Woodsmoke-scented air
Invokes peace, comfort, sacrifice
Nut-seeking squirrels scurry
Tentative deer appear, pricking their ears
Early night descends with a chill…
Retreat. Rest. Be still.

Woodsmoke-scented air
Invokes peace, comfort, sacrifice
Nut-seeking squirrels scurry
Tentative deer appear, pricking their ears
Early night descends with a chill…
Retreat. Rest. Be still.
Such a magical age
Embracing every new wonder
Valuing every moment
Every day a rich concoction of love
Now and every tomorrow, a gift
History believed in your magic power
Object of healing and deliverance from evil
Legend made you a crown for Saturn’s brow
Lore of Druids: tree of eternal life, that lightning won’t strike
Yuletide of yore endures
The holly tree was believed to have eternal life as it remained green in winter when other trees appeared to die. It is a symbol of endurance. This lovely specimen grows by the playground of the school where I work. Stuff of ancient legends and lore aside, its merry, festive appearance is a spirit-lifter here on the cusp of winter break…
This day, every day
Holy in its own way
Abundance immeasurable
New mercies pleasurable
Keeping mindful of blessings
For living, for giving
Until the final ingathering
Let me not cease to give thanks
Drawing by Scout, age 6
Thanksgiving blessings to all
Amid the daily grind, the exhaustion
Do not forget:
Voice your needs.
One cannot continue
Cup-filling when your own is empty.
Ask for help.
Take time. Make time.
Elicit the elusive elixir of rest.
‘You can’t pour from an empty cup. Take care of yourself first’ @lucyOTL #whisfc18. johnpopham. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
Nature’s fiery colors fade to brown
Overhead on the power line a hawk
Vaingloriously perches against a charcoal sky
Eyeing the underbrush
Mice seem to know, and are still
Burrowed in blankets of papery leaves
Every furtive squirrel a master of stockpiling
Reconnaissance
My first thought, on opening the garage door:
Oh, look, a toad, jumping from the step…
Until I discerned that this gray smudge of a creature
Scurrying to hide behind my boots was furry and
Evading me like the plague…
Mouse. Rob Powell. CC BY-SA
Mice are better leapers than frogs. Just sayin’.
Wriggling with happiness
All over your body
Luxurious white teddy-bear fur
Love bursting at the seams
You’re a joy, little boy
Wally is visiting with us this weekend. Such a good, sweet boy. He belongs to a family friend.
Azure skies, an occasional gift
Upwelling storm clouds, dark and ominous
Gills are needed to breathe in humid southern climes
Undulating lines of heat
Snaking along the horizon
Too hot for returning to school
Intense, moody month.
Photo: erie august sky 6. totempolar. CC BY-SA 2.0.
A friend who knows my affinity for the natural world gave me The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times. It’s written as a conversation between Jane Goodall and her interviewer, Douglas Abrams. When I say it’s part of my current “light reading” I don’t mean easy (although it is) or frivolous (for it is not).
I mean light as in candleglow dancing on the walls of a dark room.
I’ve not gotten far yet but here are some lines that draw me in the first couple of chapters—flickerings of my own credo:
Hope is a survival trait.
The naturalist looks for the wonder of nature – she listens to the voice of nature and learns from it as she tries to understand it.
Hope does not deny all the difficulty and all the danger that exists, but is not stopped by them. There’s a lot of darkness, but our actions create the light.
And this from an Inuit elder, on confronting and healing our grief, which can manifest itself in the body as physical pain: Make space for grief…find awe and joy in every day.
—these, I believe. They are often the very reason why I write.
Recipe for Survival
Hold onto hope, and it will hold you
Open the ears, eyes, arms of your spirit
Perceive the call of awe, all around
Embrace it. Let the healing begin.