with a pretty label

And end with the pleasure of being all used up

My wings in tatters

My breath gone

When my time on Earth is done

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The Blessings of Wintry Weather

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View from our porch Feb. 25, 2019

The start of our winter was mild with temps in the upper 50s and sunny skies.  The bulbs were fooled into poking their heads up a month early.  I worried about another summer of unseasonably warm temperatures and drought.  The snowpack was low.  Now our familiar Western Oregon weather has returned.  Rain and even a little snow dusts the yard.  There was even enough powder snow where friends and I drove up to Mount Hood last week for a day of cross-country skiing.  I haven’t been able to do that in years.

I celebrate winter. This is my creative time. It is a time to come inside, literally and figuratively.  Nature needs rest and renewal and so do we.

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THE RAINS CAME

And the humans complained

But not the Earth who soaked the sky water deep into all its pores

Nor the trees who quenched their thirst in grateful gulps from deep roots

Nor the bulbs gathering strength for their dazzling spring displays

Nor the deer hungry for tender green grass

Nor the salmon longing to swim upstream

Nor the bees dreaming of anthers heavy with gold pollen and pistels leading to chambers of sweet nectar

Nor the seeds shivering with anticipation of their impending emergence

Nor the  bears conjuring images of plump berries in their sleep

Nor I, with book and pen

Joining their ranks 

Resting,

Going within

Savoring the blessings

Of wintery weather