Again, we need consciousness of soul, a waking up to the sacred interrelationship of all things, of every species and life-form, race and nation.
John Philip Newell
Happy Saturday!
Waking up to the sacred
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Morning frost – October 2012 -
A More Spacious World
A cold and frost covered sunrise – October 2012 In humility, with wisdom and compassion, we make a more spacious world, where the experience of our communion and connection has fewer barriers and becomes more possible.
Kathleen Dowling-Singh -
My Favorite Bird
Western Meadowlarks seek the wide open spaces of native grasslands and agricultural fields for spring and summer breeding and winter foraging. I find them along the weedy sides of roads, marsh edges, and mountain meadows on the eastern plains and along the foothills. They seem to share the marshes with the red-winged and yellow breasted blackbirds. Which make sense as they are in the blackbird family. Since their diet consists mostly of insects and seeds they really are almost everywhere. As you can tell in this image this one has dinner already. They were perched on fence post as I drove along Weld County Rd. 15. Their song is my favorite of the song birds. It just resonates with me. I was surprised to hear it sing even with the worm in it’s bill. Again, have a super day!
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Sloth
Putting things off is the biggest waste of life: it snatches away each day as it comes, and denies us the present by promising the future. The greatest obstacle to living is expectancy, which hangs upon tomorrow and loses today.
Lucius Annaeus SenecaFor years I lived in sloth, almost a depressive place. A turn around took place about 20 years ago. I now can find the motivation to crawl out of bed before sunrise to drive out and greet today’s sunrise. If I put it off then I cannot expect an image of yesterday’s sunrise today. Can’t say I have the same motivation about cleaning the bathroom but its improved.
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Watch and Listen
I have a favorite place to park along Weld County Road 15 that is the entrance to a farmers field. They have no gate but I pull up, turn my car off and watch and listen. I find several meadowlarks and red-winged blackbirds in this area. The other night I was blessed with several robins who wanted to flaunt and sing for me.
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Afternoon Walk
I had a quiet walk at Reservoir Ridge Natural Area yesterday evening. It was a hot and muggy day so I was sweaty by the time I returned to the car. May have to take my monthly shower a week earlier than scheduled.
It was also very quiet. In the hour I was there I only heard one meadowlark, far off in the pasture, a half dozen red-winged blackbirds chattering in a tree and this mourning dove, who was mourning.
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Silent Waves of Fog
low lying clouds
ms
sea of suspended water
silent waves of fogHad a short night of sleep but slept sound for most of it and feel rested. Headed out early and discovered a bit of fog on the eastern plains. A world of clouds and haze until the sun burns it off. Very humid and cool morning with 96% humidity and 57 degrees. It is fascinating to watch fog as it changes and moves like a wave ever so silently and quickly. Fog does not hang around for too long. It is a cloud at the earth’s surface. A wave moving over bales of hay.
A touch of pink in this image as the sun is about to rise behind the low clouds in the east. We are seeing fields of both the ripening wheat and three foot tall stalks of corn. Farmers are irrigating the fields of corn so lots of surface moisture to generate the fog. Where I’m standing is a ditch full of gurgling water, almost like having my own little stream. Have a great day!
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Alleluia
Western Meadowlark Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds,
Mary Oliver
the trees in deep, moist summer,
daisies and morning glories
opening every morning
their small, ecstatic faces—
Or maybe I should just say
how I wish I had a voice
like the meadowlark’s,
sweet, clear, and reliably
slurring all day long
from the fencepost, or the long grass
where it lives
in a tiny but adequate grass hut
beside the mullein and the everlasting,
the faint-pink roses
that have never been improved, but come to bud
then open like little soft sighs
under the meadowlark’s whistle, its breath-praise,
its thrill-song, its anthem, its thanks, its
alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord.
