Thinking About Beauty

Summer solstice was a warm, sunny day. A small group gathered here for a fire to 

celebrate the longest day and witness it fade into night. The frogs and bird songs 

were particularly beautiful, seeming always to punctuate moments when deep truths  

were spoken and prayers given to the fire with handfuls of fragrant herbs. I thought 

about having my camera with me, but being present in the moment always takes 

precedence over recording our ritual. The following day brought back the heavy

rains, feeling more like autumn than summer. My sister and niece came for an 

overnight and we tucked into the house for cozy reading and tea. We did have one 

outside adventure to the gorge - a very wet walk along the cliffs. An unsteady 

moment while taking the photo above captures the day much better than any 

of the others I think!

I felt the power of the rushing, swollen river as it poured through the narrow passage and the air smelled fresh and alive with the movement. A run of many days of rain, then a few of sunshine has taken hold, keeping the gardens well watered and not yet drowning. Amidst the mists and dripping sounds, the mountain laurel has burst into bloom throughout the forest. 

 

A surprise to find a turned leaf already. The color captivated me 

and the little eye near the top got me wondering....

Being quite sensitive to the mold spores that have blossomed in this wet, 

I had a slow day of rest and listening and found myself thinking a lot about 

beauty. I'm often shocked when a colleague at the university makes a statement 

about a piece of student work " It lacks depth - its just too pretty". I understand 

what is meant, but what shocks me is that often this criticism is given to work 

that is intuitive and mysterious and to my eyes, beautiful. It seems that in 

the university, beauty is not okay anymore, and hasn't been for a long time. 

I find myself out on a limb, fighting for the work of a student who has delved into 

an authentic dance with beauty, and it seems only a few others recognize the 

dance. 

I think being an artist is about pollinating the world with beauty, 

and what comes of walking in the world with the senses wide open is 

astonishment. 

Shimmering Raindrops

There are days here that pull me into profound presence - I am walking prayer. One 

recent afternoon, when finally the relentless storms cleared, I took my tea to the moss

garden. It seemed that the whole forest came alive to celebrate. One frog began the chorus, then hundreds joined in. The trees filled with chickadees, wood thrushes, and warblers, all gathered around this little clearing to sing. Hemlock trunks steamed as 

they warmed in the sun, their boughs filled with drops of water sparkling red and green and blue. It was at this moment, while watching tiny colored raindrops shimmering 

on the end of branches, that my spirit bowed in reverence. 

For a long while I sat and listened, entranced and deeply present with this mossy

bit of earth. Moments that catch and take me are both grounding and expansive. 

There is nothing more profound than experiencing these both within one moment. 

I feel true presence as rigid as bone and as wide as the space between breaths. 

When eventually the chorus quieted some, I meandered through the paths, 

careful not to step on the red efts who come out in abundance in the rain.  

They look so striking against the green mosses. I've been musing lately about 

these amphibians. They begin in water as larvae, then come out to land in 

their red eft form, then go back into the water and transform into adults. It 

came to me one day that maybe we humans have this kind of experience - from 

the source to our embryonic beginnings, to life on land, then back to source. 

I'll leave you with the rest of my photos from wandering that wet, WET afternoon. 

Spring Green & A River Walk

"Wetlands #3", watercolor

The wood stove creaks as I write today. A late morning fire warms the house and 

cold rain soaks into newly dug garden beds. I sit at my upstairs writing nook quietly admiring the yellow-green leaves of beech and birch - a shocking contrast to the 

darker hemlock hues. Spaces left empty since fall are filled again as the deciduous 

trees burst into leaf. Miraculous variations of greens weave between unfurling 

rust-edged maple leaves. As May slips gently past, I find myself wandering in the woodland, enchanted by delicate flowers and the most magical songs of 

wood thrush and gray tree frogs. 

My dear friend, Bob, and his partner, Mabel visited last week from California. We 

went to the Chesterfield Gorge to admire the swift flowing river, high cliffs and 

amazing rock outcroppings. The path meanders along high above the river. 

Eventually, the path opens onto the view of the river as it leaves the gorge. Often

one sees fishermen in the shallows below. This day however, we were alone to 

listen to river songs and distant raven quarks. 

 

Looking back upriver, we notice the huge, quartz boulders eroded from an intrusion 
long, long ago, 

 and the sheer face of the cliffs on the other side. I imagine the bobcats love it here. 

 Tree roots grabbing onto stone remind me of temples in 

Cambodia being reclaimed by the jungle. 

Amazing evidence of ledge turned on end:

Stone outcroppings with lots of nooks and crannies for critters.

 Caves and a stone lean-to along the path show evidence of fort-making. 

I would have loved to play here as a child.... 

I think I must return to this small dwelling someday to leave some enchantment... 

It would have been the perfect house for my little Stieff bears who occupied the 

bookshelf in my room when I was a child. I think my bears would have much preferred 

this spot.