tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-158978422024-03-19T08:12:04.823-04:00 Beyond the Fields We KnowWild and Earthy Thoughts Gathered Along the Journeykerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.comBlogger6128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-70169560867003892982024-03-19T04:48:00.018-04:002024-03-19T07:00:54.191-04:00Happy Ostara (Vernal Equinox)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgQw4OGBB-CgNzhKoNVDavo572wglWUAItM2FFxbz0kA75uk24smHoIdlX-tRqRzs47cPiXX0ueamqglq5HbwprJlJeXkRICxe6WHeKhFCzPqNAWVmmRTHIIkGONH17BFc9Os9A31BP5o2t_1eF0Oqa-VUqQn2LDYQ5PY2VQU07gCEzYfYf7u/s504/snowdrops.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgQw4OGBB-CgNzhKoNVDavo572wglWUAItM2FFxbz0kA75uk24smHoIdlX-tRqRzs47cPiXX0ueamqglq5HbwprJlJeXkRICxe6WHeKhFCzPqNAWVmmRTHIIkGONH17BFc9Os9A31BP5o2t_1eF0Oqa-VUqQn2LDYQ5PY2VQU07gCEzYfYf7u/s16000/snowdrops.png" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><br />Today marks the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, one of two times in the calendar year (along with the Autumn Equinox or Mabon) when the Earth and her unruly children hover in perfect balance for a brief interval. Humans have nothing to do with the occasion. It is a pivotal astronomic point ordained by the heavens above us, by the natural order of things in this magnificent cosmos where we live out our days, spinning like tops in the Great Round of space and time.<p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>If I lived further south, this might be a day of greening and enchantment, a day when Eostre, the old Teutonic goddess of greening and fertility, wanders wild places with her arms full of spring blooms, bestowing blessings on everything she sees. Trees would leaf out as she passed, and flowers would spring up in her footsteps. As always, she would be attended by hares, her special animal. The air would be filled with birdsong, with the heady fragrance of rich dark earth and wild springtime herbs. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Winter's snow has departed for the most part, but it is still chilly here, and although there is greening in our thoughts, it will be a few weeks until trees leaf out, and greenery emerges everywhere. Clumps of crocus and snowdrops bloom in protected nooks here and there, but there is little or no blooming in open spaces. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div>While I was pottering about in the front yard yesterday morning, several skeins of Canada geese flew overhead, honking their pleasure at being home again. The great birds were so high up we could hardly hear them, and they must have been returnees from somewhere far away. On seeing them, I put down my tools and danced a few steps, and the neighbors must have thought I was off my nut. </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">At nightfall, Beau and I went outside into the garden for a few minutes, and as we shivered in the star spangled darkness, it seemed to us that this month's waxing moon resembles a great cosmic egg - a perfect expression of this turning of the wheel with its verdant motifs of warmth, light and new life coming into being.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div>There is blooming in our thoughts for sure, but it is still too cold here for outdoor celebrations. Beau and I will spend time outside in the garden tonight, and we will light a votive candle on the deck if the north wind permits it, but our festivities are indoors for the most part. There is room for everyone at our hearth and there are enough mugs, plates and comfortable chairs to go around. Welcome, and come ye in!</div></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-60687515017966267642024-03-19T04:30:00.056-04:002024-03-19T08:11:14.109-04:00Just a Little Snow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm30CdI2JKJAIcPKw_h7WG26UllFuvDVJNU0-HqpmtAByou0JcYq-bqHBzj3sMmuJZZSO7_mb4UGBKtbORwuiUB1oS3ocukAeYJWz-iFCnyF34_0R1_6erOHe_QDrPmVhCOXVTjFvjx3-dm2_ab2JSY68ibKHDZ67kr6NBbhUS3ZDr5fvxFTu8/s504/tleaves.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm30CdI2JKJAIcPKw_h7WG26UllFuvDVJNU0-HqpmtAByou0JcYq-bqHBzj3sMmuJZZSO7_mb4UGBKtbORwuiUB1oS3ocukAeYJWz-iFCnyF34_0R1_6erOHe_QDrPmVhCOXVTjFvjx3-dm2_ab2JSY68ibKHDZ67kr6NBbhUS3ZDr5fvxFTu8/s16000/tleaves.png" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Temperatures rise, the sun shines, snowdrifts disappear, things start to pop up in the garden, and one thinks (hopefully) that spring has arrived in the north, but wait... </blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">After several days of relatively balmy weather, we pulled the draperies open yesterday morning to leaden skies and falling snow. The tulips and daffodils sprouting in the garden were poking up through white stuff and doing their best, but they did not look happy. </blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">After twittering their displeasure and grabbing a few sunflower seeds from the feeders, the usual morning visitors retreated to the depths of the cedar hedge and hunkered down there, looking miserable. We (Beau and I) were of like mind.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">What to do? We wrapped up warmly anyway and went for a long walk around the village, clad in parkas and with our collars turned up against the squall. The weather was only a few degrees below freezing, but it was damp, and the north wind was bitterly cold. Then we came home to tea and buttered waffles.</div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">It was a fine afternoon for huddling in a corner with a mug of something hot and Anthony Horowitz's marvelous <i>Moonflower Murders</i>. The novel starts off on the island of Crete, and moves to England after a chapter or so, but in neither place is there snow, as far as I know. A sunny Greek terrace overlooking the Aegean Sea is perfect for such a dreary day. Mezze anyone? Moussaka? A few glasses of ouzo or retsina?</p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-39503718269000484912024-03-18T04:30:00.003-04:002024-03-18T04:43:18.843-04:00Sequestered, week 204 (CCIV)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrm_UK_z-oAYh_DYZlmsv_OWVmVhgOmcuJmYliyrQkvAVkW4gxaOzKaLz35qHmlzXFMEFTDJCj3zsa5GxHvP7G_1gK1eVbFQlCeUj49rXIGTegqaBDHQvBCwGIoQePUMl8tpufe3oroO6l4RRUDCrS3jnrrGJvR_r57hjchZmwRgiFrCtBeTg/s504/snowdrops.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrm_UK_z-oAYh_DYZlmsv_OWVmVhgOmcuJmYliyrQkvAVkW4gxaOzKaLz35qHmlzXFMEFTDJCj3zsa5GxHvP7G_1gK1eVbFQlCeUj49rXIGTegqaBDHQvBCwGIoQePUMl8tpufe3oroO6l4RRUDCrS3jnrrGJvR_r57hjchZmwRgiFrCtBeTg/s16000/snowdrops.png" /></a></div>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-3190167355328972432024-03-17T03:00:00.007-04:002024-03-17T03:25:40.691-04:00Sunday, Saying Yes to the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8ntIaeOleWVLzE1VPRozRmkhxVSC14qDqznJnSXXf0ZQKnfLJeKTnOwwfeYTT9fs8d0unOwVuPGOReF1wRqGsH2Kp3L_lLwBnk3KjL7oMMVtTO9m4v5wNlne5uwUaZNgWIyF9Wx6uLV5hawn5mpjbTdw50_Vu98HvQ8o2Pk6TCGRJpmxQYjS/s504/salix.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8ntIaeOleWVLzE1VPRozRmkhxVSC14qDqznJnSXXf0ZQKnfLJeKTnOwwfeYTT9fs8d0unOwVuPGOReF1wRqGsH2Kp3L_lLwBnk3KjL7oMMVtTO9m4v5wNlne5uwUaZNgWIyF9Wx6uLV5hawn5mpjbTdw50_Vu98HvQ8o2Pk6TCGRJpmxQYjS/s16000/salix.png" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Whatever has happened, whatever is going to happen in the world, it is the living moment that contains the sum of the excitement, this moment in which we touch life and all the energy of the past and future. Here is all the developing greatness of the dream of the world, the pure flash of momentary imagination, the vision of life lived outside of triumph or defeat, in continual triumph and defeat, in the present, alive. All the crafts of subtlety, all the effort, all the loneliness and death, the thin and blazing threads of reason, the spill of blessing, the passion behind these silences — all the invention turns to one end: the fertilizing of the moment, so that there may be more life.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #b45f06;">Muriel Rukeyser</span></p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-83325111568832331722024-03-16T02:30:00.000-04:002024-03-16T02:44:37.297-04:00Coming Up Purple<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4KZGs69zAO9UCycWkEmLsDt9RQsfICFwZh62ImHkru2lGup92_lN1DnaS-F600-l7istfHNjD5v6RSRJUER-Xuye34faQJLA544Qvwzi_Jj-1DBV1wa5Vvrq_zA3TTZ8o-KtpsFwsPGUQV2E9ITrJnRA3qFRW2kIwJmDo8d5eJf8B5mhyOHF/s504/purple.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4KZGs69zAO9UCycWkEmLsDt9RQsfICFwZh62ImHkru2lGup92_lN1DnaS-F600-l7istfHNjD5v6RSRJUER-Xuye34faQJLA544Qvwzi_Jj-1DBV1wa5Vvrq_zA3TTZ8o-KtpsFwsPGUQV2E9ITrJnRA3qFRW2kIwJmDo8d5eJf8B5mhyOHF/s16000/purple.png" /></a></div>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-56943090482719967442024-03-15T02:30:00.040-04:002024-03-15T08:59:44.768-04:00Friday Ramble - Entelechy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6innq8a5NNdRLGDUS5MQeyhnSVdkjnWFi5boxtQrLWr8wuElaZQsGiLVBMyOO97mN3XY9BB_3jOo8Jb7fJZMatySdLUH1HevbrXdKNa-9T0BLTXLhyjMsLuPEv7Wo-fZU7R8DNCztTcbWsGfStlghjqkggnl4JHn18BAWiYuyDkv1NjqJeJ1m/s504/sprout.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6innq8a5NNdRLGDUS5MQeyhnSVdkjnWFi5boxtQrLWr8wuElaZQsGiLVBMyOO97mN3XY9BB_3jOo8Jb7fJZMatySdLUH1HevbrXdKNa-9T0BLTXLhyjMsLuPEv7Wo-fZU7R8DNCztTcbWsGfStlghjqkggnl4JHn18BAWiYuyDkv1NjqJeJ1m/s16000/sprout.png" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;">This week's word is entelechy, and a lovely springtime word it is. Word and concept were coined by Aristotle, springing from the Ancient Greek <i>entelékheia, </i>a combination of <i>entelēs</i> meaning "complete, finished, perfect” and <i>télos</i> meaning “end, fruition, accomplishment”, plus <i>ékhō</i> meaning simply "to have".</blockquote><br style="background-color: #ccccff; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Aristotle defined entelechy as "having one's end within", and he used the word to describe the conditions and processes by which all things attain their highest and most complete expression. French philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a Jesuit priest, renowned paleontologist, geologist and physicist, described entelechy as having "something inside you like a butterfly is inside the caterpillar".</blockquote><br style="background-color: #ccccff; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Think of entelechy as the prime motivation or dynamic purpose within something, the potential within a nut or acorn to grow into a tree (have always had a "thing" about acorns and oak trees). It is the directive within a bulb to sprout after a long cold winter and burst into flower, the desire within a lotus seed sleeping in the silty depths of a pond to awaken and make its way to the surface, blooming when it comes into the presence of light.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">A possibility is encoded within each of us at birth to become fully and completely ourselves, whatever shape that journey may take for us as individuals. In my own mind, I think of entelechy as being the instruction to "go forth and bloom". </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Some of us have a long way to go (thinking of myself here), but we are on our way, and all along the winding trail before us are nuggets of wisdom, wild knowing and shy discernment. To use the words of Emily Dickinson, we "dwell in Possibility", although we manage to forget it most of the time.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">It is a seed of truth about which I need a nudge now and again, a gentle reminder. The requirement for such things makes me crotchety and impatient, but that is all right, and it is part of the process too. My exquisite little beech seedling says it all.</p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-65893712851692478202024-03-14T04:30:00.002-04:002024-03-14T06:15:08.983-04:00Tobar Phadraic (for St. Patrick's Day)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aOvfiD0U4rScmOFCoszsFOqjZ36wjLWrCsufpFDTx2UfaERKTRslrd0y3XYa-jwYD99v-s6Xy_37rDt_WBowLfuRLDmdvIuJlsSaPB_4dws4np-7MuCVVB5pyJWXGyBJLWzMGyth-WqCQ5Tp2BBflhZXQjJIcCciHzdbR2Y6enQbw_97Uf4R/s504/tobar9.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aOvfiD0U4rScmOFCoszsFOqjZ36wjLWrCsufpFDTx2UfaERKTRslrd0y3XYa-jwYD99v-s6Xy_37rDt_WBowLfuRLDmdvIuJlsSaPB_4dws4np-7MuCVVB5pyJWXGyBJLWzMGyth-WqCQ5Tp2BBflhZXQjJIcCciHzdbR2Y6enQbw_97Uf4R/s16000/tobar9.png" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Turn sideways into the light as they say<br />the old ones did and disappear<br />into the originality of it all.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />Be impatient with easy explanations<br />and teach that part of the mind<br />that wants to know everything<br />not to begin questions it cannot answer.</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Walk the green road above the bay<br />and the low glinting fields<br />toward the evening sun, let that Atlantic<br />gleam be ahead of you and the gray light<br />of the bay below you, until you catch,<br />down on your left, the break in the wall,<br />for just above in the shadows<br />you’ll find it hidden, a curved arm<br />of rock holding the water close to the mountain,<br />a just-lit surface smoothing a scattering of coins,<br />and in the niche above, notes to the dead<br />and supplications for those who still live.</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">But for now, you are alone with the transfiguration<br />and ask no healing for your own<br />but look down as if looking through time,<br />as if through a rent veil from the other<br />side of the question you’ve refused to ask.</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">And you remember now, that clear stream<br />of generosity from which you drank,<br />how as a child your arms could rise and your palms<br />turn out to take the blessing of the world.</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d;">David Whyte (from <i>River Flow</i>)</span></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-78684912847247423722024-03-13T02:00:00.000-04:002024-03-13T02:15:49.380-04:00Wordless Wednesday, Treasure Within<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuH8tgDOlyiTTKOR1Kf4aHC0k8SWqgJHdTtq-4xfQDisxPUw3AMCM7gvT_6d7SDjQvUdjPt1cIb3h4-dX0h2tRDWyON5jQtPs1n7kJz_TAELPKXtOfUr4kGEAAUaJ6jmyVIeqedmDSGzveSkD4UlmrT9MX20E85XVM4VUDP4Wu9NE5ziYhEHQ9/s509/drippy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="509" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuH8tgDOlyiTTKOR1Kf4aHC0k8SWqgJHdTtq-4xfQDisxPUw3AMCM7gvT_6d7SDjQvUdjPt1cIb3h4-dX0h2tRDWyON5jQtPs1n7kJz_TAELPKXtOfUr4kGEAAUaJ6jmyVIeqedmDSGzveSkD4UlmrT9MX20E85XVM4VUDP4Wu9NE5ziYhEHQ9/s16000/drippy.png" /></a></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-15561735658842680142024-03-12T04:30:00.045-04:002024-03-13T07:43:34.152-04:00Little By Little, Returning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qeO_cjLTnYxV5sh-bBDkn5DEVI7YIm1e_STqLII1iJZLbok_tzQcdafR98jDz4OTXbUlBEYIjzKThe8eAKW4mvI2-2mPWQjO0cUM2eZC0mdHWaEh363QusWqEq7UuDfmsHyRbVBn5xWxTjHndYRFxh7i2SHi1sEBiGCpZ4PuJahebMEh1WjW/s504/goosey1%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qeO_cjLTnYxV5sh-bBDkn5DEVI7YIm1e_STqLII1iJZLbok_tzQcdafR98jDz4OTXbUlBEYIjzKThe8eAKW4mvI2-2mPWQjO0cUM2eZC0mdHWaEh363QusWqEq7UuDfmsHyRbVBn5xWxTjHndYRFxh7i2SHi1sEBiGCpZ4PuJahebMEh1WjW/s16000/goosey1%20(1).png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNAYMUp6V_W0PtefQmzb_KRLtdDTFkprIN6sswC1W52nkxKdtEpHY12bah1FN6RtqHV8ocJ-5f8zIjl8umohv4IQo9UOZxYXaEdNlaMQsYyuaRduXgDfvOsF6bm7ktQ9909jSPZwTxuIo3qe0bA7vbmt8c6gJ27htyiOErNoSgDUtJkKCxrL9/s504/goosey2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNAYMUp6V_W0PtefQmzb_KRLtdDTFkprIN6sswC1W52nkxKdtEpHY12bah1FN6RtqHV8ocJ-5f8zIjl8umohv4IQo9UOZxYXaEdNlaMQsYyuaRduXgDfvOsF6bm7ktQ9909jSPZwTxuIo3qe0bA7vbmt8c6gJ27htyiOErNoSgDUtJkKCxrL9/s16000/goosey2.png" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>And so the dance begins, a pair of geese, not a skein or a flock or a "v", just two magnificent Canadas paddling in a pool of melted river in the sunlight. It continues with a Sharp-shinned Hawk etching wide circles in the sky over the same stretch of river and emitting a short, sharp, joyous cry now and then.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">A drowsy groundhog perches on a fence post near the gate of the Two Hundred Acre Wood and looks around in disbelief. No doubt he (or she) is considering returning to the den and going back to sleep. There is bark and twiggy stuff to dine on, but only a few withered berries remain from last year, and it will be a while before dandelions and coltsfoot, their favorite spring nosh, appear. As for timothy, alfalfa and clover, it will be some time before such tender, juicy forages are up and "munchable". </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: left;">In a nearby spinney, three glossy deer (young bucks) shuffle their feet and drink in the morning, their breath sending up clouds of steam in the cold air. Only a few feet away, several young male turkeys (jakes) strut their stuff and proclaim their superiority, gobbling at each other, puffing up their feathers, spreading their tails and dragging their wings. Their antics are absolutely hilarious.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">The brood of young great horned owls being raised in the old oak tree a mile back in the woods is already half grown, and their attentive parents look both proud and haggard. Feeding young "hornies" is hard work.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">In spite of the cold and the wind, it appears that springtime is on its way at last. </p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-29527776958084534122024-03-11T04:30:00.003-04:002024-03-11T04:30:00.136-04:00Sequestered, week 203 (CCIII)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40iUzYfv6ywuvwwzmQjmzZ6a6ues_mA6PtRpbZy54w2SYV_sYI0BaY4VmJrpBEEUAgUDf4LrbNU0DyLywJDZTiQg_KuYUImblGhHsefkAcCdEAyvYNsITJa8g-b6dA5eqRJIgl5R9-h9wL5aIkVUtK2naxC3Sh4scWx-UBDmDZ2yjT5ie8tOP/s504/ducky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40iUzYfv6ywuvwwzmQjmzZ6a6ues_mA6PtRpbZy54w2SYV_sYI0BaY4VmJrpBEEUAgUDf4LrbNU0DyLywJDZTiQg_KuYUImblGhHsefkAcCdEAyvYNsITJa8g-b6dA5eqRJIgl5R9-h9wL5aIkVUtK2naxC3Sh4scWx-UBDmDZ2yjT5ie8tOP/s16000/ducky.png" /></a></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-3701756476201964822024-03-10T04:30:00.009-04:002024-03-10T04:30:00.133-04:00Sunday, Saying Yes to the World <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7q8s-WxsoEa6K3B4Q6T680u9tg1OCFRtUYI2G5Id5WuOQE9p2kUzXmUYul8oJLhu4VRstyoyXDho17_o1DRXsebvEd9-uQr8YeT0UTxw_1fHn5vPZy9WDVVObJHA8Xem2vIfnXJ24Z2jaT6VfqoK-_w20lcRWYtV9_hG-L9t5uTMxg_5L4vY/s504/rilke3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7q8s-WxsoEa6K3B4Q6T680u9tg1OCFRtUYI2G5Id5WuOQE9p2kUzXmUYul8oJLhu4VRstyoyXDho17_o1DRXsebvEd9-uQr8YeT0UTxw_1fHn5vPZy9WDVVObJHA8Xem2vIfnXJ24Z2jaT6VfqoK-_w20lcRWYtV9_hG-L9t5uTMxg_5L4vY/s16000/rilke3.png" /></a></div></div></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">I build a platform, and live upon it, and think my thoughts, and aim high. To rise, I must have a field to rise from. To deepen, I must have bedrock from which to descend. The constancy of the physical world, under its green and blue dyes, draws me toward a better, richer self, call it elevation (there is hardly an adequate word), where I might ascend a little -- where a gloss of spirit would mirror itself in worldly action. I don't mean just mild goodness. I mean feistiness too, the fires of human energy stoked; I mean a gladness vivacious enough to disarrange the sorrows of the world into something better.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">It is one of the great perils of our so-called civilized age that we do not acknowledge enough, or cherish enough, this connection between soul and landscape—between our own best possibilities, and the view from our own windows. We need the world as much as it needs us, and we need it in privacy, intimacy, and surety.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Mary Oliver, <i>Long Life: Essays and Other Writings</i></span></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-29917785138664622482024-03-09T03:33:00.009-05:002024-03-09T14:46:49.103-05:00And Away We Go...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9H74q68aYwWXGCNrFncoQ7nPW156c4To6sXlSyd0qa5TuJJdGJDQ2FJ9taK6VQbziiUGF8-PxiNJHQSeHV8iPFMjWyJGZt5IwMv0MRkm9pEsHjcgARFhTcptTZa0och82O6F3v4-G24Ti9LD0LOwKD_1gNuiEiL3j8rQJ3kNJroDgdguDRDDT/s504/daffies.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9H74q68aYwWXGCNrFncoQ7nPW156c4To6sXlSyd0qa5TuJJdGJDQ2FJ9taK6VQbziiUGF8-PxiNJHQSeHV8iPFMjWyJGZt5IwMv0MRkm9pEsHjcgARFhTcptTZa0och82O6F3v4-G24Ti9LD0LOwKD_1gNuiEiL3j8rQJ3kNJroDgdguDRDDT/s16000/daffies.png" /></a></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">In the sunny, protected alcove of a neighbor's garden in the village, the first "daffies" of the season are already putting up fragile green leaves. We (Beau and I) were surprised to see them on a morning walk a day or two ago.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">In our own garden, there are no signs of daffodils, tulips, snowdrops, crocus, bloodroot, or any other spring bloomers for that matter. Is this a hopeful sign or what?</p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-87935321167770043732024-03-08T04:30:00.008-05:002024-03-09T07:46:05.155-05:00Friday Ramble - Homecoming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpRklR6E00XfpAhwBBW7iJGBwGArNhS4xzSNyN-RoqyA4j48oMadXJ5g5dsEWgT_6JyYL1ECp8h92BE_EsvjXbeiMYsAMKcWwGitmCieL5xDAq8voxXpH-Im_vSss6ZWlX201aCg3e5g6iEVRc-51k7xu4utg4Bz_IaSJj_g72vCmnms7bEKd/s504/ggoing.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpRklR6E00XfpAhwBBW7iJGBwGArNhS4xzSNyN-RoqyA4j48oMadXJ5g5dsEWgT_6JyYL1ECp8h92BE_EsvjXbeiMYsAMKcWwGitmCieL5xDAq8voxXpH-Im_vSss6ZWlX201aCg3e5g6iEVRc-51k7xu4utg4Bz_IaSJj_g72vCmnms7bEKd/s16000/ggoing.png" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Jubilant skeins of of geese fly in from the south, and they sing their return in noisy unison. The congregations headed further north are so high they are almost invisible among the clouds, their voices only faint honkings on the wind. </blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Mallard ducks were the first returnees, and they splash about in the open coves of local rivers and ponds, their shiny green heads visible from a distance. In our favorite lake, rafts of diving ducks like scaup and goldeneye bob like corks in the current, and there are a few mergansers about. Ditches and roadside puddles are full of happy quackers voicing their pleasure at being home again.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">A solitary heron perches on the shore at the lake and wonders why on earth she has come home so early in the season. Trumpeter swans and loons have more sense, and they return later, waiting until there is enough open water for their outsize landing gear.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">In the woods, there are larks and killdeer, beaky snipe and woodcock, grosbeaks, spring warblers and flycatchers. Above them, the graceful "v" shapes (dihedrals) of turkey vultures soar majestically over the countryside, rocking effortlessly back and forth in flight. From below, the light catches their silvery flight feathers and dark wing linings, and the great birds are as magnificent as any eagle.</div></blockquote><div><br style="background-color: #ccccff; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">A solitary goshawk perches in a bare tree on the hill, and a pair of harriers describe perfect, languid circles over the western field. All three are hungry, and they train their fierce yellow eyes on the field below, ardently scanning the ground for a good meal.</div></blockquote><div><br style="background-color: #ccccff; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">This morning, a male cardinal is singing his heart out in the ash tree in the garden, and an unidentified sparrow lifts its voice somewhere in the chilly darkness. Even the weather foretold for the next few days will be a friend. After an unseasonably warm winter and scant snowfall, we need rain, lots and lots of rain.</div></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-89623482047340829242024-03-07T04:00:00.000-05:002024-03-07T04:07:17.319-05:00Thursday Poem - Return<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGTWZRH9-WX8pFGIYEUL7-3BFh22qgTurIKQ47Pa0f3aoTSTR_GN0rRXj4Mh13-zqcdodIxogY40MiXmm2aFSa7EhH7vSXEN-8XzG0dHYER5shynYEnbmG7_B2vxXlT5d4jIFS9-kemkqS-rDGv7LjaNKS2O3bBlrWcdFeXhhbL7PKLIWMLah/s504/within.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGTWZRH9-WX8pFGIYEUL7-3BFh22qgTurIKQ47Pa0f3aoTSTR_GN0rRXj4Mh13-zqcdodIxogY40MiXmm2aFSa7EhH7vSXEN-8XzG0dHYER5shynYEnbmG7_B2vxXlT5d4jIFS9-kemkqS-rDGv7LjaNKS2O3bBlrWcdFeXhhbL7PKLIWMLah/s16000/within.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;">Through the weeks of deep snow<br />we walked above the ground<br />on fallen sky, as though we did<br />not come of root and leaf, as though<br />we had only air and weather<br />for our difficult home.<br />But now<br />as March warms, and the rivulets<br />run like birdsong on the slopes,<br />and the branches of light sing in the hills,<br />slowly we return to earth.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p><span style="color: #0b5394;">Wendell Berry</span></p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-29429601065888536442024-03-06T02:30:00.000-05:002024-03-06T02:41:04.401-05:00Wordless Wednesday - Sweet<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiHhhkCqEqwdhyDZw3ezn_UM2n-pg7h0-XFpNKYQOUypvSiQgXzWu2Ptc-dfzwEPpu5FQLRGtXQtMj1GMG9kGYaySGWMEA-R-xibi3wBCrFtc7uXsUtBAyrlk0P0L-N_rl4gs3b1dR1aQRGDY8xnXzja9JYwvwFRcyUiXyzEbVIBfh4ZuIUBx/s504/sap1%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiHhhkCqEqwdhyDZw3ezn_UM2n-pg7h0-XFpNKYQOUypvSiQgXzWu2Ptc-dfzwEPpu5FQLRGtXQtMj1GMG9kGYaySGWMEA-R-xibi3wBCrFtc7uXsUtBAyrlk0P0L-N_rl4gs3b1dR1aQRGDY8xnXzja9JYwvwFRcyUiXyzEbVIBfh4ZuIUBx/s16000/sap1%20(1).png" /></a></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-22399803322050440992024-03-05T01:30:00.005-05:002024-03-05T07:47:59.063-05:00Rumors of Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZckO1V2BU3x0uQN-ypHNmyLdU0BdSvAcRWclp_ecqqSc-_jlr01VTdCd1yzp2e-nRvc-53fAbUpSNhGyMBUS5aS5BRC2m7QNNP1mRBGaGMHi6Xq6UipxQ2uYYOdjWlsuTeflqHMwxtj3XtaDUtRErcKGwiUK-munXDTv-ku7q_EYm37Nsn03/s504/pwillow.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZckO1V2BU3x0uQN-ypHNmyLdU0BdSvAcRWclp_ecqqSc-_jlr01VTdCd1yzp2e-nRvc-53fAbUpSNhGyMBUS5aS5BRC2m7QNNP1mRBGaGMHi6Xq6UipxQ2uYYOdjWlsuTeflqHMwxtj3XtaDUtRErcKGwiUK-munXDTv-ku7q_EYm37Nsn03/s16000/pwillow.png" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Now and then, there are balmy, brilliant blue days in early March, but mostly, we lurch along between winter and spring, blue skies and grey skies, scudding clouds and no clouds at all. Temperatures are up, down and all over the place, and we (Beau and I) are never sure what to wear when we set out in the morning for our first walk, a light, waterproof jacket one day, a warm parka the next.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Wonder of wonders, a gnarly old willow down by the creek was putting up lovely furry catkins a few days ago and the tiny icicles suspended below cradled tiny branches and fragile scraps of green. The little stream at my feet was running free and singing, its waters dark and glossy and filled with possibility. Willow, song and flow are still percolating in my thoughts this morning, a day or two later.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">A hodgepodge of seasonal images and motifs perhaps, but not unusual for one of my favorite corners in the great wide world, and I am quite all right with it. There is light in dwindling icicles, in thawing streams and fuzzy little willow buds, and perhaps springtime is not far off. I cling to the thought and turn my collar up against the north wind.</div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">On we go, paw in paw, light flickering through the trees, scraps of green in the landscape around us, geese in the sky above. The slowly awakening world is a symphony written in sound and light, and even our footsteps have a part to play in the performance.</p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-38515042872253006652024-03-04T03:02:00.002-05:002024-03-04T03:02:17.698-05:00Sequestered, week 202 (CCII)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNR5tcFUiEpUfpK8U-d17QLFpriZb68ipVlt0-ODhVx0nF_-M38C-RKwgC4JJR_XKCCOZWtqYuSEczcLwbUyhHWNhSmvW9ONjXtIlTZUuLPxkoIPMAtWkzyyKIC58OULmXMu3Gz6_8NrVdTeMhEDGX8VLiJ7s3UY1S69RTXtdWtcDxK2xZF-GD/s504/memug2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNR5tcFUiEpUfpK8U-d17QLFpriZb68ipVlt0-ODhVx0nF_-M38C-RKwgC4JJR_XKCCOZWtqYuSEczcLwbUyhHWNhSmvW9ONjXtIlTZUuLPxkoIPMAtWkzyyKIC58OULmXMu3Gz6_8NrVdTeMhEDGX8VLiJ7s3UY1S69RTXtdWtcDxK2xZF-GD/s16000/memug2.png" /></a></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-52733451285347941072024-03-03T04:30:00.002-05:002024-03-03T04:30:00.133-05:00Sunday, Saying Yes to the World <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RxVeU38VAdOrxhDXzcbKV1qZkkDRaHYPhtUDYJST7nckypqeS0RN5UagHO-gPvCYwqjgT2l3N51pdBSkuvbfZeLVsvweA5RDhpi4gokg3wP40kZ3SI7vtD0zv7NgfVwOvPUzsYAoeGblUDl7aAswQAHGjDy3MFxlJaoMGvj5O1dMBl2nCg/s504/sundown.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RxVeU38VAdOrxhDXzcbKV1qZkkDRaHYPhtUDYJST7nckypqeS0RN5UagHO-gPvCYwqjgT2l3N51pdBSkuvbfZeLVsvweA5RDhpi4gokg3wP40kZ3SI7vtD0zv7NgfVwOvPUzsYAoeGblUDl7aAswQAHGjDy3MFxlJaoMGvj5O1dMBl2nCg/s16000/sundown.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of a March thaw, is the spring. A cardinal, whistling spring to a thaw but later finding himself mistaken, can retrieve his error by resuming his winter silence. A chipmunk, emerging for a sunbath but finding a blizzard, has only to go back to bed. But a migrating goose, staking two hundred miles of black night on the chance of finding a hole in the lake, has no easy chance for retreat. His arrival carries the conviction of a prophet who has burned his bridges. A March morning is only as drab as he who walks in it without a glance skyward, ear cocked for geese.<br /><br /></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763;">Aldo Leopold, <i>A Sand County Almanac</i></span></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-89043838864106795562024-03-02T05:08:00.003-05:002024-03-02T05:08:43.816-05:00Rumors of Spring<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCV-iRjGUmk33ELKNub3Ncu-dtVMwXGE-Xy-YwNevuqdVu1bWbkBlV4HZc2euR0vZQJmkuqA0WhqHBWpos8AkjNWuHEPV3s7jSKPwynIEgZs89QVHqthrH-yvX8UjnVylZNq5GUCFvlmesP9YekgGN3VYR_hhaGPlZP1Hs2VtFmyyqNiRrslCu/s504/buddy1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCV-iRjGUmk33ELKNub3Ncu-dtVMwXGE-Xy-YwNevuqdVu1bWbkBlV4HZc2euR0vZQJmkuqA0WhqHBWpos8AkjNWuHEPV3s7jSKPwynIEgZs89QVHqthrH-yvX8UjnVylZNq5GUCFvlmesP9YekgGN3VYR_hhaGPlZP1Hs2VtFmyyqNiRrslCu/s16000/buddy1.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-aRfcwAl6KZ2u0GGlSIBY4ZHbYhE05I2PK1sDWZVoLOHxFai1aLwIEs4Eh0VpUWch3hLenKMlKmwc0ojJpRalVANqmyMKG7fnvKd3YV8f5cqQZO9vSY0wnEZT5BTsaRzIndKTKUvRJVS5DLhpPsDCFFhTC6_Om2bLWQ1djjQ4pssTVM4TJ8Kq/s504/buddy2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-aRfcwAl6KZ2u0GGlSIBY4ZHbYhE05I2PK1sDWZVoLOHxFai1aLwIEs4Eh0VpUWch3hLenKMlKmwc0ojJpRalVANqmyMKG7fnvKd3YV8f5cqQZO9vSY0wnEZT5BTsaRzIndKTKUvRJVS5DLhpPsDCFFhTC6_Om2bLWQ1djjQ4pssTVM4TJ8Kq/s16000/buddy2.png" /></a></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-85860341285770492942024-03-01T04:30:00.008-05:002024-03-01T06:16:55.110-05:00Friday Ramble - Written in the Trees<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2VJL92Xg2amfp5ftAT3mZoPJB-S9ociQd21XTHEGzYkK-VtUpBREPzPAoTiaYEi7kJMPa8bHEqdl5EpOvpVstd2OepHZCmxb5ooY2j4-i5FU7qnSRo02ELbP5JRs1spizzJ5R5lLV2e0qe0sn2isQbRg8L7HqRNNtjw3920aY8n9luwQHVHA/s504/birch1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2VJL92Xg2amfp5ftAT3mZoPJB-S9ociQd21XTHEGzYkK-VtUpBREPzPAoTiaYEi7kJMPa8bHEqdl5EpOvpVstd2OepHZCmxb5ooY2j4-i5FU7qnSRo02ELbP5JRs1spizzJ5R5lLV2e0qe0sn2isQbRg8L7HqRNNtjw3920aY8n9luwQHVHA/s16000/birch1.png" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSlvgiJVuw-y7J4KQAkU63uDnTQcbLypKGhQ0sjoReumic_7ezY3b4E5VwbxFKqWlMQKx9ZSK_PLT3btYSrDp0F_keKe4MadEcjjcG5mMyYZWzz_xINPdpDENA-SMOVh97cm906GnLJBeD8pDk7B0BHxX4O-ns82goIOCUsBSRtu4IK6Jaf0i/s504/birch2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSlvgiJVuw-y7J4KQAkU63uDnTQcbLypKGhQ0sjoReumic_7ezY3b4E5VwbxFKqWlMQKx9ZSK_PLT3btYSrDp0F_keKe4MadEcjjcG5mMyYZWzz_xINPdpDENA-SMOVh97cm906GnLJBeD8pDk7B0BHxX4O-ns82goIOCUsBSRtu4IK6Jaf0i/s16000/birch2.png" /></a></div></div><span style="color: #bf9000;">Paper birch, also called White birch and Canoe birch</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #bf9000;">(<i>Betula papyrifera</i>)</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #ccccff; clear: both; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"></div><div><br /></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">Here we are on the cusp between winter and springtime, weary of ice and snowdrifts, craving light and warmth. It is still below freezing much of the time, an icy wind scouring the bare trees and making the branches ring like old iron bells. </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Perhaps that is to be expected, for springtime is a puckish wight this far north, and after making a brief appearance, she sometimes disappears for days and weeks at a time, fickle lass that she is. After several days of milder weather, dwindling snowdrifts and happy pottering, temperatures plummeted yesterday, and there was a bitter north wind, but the sky was blue, and there was sunshine. Winter (alas) is not over yet.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;">For all the seasonal toing and froing, late winter days in the woods have a wonderful way of quieting one's thoughts and breathing patterns, bringing her back to a still and reflective space in the heart of the living world.<br /><p style="text-align: left;">I sat on a log in the woods a few days ago, watching as tattered scraps of birch bark fluttered back and forth in the north wind. The lines etched in the tree's parchment were words written in a language I could almost understand when my breath slowed and my mind became still. When the morning sun slipped out from behind the clouds, rays of sunlight passed through the blowing strands and turned them golden and translucent, for all the world like elemental stained glass.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">When I touched the old tree in greeting, my fingers came away with a dry springtime sweetness on them that lingered for hours. I tucked a thin folio of bark in the pocket of my parka and inhaled its fragrance all the way home.</div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Happy March, everyone! </p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-41637152331070280402024-02-29T04:30:00.001-05:002024-02-29T04:30:00.133-05:00Thursday Poem - For the Children<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIyBZydZMnOzWpm4k0EyrUU7adp9NF4cS-THs8lBX4DTOSMkMsoPWRhuw0eKJSzvP2hOxddRpTWbGol9gsxC3ZPfTGgLyrud0oqDMBxOULRJ8nk_kGoFVhxHJWbl6igeOqubDXqBxKkYI37Y5Qem8idgYNzA8q9YQ1TspaHNN2d4jaFftjoWe/s504/snyder2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIyBZydZMnOzWpm4k0EyrUU7adp9NF4cS-THs8lBX4DTOSMkMsoPWRhuw0eKJSzvP2hOxddRpTWbGol9gsxC3ZPfTGgLyrud0oqDMBxOULRJ8nk_kGoFVhxHJWbl6igeOqubDXqBxKkYI37Y5Qem8idgYNzA8q9YQ1TspaHNN2d4jaFftjoWe/s16000/snyder2.png" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">The rising hills,<br /> the slopes,<br />of statistics<br />lie before us.<br />The steep climb<br />of everything, going up,<br />up, as we all<br />go down.</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">In the next century<br />or the one beyond that<br />they say,<br />are valleys, pastures,<br />we can meet there in peace<br />if we make it.</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">To climb these coming crests<br />one word to you, to<br />you and your children:</blockquote><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><i>stay together,<br />learn the flowers,<br />go light.</i></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Gary Snyder, from <i>Turtle Island</i></span></p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-36812463097099809152024-02-28T04:30:00.004-05:002024-02-28T04:30:00.132-05:00Wordless Wednesday - Alight<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEf-5E_lXm3LvtJu8opXblMSUq-i5KNIBSNyS-W6r3GM45jjX1Mdg6e8ud2tK0kFRawp6hz5srgpLEvg4sZmJ1E0vb4Jm2SQ8Unnrb9tMJCpQmFtDrKpcbvzbLZxJLhcNCm7NpdWH5jTQ4jkdcKpbEEQl8JM4kmxSVB4X6iKpjVC9ScbUU1qmo/s504/icelight.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEf-5E_lXm3LvtJu8opXblMSUq-i5KNIBSNyS-W6r3GM45jjX1Mdg6e8ud2tK0kFRawp6hz5srgpLEvg4sZmJ1E0vb4Jm2SQ8Unnrb9tMJCpQmFtDrKpcbvzbLZxJLhcNCm7NpdWH5jTQ4jkdcKpbEEQl8JM4kmxSVB4X6iKpjVC9ScbUU1qmo/s16000/icelight.png" /></a></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-6845462997143775942024-02-27T04:30:00.004-05:002024-02-27T08:05:21.945-05:00Small Openings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9MOqDvPz10_XF9CBaNxhOemVOlzM5puE5HzCqch2-la2Dq9KdjBM38doTVnKcegR4M-1ISjhFLKrWP379DmPiD7N7hFDKqC2_1XmiMnuB2xZW1YuJExB1d8RTH3I4Hfm5tzdsSoF8WZ2-ih_VGcHKn5ptQrb0l1az-_PBA_lNFx6RttgT3U6f/s504/pcreek1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9MOqDvPz10_XF9CBaNxhOemVOlzM5puE5HzCqch2-la2Dq9KdjBM38doTVnKcegR4M-1ISjhFLKrWP379DmPiD7N7hFDKqC2_1XmiMnuB2xZW1YuJExB1d8RTH3I4Hfm5tzdsSoF8WZ2-ih_VGcHKn5ptQrb0l1az-_PBA_lNFx6RttgT3U6f/s16000/pcreek1.png" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIitzM9jeA3BF_DttJGSCsNbVnBx52ygXvFPQVDl6KUtH80tDSosFjQ_2NFLniFMwuVAWOIImVWmW08pPxN8CJi-6jBeZQ3oH4yrJMO7AN09mh7PZLl9AEvrXc1dVhtSzNRw8hyphenhyphenWY1tZXRvQfKuYt3nM7wfaBZ9DhvjE2RMIQb1Iqx0RUwroUC/s504/pcreek2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIitzM9jeA3BF_DttJGSCsNbVnBx52ygXvFPQVDl6KUtH80tDSosFjQ_2NFLniFMwuVAWOIImVWmW08pPxN8CJi-6jBeZQ3oH4yrJMO7AN09mh7PZLl9AEvrXc1dVhtSzNRw8hyphenhyphenWY1tZXRvQfKuYt3nM7wfaBZ9DhvjE2RMIQb1Iqx0RUwroUC/s16000/pcreek2.png" /></a></div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">We have rung every possible seasonal weather change in recent days, the pendulum oscillating from snow and bitter cold to a rain and temperatures above zero. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth we go.</div></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">What to do? A walk on an overcast day is the ticket, dressing warmly and keeping to the area around the creek sheltered by tall old trees. The temperature hovers around zero, but there is a bitter north wind, and our fingers and toes tingle as we (Beau and I) potter along. There are footprints in the snow along the creek's verges, the tracks of birds and field mice, cottontail rabbits, now and then a raccoon. This morning, there are also the prints of a weasel (or ermine as it is known in winter when its fur turns white). Not surprising as the little creature is a fierce and very proficient mouser.</div></blockquote><div><br style="background-color: #ccccff; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">A few days ago, the little waterway was starting to open, but it was cold overnight, and the channel has iced up again except for an opening near the bend where the water flows a little faster. In that small and hopeful aperture, the icy water sparkles, holding clouds and light and whiskery branches. It sings blithely of springtime and green things emerging from the earth, of wildflowers blooming and geese coming home. It counsels patience. Soon, it says, very, very soon. Please, Mama, let it be so.</div></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-10094854854583427852024-02-26T04:30:00.008-05:002024-02-26T04:30:00.358-05:00Sequestered, week 201 (CCI)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRX29mnkuIdJZoq6LvK69UEPfhxP3Bw2YXvW9A82Uz3pGfN5oCVm_8-Hsk_BLbqwiZ3HTAEPvNEbKWSixx-NLZ7EaG6woNqmB-jQEcdcu35n-nxMR7GCzfRjqMc8s8oiIEm90uXfBQZuTlU_1CDuoK1QnuTQs_RnQqtCJJ0DtV4VB-dh7k5cNi/s504/sflowing.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRX29mnkuIdJZoq6LvK69UEPfhxP3Bw2YXvW9A82Uz3pGfN5oCVm_8-Hsk_BLbqwiZ3HTAEPvNEbKWSixx-NLZ7EaG6woNqmB-jQEcdcu35n-nxMR7GCzfRjqMc8s8oiIEm90uXfBQZuTlU_1CDuoK1QnuTQs_RnQqtCJJ0DtV4VB-dh7k5cNi/s16000/sflowing.png" /></a></div></div><p></p>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15897842.post-4258195732569444402024-02-25T04:00:00.012-05:002024-02-25T04:00:00.153-05:00Sunday, Saying Yes to the World <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWmnWjAKmfIr-ryrCb4vq1TCSvMBv_oEPFkbptsdSCOUYrDcyWP90hxkYD27ooA2izPaEtFQXMnKZn6cFhQIIbz8CZQ6MGWldiDtRvBhYbqSHLrishoe0NFZJL1JkxvKheaTaoKhbegp17rnm3uIhgl0dlCH2hbMQ6C8jGaI55CW3OT5X4CeK/s504/sundown.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWmnWjAKmfIr-ryrCb4vq1TCSvMBv_oEPFkbptsdSCOUYrDcyWP90hxkYD27ooA2izPaEtFQXMnKZn6cFhQIIbz8CZQ6MGWldiDtRvBhYbqSHLrishoe0NFZJL1JkxvKheaTaoKhbegp17rnm3uIhgl0dlCH2hbMQ6C8jGaI55CW3OT5X4CeK/s16000/sundown.png" /></a></div></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">I want to write my way from the margins to the center. I want to speak the language of the grasses, rooted yet soft and supple in the presence of wind before a storm. I want to write in the form of migrating geese like an arrow pointing south toward a direction of safety. I want to keep my words wild so that even if the land and everything we hold dear is destroyed by shortsightedness and greed, there is a record of participation by those who saw what was coming. Listen. Below us. Above us. Inside us. Come. This is all there is.</blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Terry Tempest Williams, from<i> Red: Passion and Patience in the Desert</i></span></p></blockquote>kerrdelunehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09779897207670867347noreply@blogger.com1