Help us to be ever faithful gardeners of the spirit,
Who know that without darkness,
nothing comes to birth,
And without light,
nothing flowers
- May Sarton
Who know that without darkness,
nothing comes to birth,
And without light,
nothing flowers
- May Sarton
9.11.10 Upstate NY
The Fields
This morning I walked through the field, just after the sun had risen.
The grass is growing high - the tractor is broken down - the colors are
changing and the vibrancy of plant life is slowly ebbing.
I turned toward the south and I saw one of the spectacular shows this
time of year, if caught early on a cool, dewy morning, just as the sun's
rays pierce through them.
There before me was the pre-autumn show of glistening spider webs.
I attempted to count the strands in the first web I found - there were
about 40. I marvelled at the architectural skills - skills that must be
similar to those of the ancient Mayans - the mental power and physical
agility of those beings, able to build something so supremely delicate
yet firmly in its place (at least, until a bigger creature or harsh wind
moves it off its anchored course).
I then saw another, and another, built in all directions - mostly the
same general size and shape. In a few, I discovered its creator in the
center - still, and most likely at rest from the incredible task it had
achieved in the overnight hours while I slept, but no doubt perched in
vigilance as this intruder approached its center. In some, I found the
remains of a captured bounty - a butterfly or other insect that had
chosen the inopportune moment to cross this arachnid's path.
It is a mid-September morning, and one of the reasons I love this time
of year is for this convergence of energies - the sun's light, the dew of
the condensation, and the advantage these brilliant and surreal
beings take of the tall, sagging grasses, purple knotweed and
goldenrod to build their masterpieces....thus rendering the confluence
of nature and art. What we venture into museums holding collections
of interpretations of this beauty to remind us of the wonders around
us, and reminding us that art is as necessary as food and drink to
sustain us.
It is also 9/11, a date that of course now holds incredible and weighty
significance for humans, and particularly american ones. I have so
many thoughts, I can't possibly fit them in one musing or
contemplation.
But for now, for today, I think of the spider webs, the beauty and
stillness of this morning's walk, and my prayers for inner and outer
peace...peace among neighbors, among family, among friends,
among nations, among strangers, within oneself.....
And as I think of the old ones, the Native americans, who taught and
continue to teach us the wisdom of living among rather than over
other living beings and the responsibilities we have as guardians of
this planet, I think of the lessons of spider -- and the words of Ted
Andrews in Animal Speak:
"Grandmother Spider taught the mysteries of the past and how they
were affecting the future".
The Fields
This morning I walked through the field, just after the sun had risen.
The grass is growing high - the tractor is broken down - the colors are
changing and the vibrancy of plant life is slowly ebbing.
I turned toward the south and I saw one of the spectacular shows this
time of year, if caught early on a cool, dewy morning, just as the sun's
rays pierce through them.
There before me was the pre-autumn show of glistening spider webs.
I attempted to count the strands in the first web I found - there were
about 40. I marvelled at the architectural skills - skills that must be
similar to those of the ancient Mayans - the mental power and physical
agility of those beings, able to build something so supremely delicate
yet firmly in its place (at least, until a bigger creature or harsh wind
moves it off its anchored course).
I then saw another, and another, built in all directions - mostly the
same general size and shape. In a few, I discovered its creator in the
center - still, and most likely at rest from the incredible task it had
achieved in the overnight hours while I slept, but no doubt perched in
vigilance as this intruder approached its center. In some, I found the
remains of a captured bounty - a butterfly or other insect that had
chosen the inopportune moment to cross this arachnid's path.
It is a mid-September morning, and one of the reasons I love this time
of year is for this convergence of energies - the sun's light, the dew of
the condensation, and the advantage these brilliant and surreal
beings take of the tall, sagging grasses, purple knotweed and
goldenrod to build their masterpieces....thus rendering the confluence
of nature and art. What we venture into museums holding collections
of interpretations of this beauty to remind us of the wonders around
us, and reminding us that art is as necessary as food and drink to
sustain us.
It is also 9/11, a date that of course now holds incredible and weighty
significance for humans, and particularly american ones. I have so
many thoughts, I can't possibly fit them in one musing or
contemplation.
But for now, for today, I think of the spider webs, the beauty and
stillness of this morning's walk, and my prayers for inner and outer
peace...peace among neighbors, among family, among friends,
among nations, among strangers, within oneself.....
And as I think of the old ones, the Native americans, who taught and
continue to teach us the wisdom of living among rather than over
other living beings and the responsibilities we have as guardians of
this planet, I think of the lessons of spider -- and the words of Ted
Andrews in Animal Speak:
"Grandmother Spider taught the mysteries of the past and how they
were affecting the future".
"What part of you is pushed out into the world - one who holds love and peace in their heart no matter what is happening around them or a world of anger and fear? We all have the choice of what world we want to live in. It is all about creating a beautiful landscape that is the true reflection of your beauty within and without."
- Sandra Ingerman
- Sandra Ingerman
October 3, 2019 in Province Lands
In Beech Forest, after stepping out of "little Honey" and walking toward the boardwalk that
wends through the beech, I stopped, taking in the majesty of the slender coven of beech
in front of me...as if posing, in hopes of being seen ..... out of my mouth came the words,
"Oh, I am so sorry for all we have done to you..." and felt tears in the corners of my eyes.
Walking a bit further, we stopped at a resting spot, with railings so one could prop and
hold steady a camera perhaps. Within moments, a chickadee came shooting by, close to
my head, and landed above me on a beech branch. I felt the urge to reach out my arms,
resting on the railing, thinking maybe maybe I would be fortunate enough to have a
chickadee come close to me. I'd heard all my life how chickadees are trusting of humans
and will even feed from their hands; I was never successful as I stood under the pines
back at home, usually in winter when the chickadees were looking for seed...I would wait,
stood with arms reaching out....when there it came again! - and this time, landed only
inches away from my upturned hand, then hopped an inch closer, then another inch, until
it was close enough to my hand that it was able to give the nail of my pinky a little "peck"!
Then another chickadee came, and this one hopped closer very quickly before hopping
ONTO my hand!!!! Again, tears of joy for the connection to Nature....
After this, we drove to the Life Saving Museum....amid displays of old boats wide enough
to ride perpendicular to the tossing of the ocean and ingenius rescue apparatus devised
by these brave bodhisattva sailors who rescued drowning sailors from the tossing waters,
we found the dining room, with a library off to the side, with a very old book by Robert
Burns. The gentle forest ranger, older and bespectacled with hair the color of the
Atlantic beach sand, was so thrilled with our interest of the Olde Days. He clearly was an
incarnate soul, too.....his joy being among the souls of the departed.
In Beech Forest, after stepping out of "little Honey" and walking toward the boardwalk that
wends through the beech, I stopped, taking in the majesty of the slender coven of beech
in front of me...as if posing, in hopes of being seen ..... out of my mouth came the words,
"Oh, I am so sorry for all we have done to you..." and felt tears in the corners of my eyes.
Walking a bit further, we stopped at a resting spot, with railings so one could prop and
hold steady a camera perhaps. Within moments, a chickadee came shooting by, close to
my head, and landed above me on a beech branch. I felt the urge to reach out my arms,
resting on the railing, thinking maybe maybe I would be fortunate enough to have a
chickadee come close to me. I'd heard all my life how chickadees are trusting of humans
and will even feed from their hands; I was never successful as I stood under the pines
back at home, usually in winter when the chickadees were looking for seed...I would wait,
- and wait, but no chickadee ever came....so it became an unmet desire in me.
stood with arms reaching out....when there it came again! - and this time, landed only
inches away from my upturned hand, then hopped an inch closer, then another inch, until
it was close enough to my hand that it was able to give the nail of my pinky a little "peck"!
Then another chickadee came, and this one hopped closer very quickly before hopping
ONTO my hand!!!! Again, tears of joy for the connection to Nature....
After this, we drove to the Life Saving Museum....amid displays of old boats wide enough
to ride perpendicular to the tossing of the ocean and ingenius rescue apparatus devised
by these brave bodhisattva sailors who rescued drowning sailors from the tossing waters,
we found the dining room, with a library off to the side, with a very old book by Robert
Burns. The gentle forest ranger, older and bespectacled with hair the color of the
Atlantic beach sand, was so thrilled with our interest of the Olde Days. He clearly was an
incarnate soul, too.....his joy being among the souls of the departed.
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