• gratitude,  landscape,  natural areas,  Pineridge Natural Area,  poems,  poetic journal,  poetry,  sunrises,  writing/reading

    Morning Sanctuaries

    My day begins in the sanctuary of my home.
    with the quiet of prayer and meditation.

    Then I make my way to the sanctuary
    of a local natural area.

    My feathered sisters and brothers greet me as the goldfinches,
    house finches, chickadees, meadowlarks, magpies,
    robins, swallows all sing songs of joy this morning.

    I watch their amazing aerial antics as they snatch insects in midair
    or playfully chase one another from branch to branch.

    My eyes catch that patient fisherman, the Great Blue Heron,
    who silently wades in the shallow waters of Dixon Reservoir.

    A pair of mallards cruise the waters of the reservoir
    sending their delicate wavelets to shore.

    A noisey crow pesters a red-tail hawk, both adrift in the baby blue sky.

    Two bashful cottontails step from their hiding place
    to nibble on blades of grass.

    My soul now filled with nature’s delights
    and the mind cleared of intrusive thoughts,
    I make my way to one of my coffee shop sanctuaries.

    Two young squirrels pause their wrestling
    to keep a watchful eye on me as I enter this sanctuary
    then scamper up a tree.

    Now sitting in a favorite chair enjoying my mocha latte,
    crafted with love by Emma.

    I now put pen to paper in my journal
    taking note of the ordinary gifts
    given in my morning sanctuaries.

    ms
  • clouds,  landscape,  natural areas,  Pineridge Natural Area,  poems,  sunrises,  writing/reading

    Sunday morning sunrise…

    Sunrise at Pineridge Natural Area this morning

    The new day’s light 
    veiled behind gray clouds.
    A crisp morning air caressing my soul 
    as I listen to nature’s silence.

    A meadowlark perches on a rabbit brush,
    near the water’s edge, near its nest.
    Six pelicans take to the air
    circling the reservoir then fly north.
    A cottontail ventures from safety
    to nibble on blades of grass.

    Nature is comfortable with silence,
    much more than man.
    How easily I forget
    to listen to nature’s silence.

    Have a wonderful Sunday!

    ms
  • architecture,  Black and White,  Photography,  shadows,  window

    I have a feeling…

    Morning light entering my bedroom, casting shadows across the wall.
    I see this almost daily and never tire of it.

              I have a feeling
                       That through the hole in reason’s ceiling,
              In Heaven you can perch,
                      Without ever going to church!

    Courtney Milne

    I really did not know about Courtney Milne until this past week. I am impressed with his photography. I was also surprised to find he has published 12 books from the conventional to the abstract. One source I read says his photos are a celebration of the world’s “sacred places,” and a seemingly endless meditation on the beauty of the natural world. Sounds like my kind of photographer. Why didn’t someone tell me about his work? One of his best-selling books is Sacred Earth, which I just ordered a used copy of. Seeing his books makes me realize how little a collection I have of other photographers books.

  • Black and White,  Mary Oliver,  poems,  poetry,  Self-portraits

    Temple of Thought

    Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive
    strikes me from sleep, and I rise
    from the comfortable bed and go
    to another room, where my books are lined up
    in their neat and colorful rows. How 

    magical they are! I choose one
    and open it. Soon
    I have wandered in over the waves of the words
    to the temple of thought.

                      And then I hear
    outside, over the actual waves, the small,
    perfect voice of the loon. He is also awake,
    and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out
    to the fading moon, to the pink flush
    swelling in the east that, soon,
    will become the long, reasonable day. 

                           Inside the house
    it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight
    in which I am sitting.
                      I do not close the book. 
    Neither, for a long while, do I read on.

    Mary Oliver, her poem The Loon from What Do I know?
  • landscape,  Plants,  poems,  sunsets,  trees,  writing/reading

    Quieting of my spirit

    Sunset from Red Fox Meadows

    looking out across the meadow 
    my mind restless and troubled
    seeking the quieting of my spirit.

    as the sun sets over the mountains 
    nature empties herself completely  
    finding the quieting of my spirit.

    ms

    This simple poem was inspired by one of Mary Oliver’s poems. She spent time in nature on an almost daily basis which is motivating me to do the same. At times I feel regret for those times I could have spent in nature. I wonder if time in nature inspires me to write or if my writing inspires me to spend more time in nature. Have a great day!!

    P.S. We have water falling from the sky. People are telling me it’s called rain. ☔

  • Avian,  Mary Oliver,  meadowlark,  poems

    You sing, I listen

    Meadowlark, when you sing it’s as if
    you lay your yellow breast upon mine and say
    hello, hello, and are we not
    of one family, in our delight of life?
    You sing, I listen.
    Both are necessary
    if the world is to continue going around
    night-heavy then light–laden, though not
    everyone knows this or at least
    not yet,

    or, perhaps, has forgotten it
    in the torn fields,

    in the terrible debris of progress.

    Mary Oliver, Meadowlark Sings and I Greet Him In Return

    We need rain. So far for the month of April we have .1 inch of rain. Dixon Reservoir is really low at Pineridge Natural Area. As I watch the sun rise four mule deer graze before me. And, the meadowlarks sing and I listen.

  • quotes

    Wonders at Wondering

    Sunset along the Washington coast – 2003

    I stand at the seashore, alone, and start to think. There are the rushing waves… mountains of molecules, each stupidly minding its own business… trillions apart… yet forming white surf in unison.

    Ages on ages… before any eyes could see… year after year… thunderously pounding the shore as now. For whom, for what?… on a dead planet, with no life to entertain.

    Never at rest… tortured by energy… wasted prodigiously by the sun… poured into space. A mite makes the sea roar.

    Deep in the sea, all molecules repeat the patterns of one another till complex new ones are formed. They make others like themselves… and a new dance starts.

    Growing in size and complexity… living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein… dancing a pattern ever more intricate.

    Out of the cradle onto the dry land… here it is standing… atoms with consciousness… matter with curiosity.

    Stands at the sea… wonders at wondering… I… a universe of atoms… an atom in the universe.

    Richard Feynman