Sunday, February 23, 2014

Snow Skies and Crazy Ravens

Storms. Snow, sleet, and then rain the past week. 
I don't love rain on top of beautiful, fluffy snow, but 
the visual inspiration was rich. 

Early one morning, trees were frosted and a snow sky 
suggested that my drive home might not be so pleasant. 

I was taken by the muted sky tones and branching lines of dark trees. 

As the sky told me it would be, 
the drive home from work that day was treacherous. 
We were crawling along iced roads. 

A few days later, the sun came out and with it a warm that 
hinted at spring so off to walk I went.  

What exquisite form and color - an oak leaf emerging from 
the snow. I loved the arching fullness. 

For many years, Pasha and I sat outside in the fading afternoon light - our 
"last rays ritual" before he needed to come in before dusk and predator time. I've 
found myself outside several times this week, sitting on the stoop, watching the sun 
dip behind the trees, missing my dear friend. Today, just as I sat down, a crazy raven called from the forest. I remember once reading that if you go into the forest and 
hear some crazy sounds you can't identify, its probably a raven. You will also hear
the dripping, melting snow on the tin roof. 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Deep In Winter

Deep in winter.
I have nothing else to offer, really, 
but views of a world gone white,
and to tell you that somewhere in the depths, 
the seeds are stirring. 

I was moved by the outpouring of emails and your heartfelt words and 
remeberences at the news of Pasha's leaving. I'm still getting comments from folks 
who have just wandered by and read the news. It is lovely to feel so supported by folks I have never met, or who have never commented here, but felt they must now. I felt 
somewhat shocked out of my own grieving, when, a dear friend who has been a rock of support through my recent grievings, had the most horrible loss of all - 
the death of her son in an accident. Just as I began to feel a shifting towards a place of grounding, the shocking call came, and off to her side I flew, to be a support, 
not at all sure I could be a rock to her in the fragile state 
I felt myself in. It has been an intense, intense time. 

There has been no time - and frankly no desire - to visit my little studio. 
Truth be told, there is an inkling, but I have needed rest, and really good 
self-caring, and herbal potions and massage and deep dreaming and a book 
or two by the fire. I feel distant from my work, and yet, 
this is the work of the moment - the healing. 

After the arctic winds let up a bit, the storms have come, 
bringing layer upon layer of snow, and flocks of birds to the 
feeders, and little scurring creatures just below the surface. 

Dark and stormy days are followed by sparkling, blue-skied days, 
and late afternoons of red cardinals on green hemlock boughs 
covered in snow crystals and ice.   

Then there are the full moon nights,
 when I need to work at sleeping, 
lest the call of the wild forest prove too strong, 
and I am drawn out to the freezing, cracking wood...  
the squeak of cold snow 
beneath my feet.

"Night", watercolor, Vclaff 2008