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. 

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 

Gratitude for a Life

My dear Pasha flew away from here on a cold Monday morning, January 20.

People often call their cats their babies, it never felt right to me. My life was 

enormously enriched in relationship to another being, the wise and profoundly 

present, Pasha. The many months of coming to terms with this coming transition, 

the bone-deep grieving in anticipation, has lessened the pain, but the loss is enormous.

I have had the week to cleanse and clear and sink into the reality of living without 

him here with me. I have had a lot of support. 

I feel deeply grateful for having been chosen by this wild spirit as his human. 

Maybe someday I will tell that story - of how we came together - but not now. This 

loss on top of the loss of my mother last year - well, I am fragile - doing OK, but 

fragile. 

Misha Pasha Willow Bear

I am deeply grateful for the wild and free life you shared with me, 

I feel your spirit flying free. 

Blessed blessed be. 

P.S. It was an intense few weeks... thanks for your comments on the last post, 

I didn't get to replying. 

Winter Light

"January Ice", watercolor, 11" x 15", VClaff, 2012

I've been gone from here... gone down into my roots and out into the wintry forest

where the creaking and cracking breaks the quiet and the snow squeaks underfoot 

from the frigid air. There is deep stillness in the forest, and no turning away from 

the fragility of life. Blood on the snow and late night yips of coyotes tell tales  

of winter survival. 

"Late Winter Forest", watercolor, 11" x 15", VClaff, 2012

I haven't been in the studio, either, taking time away for my father's Christmas 
visit and supporting Pasha through another emergency vet visit to get things 
moving along his internal pipeline. After his second visit to the ER, I really thought 
he wasn't going to make it. But the holistic vet sent a new bunch of Chinese herbs, 
and put him on a pill that he said works wonders for elder kitties, and miraculously,
my father and I watched Pasha grow stronger day by day. Outside we trudged for 
several daily walks, to the studio and back, even in the biting cold. Two weeks 
since his last crisis, he seems more stable than in a long while. I am his alchemist, 
adding powdered herbs and homeopathic remedies to his food and drizzling cod 
liver oil over the top which he now won't eat without. 

I record the frozen winter light with my camera and wonder how these images 

might influence the winter paintings to come.  

In late December the forest was full of bobcats, 

and ferns peaking out from the snow,  

and weedstalks still feeding the birds until the deeper snows bury them. 

We sit on the stoop, Pasha and I, and take in the late afternoon quiet, 

and I am grateful for his company.