My World Tuesday: Passing Lane?

This snapper was moseying along at Three Rivers park in Woodbury on Saturday morning. He put up with me for a few minutes, and I was rude enough to get a nice little butt shot at the end of our encounter. Why on earth he was in the passing lane on a no-traffic morning, he wouldn't say. I was just pleased and grateful he smiled for his portrait.

My World Tuesday

Happy Memorial Day

Today's Flowers: By the Light of Early Morning

Out for a walk yesterday morning while my mechanic was changing the oil in my car, I came across this bit of beauty in the tall grass near the Manville Glacial Kettle in Woodbury. A beautiful, soft morning.

Today's Flowers

Blog Your Blessings: Proudly, Fearlessly Holding Their Ground

The geese were out in numbers today. As I turned a corner onto the road home the family with five goslings began to make its way across the road. Mama, one, two, three, and four waddled their way from one patch of grass, across the tarmac, and onto the next patch of grass, safe and sound.

Papa stood tall and vigilant in the middle of my lane as they crossed, and then he made his way to the exact center in that dark space between the yellow stripes. He kept his attention on the fifth goose, who worked like the dickens to get onto the road. He is lame in one leg, and he struggled to make his way off the curb. He hobbled his way across the road and used his wings to lift himself onto the grass with the rest of the family. All the while, papa did not move. He was as erect and impassive as a hanging judge.

Lines of cars formed in both lanes. This waiting took a few minutes, but nobody showed any signs of impatience. A beautiful moment. The father did not move, even after five was in the grass. He waited until he was good and sure all was well before he brought up the rear.

Geese are the only animals I can think of who don't rush out of the road when humans come rolling along. They proudly fearlessly hold their ground.

What's love? That. And it's a beautiful thing.

One Single Impression: Love

Drive as fast as you want
At this early hour
I will not move.

Can you see me?
Can you care?
I will not move.

My children
Will have their breakfast
Here at the side of the road;

I will not move.

They will take what they need;
I will protect them from you.
I will not move.

I stand in the middle of your lane
Impassive, immovable, impermanent.

Yes, that.

There is only so much I can do,
But I,
Their mother,
Will do it.

Like you,
I am hard-wired for love.

Survival
Depends on love.
It is an essential
Accident of nature.
It is not a choice.

I must love.

Love is who I am.

This is a fine thing.
I will not move.

One Single Impression

Skywatch Friday: Daylight Insists

This boat moored at the public docks at Surf City seemed ready to go even at the end of the day. The glint of sunlight in the windshield made me feel the heat of midday even at dusk. These optical illusions ask more questions than they answer, but they remind me every moment is, well, every moment.

Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday: Light on Lead

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: Watch Your Step

Walking along the edge of the swamp on Saturday, I found myself noticing just how alive and beautiful are those places along the edge. Among these flowers and fowl are frogs and muskrats and myriad red-winged blackbirds who do not stop talking. So, I watch my step. So much life, and it's all beautiful.

My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: Iris You a Good Morning

Today's Flowers

One Single Impression: Floating

The beaver is dead

And so is the partner of this Canada goose

Who has two goslings and is a

Complete wreck

About crossing this street.

I stand and watch this mama and her babes

In the pouring rain.

Passing cars douse us with upturned puddles

As the wind blows too cold for May

And too hard.

Cross, birds, I think.

I will be here in my red slicker

And I will see you safely across.

But she is waiting for me to go away.

Waiting. Not pressing.

The difference is everything.

I am floating on the grey light of dusk

Weightless and peaceful despite the fear

And married to these birds who tell me

In their waiting

To be here

But do it over there

And not too much.

One Single Impression

Skywatch Friday: Walking Away

Skywatch Friday

My Beaver is Dead

My beaver is dead.

Driving through the mist on my way to work this morning, I came upon a big brown lump in the road, and, as I held my breath, my eyes traced the line of its back to the fat, flat tail of a beaver. My beaver. I died then, too.

My beaver took up half the road; she was a legend, a myth, a giant, and a dream in the mist lying dead in the soft light of early morning.

My distant friend who would notice me night after night but would not disappear despite my heavy footfall was a marvel. This was the best part of my day, the very best part of my walk: to come across this wonderful creature being her marvelous self in the slick water of our little pond and through the pipes that lead to the sprawling swamp across the road. She was fun, fat, wonderful, and sure. She was capable and brilliant. I admired all she did to enrich our ecosystem, which was plenty.

That beautiful beaver would watch me as I watched her. So many years of being in the same place at the same time made that possible. These years have taught me that respect is a vibe, an understanding and an acceptance and an admiration--all of which come with time. Respect is not a right but an earned privilege. Anything less than that is merely tolerance.

One evening when I was watching the beaver and the beaver was watching me, a neighbor came along and asked me what I was staring at. "The beaver," I said.

Of course. She took out her cell phone and took pictures because her husband didn't believe in the beaver he had not seen. The beaver watched us as we watched her; this was a moment of pure, unrivaled joy. My neighbor has the evidence.

When I was out for a walk tonight, I came upon a mama Canada goose and her two goslings. No partner. Something else that isn't right with the world, I thought. Where was the papa? These three Canada geese were dangerously near the road on a gray, misty night. So near where the beaver had been killed. I stood and watched and waited while the three fed so near the road. I stood in the rain until I was drenched and they finally returned to a safe place away from the road and the fools in their self-important hurries.

You who hit the beaver: I hope your heart is broken. I hope you are ashamed of yourself--angry with and ashamed of yourself. You have robbed us. You have stripped us of a queen. I hope you feel it. Hate yourself for what you have done. For a little while.

Otherwise, we have no hope.

Wordless Wednesday: Looking Up

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: Loitering in Hartford

Hartford is a little bit of everything--old new, wealthy, poor, established, homeless, beautiful, strange.... I'm an outsider, though, and I have my escape route when I've had enough. Not everybody can say that. It's likely the fellow who slept on the edge of the bandstand is staying there whether he likes it or not. (How he slept like that and why he faced the morning sun I can't even imagine.)

At Center Church is a statue of the Rev. Samuel Stone, who fled religious persecution in England and became a founder of Hartford. He negotiate the purchase of Hartford from the Suckiag Indians (whatever "negotiated the purchase of" means), and now he's standing guard over the graveyard and pointing....

Back at Bushnell Park, where our sleepy friend wasn't so sore from a night on a concrete slab that he couldn't lie in on a Saturday morning, is the swan sculpture. A friend says it's obviously and definitely a swan, and I'll buy that because--well, he says so. But I see baleen. That's my problem, though, because it's a swan.

A great place to enjoy the day, one way or another.

My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: Cherry Blossom

Today's Flowers

One Single Impression: Trembling

Little
Leaves me trembling

Anymore

But there is this:

Electrical storms and wind:

The this and that of nature

Slamming into the night

Tumbling like a heavy load

On

Every

Single

Thing.

The good and the beautiful

Are not spared

The weight of the assault.

Nor are the small

Or the sleeping

Or the innocent and warm

Or you and me.

This chain of events

Wraps itself around

Sleep,

Chokes it,

And moves on

Without mercy

Or even a sense

Of what mercy is.

Left with what is,
I tremble.

One Single Impression

Skywatch Friday: Intracoastal Waterway, Surf City, NC

Just another slow good-bye to the sun from the pier at Surf City. I don't mind solitude, and I don't mind peace, so it was wonderful to enjoy this view on my own last month.

Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday: They're Alive

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: The Priest of Dreams

Allow me to introduce you to the White Dude. He is the elusive and beautiful white heron who lives quietly and gracefully flitting along the intracoastal waterway near my parents' North Carolina home. He moves like a tai chi master, completely unpeturbed by the noisy, bossy mama osprey who is always calling for room service.

The White Dude seems always to be just beyond the reach of my too-short lens--though sometimes he's pretty close when I notice him. I was happy to see him back around the homestead and living his not-of-this-world life so well, so I took his picture a bunch of times anyway. The photos are terrible but they speak to my mood at the moment.

Luke is gone, Luis is gone, the Gulf is an oily mess, every other story in the local paper is about some pervert's molesting a minor (and most of those perverts are government employees)--and I'm ready for some good news.

This beautiful bird in this not-so-hot photo reminds me to hang in there, to keep on--even as I wonder if the mess in the Gulf will contaminate his habitat.

My resolves: To love what I have. To let it love me back. To dream a little. And thank the good guys for being there.

So thank you.
My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: Coming up Roses

Today's Flowers

Child, Stay Close to Us

He was a Middle School student and an avid Red Sox fan.

Was.

The child died when his aorta ruptured Wednesday while he was in the emergency room after becoming ill during an after-school program.

He was my student in a class that met once a week. A sweet kid who smiled without trying, he was all goodness. He did his best in his laid-back way, and everybody liked him.

Friday, as students were digesting the news, one of his classmates said to me, "I wonder if he knew how many friends he had. Everyone liked him."

That everyone liked him was pretty clear on Friday. Kids were solmen, overcome by tears, and feeling very lost by turns.

We were told to run our classes as usual, and I set up shop to do just that, but there was no way we'd be so savage as to carry on as if our friend had not died.

Friday, my students taught me a lesson in caring.

As the kids trickled in, they took their seats as usual, but as it became clear some kids were already sitting with the grief counselors, they moved to one side of the room. Just kind of happened.

I had cut paper for them to create origami daisies, and we agreed we'd make a bouquet for the family. Quietly, they folded.

Meanwhile, I had put our friend's class notebook--a plain, marble notebook in which he wrote the answers to the questions I posed every week--and asked the kids to write a good-bye message to him and his family. Each of the kids chose a marker and waited his or her turn to write. I had put the book at a table in the back of the room so they'd have a bit of space while they wrote. They moved to and from the book without a word. The kids who didn't want space asked that the book be passed their way. It was.

Their movement was symbiotic, each student in harmony with the other.

I put the movie version of our book in the CD player, and the kids pulled their chairs in a small group in the back of the room and watched but didn't watch. The movie gave them a reason to sit closer.

One of the boys, our friend's good friend, suggested they take the book and have all the seventh graders in their house write in it. He and a few girls took the flowers and book to the house office to express their very excellent idea to the house principal.

That was the last I saw of them that day.

Today, I saw two of the paper daises the kids had made inside the coffin beside this beautiful little boy. He looked so very small and peaceful. So loved.

The adults had heard the children, and love found its way home.

When my friend quietly introduced himself and me to this child's mom, she thanked us for making him happy at school.

Happy. At school.

Rest in peace, child. And stay close to us.

One Single Impression: Reign

Years ago when I'd come by
She'd smack the water
With her tail and dive

Before I even saw her.

Now she is grown
Huge and unafraid.

When I come by now
She stops and turns and watches
For as long as I can stand it.

She does not move.
I do not move.

Then she swims out and back
Profiling.

Out the othe way and back again
Profiling.

She plays with me.
She can.
It's her pond.

I merely walk through

Her landscape.

Talk about timing: Here's a bit of news about the 2,800-foot dam Canadian beavers built in Alberta.

One Single Impression

Skywatch Friday: And to Our Left...

....is the sunrise, except this dude's big ol' house is in the way. Oh well! Not a thing about Topsail I can't find a way to love.

Skywatch Friday

Good Bye, Sweet Luke

"The table is the Lord's, not the Church's; all are welcome to receive." With these words Fr. Jim would invite all present to the Communion table at St. John's in Waterbury. If you were there, you were in. We are all God's children. It was simple--as it should be.

With those words every Sunday Luke would make his way with his trusted friend Jo to the Communion rail, and he would receive the host right alongside her. Then, the two faithful friends would make their way back to their place in the front pew--and anyone and everyone who walked by them on that path to the table would greet them with warmth, affection, and the beautiful confidence of men, women, and children who knew the feelings were mutual.

Luke was Jo's service dog for many years after he had been her son Mike's service dog. Somewhere in the Service Dog Rule Book it says these companions are not pets, but Luke never read up to that page, and Jo is not one to dwell on foolish, unnecessary details. So we did the pet thing, and it was good.

Together this loving duo invited countless individuals into the church.

About five years ago, I was one of those people. At that point, I was unsure of churches, of the presumptions that package themselves as love, of the genuineness of people generally, of the exact nature of friendship. Still, at that stage, I felt an obligation to my daughter to bring her to church for her own sake, but I was going through the motions. But then there were Jo and Luke and all that warmth and fuzz and the smiles the way dogs smile and dog people who totally get what dogs can do smile. They were the heart and soul of safety, no strings attached. I was welcome to receive, and I received.

This year on Easter Sunday, I watched parishioners and visitors file past Luke. So many children pet him without asking because kids get it. One small child, already an Easter regular we never see any other time of year, gave Luke her bunny ears; he wore them and smiled. I watched one boy, a ten-year-old old soul, pet Luke and look into his eyes and see his spirit.

After the service, I watched Luke during the coffee hour celebration. People who never made eye contact and might never make contact laid hands on Luke and connected with each other as well as him in the warm, wordless way that dogs make possible. They knew the grace of God in the fur made warm by the beating heart of a beautiful being. My heart trembled as I watched God at work.

Last Saturday, Luke died in Jo's arms. He had lung cancer as well as back trouble, but he found succor in the arms of his dearest friend as he took his last breaths in this world. Our world is less without Luke. Much less.

It must be that way. We must, must, must feel this loss. Please God, let our aching hearts teach us to welcome as he welcomed, to trust as he trusted, to give as he gave, to love as he loved.

Indeed, may we love as Luke loved. Sweet Jesus, let it be. May we follow him to the table.

Fr. Jim's blog post is here.

Wordless Wednesday: The Old State Building, Hartford, Connecticut

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: More of the Hartford Light Show

Hartford, Connecticut, and its blend of old and new, bright and sedate makes for an interesting visual experience on a sunny day. Sunlight bouncing off of bronzed glass onto this theatre conjured a dreamy other world. The reflected light lands on different planes or seemed to float. All good.

My World Tuesday

Flowers from Today: Sweet, Sweet, Sweet

Here are more southern beauties from my trip to North Carolina a few weeks ago. The top one (What is the name? Alas, I do not know.) is just down the road from my parents' home. It was very fragrant even though it had not blossomed. The bottom one made me think of the plant that Morticia Adams used to feed meat, though it smelled really, really good. In fact, the fragrance was strong enough to mitigate the we-have-no-secrets aroma of low tide. The shades and depths of the greens were delightful.

Today's Flowers

One Single Impression: Enigma

It's like this
Every single year
But word comes in the news
And we forget what we know:

The alerts, the warnings, the advisories:
"A danger of freezing temperatures tonight
In every part of your county."

In other words:

Spring could die tonight

And there's nothing you can do.

Next morning,
A fox runs down the sidewalk
The gale force winds carry
The scent of cherry and lilac
Everywhere
And unfolding green leaves
Dance

Because you dance in the wind.

You survive the cold.

Year after year,

And it's new every time--

So is the fear
That we won't.

Call it an enigma.
Call it May.

One Single Impression