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Archive for the ‘Nature Notes’ Category

a lazy day in the office lo res

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Calendar Images

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What words are evoked for you by this image?

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Lemon Thyme in the Morning

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Near the Hudson River, I sit beneath a tree that has flowers like a dogwood, pale, soft lit by the sun, a creamy golden white.  They waver in what can only be called a gentle breeze.  Bird cries fill the air, harsh and pointed.  It is spring.  The birds search for mates and want to have babies.  A biological imperative I suppose.

*

Time passes.  I still sit beneath the tree, staring up into the branches weighed down by blossoms.  The breeze reveals the sheer lengths of spiders’ webs weaving throughout the canopy.  Of the spiders I can see nothing, only their work.

*

A woodchuck, of all creatures, bounds by with baby in tow.  A light golden brown shading darker in places.  It could be a beaver but the tail seems too wrong.  Earlier I saw squirrels, quite fat, and birds in all sizes and colors.  But of deer I have seen nothing though they were the creatures I had been told to watch for.

*

And so there it is.  The deer.  A female, white tailed.  As it ambles by I am reminded to practice what I preach to a dear friend:  Patience and all will be revealed.

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… a spider’s web dotted with rain, stretched between the porch column and roof.  The balls of moisture catch light, like neon bulbs, highlighting the web in sunlight and moonlight, streetlight and flashlight.  The adults around us don’t notice or at least they say nothing.  But all of us children, we just stare up in awe.

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Mary Oliver is one of America’s most prolific and successful living poets.  In 2006 she produced a 71-page book of poetry that changed my life.  Thirst, like many of her previous works celebrates nature, but the poems also give voice to her love and loss of her partner, Mary Malone Cook.  When I first read Thirst, it did not inspire me artistically; i’m not sure that I was in a space to be inspired.   Instead, the words brought me calm during an aggressively reflective time in my life.  The poems were spare of word and rich with imagery.  They made me pause.   Even in the middle of a busy book store, reading her words felt like sitting beneath a tree watching a river flow past.  And in the quiet that was created, I began to acknowledge, for the first time perhaps, how grief need not be a burden but it does need to be acknowledged.

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Last night I dreamed of a blue frog.  A tiny fingertipped size creature of the brightest hue, and splotched with darkest black.  It stuck to my finger and wouldn’t let go no matter how hard I tried to fling it away.  Finally, all I could do was accept that it was there on my finger — the brightest most beautiful thing in the world.

I like to assume it was not a poison dart frog.

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