Life is a beach…
Every morning this week, here on Fort Myers Beach, we’ve left my parent’s condo on the Back Bay and ambled for about 25 minutes toward the beach.
We gain beach access through a grassy path. This week the sprinklers shot water in all directions and we’ve learned to be crafty and dodge the jetting moving spray to reach our sandy destination. Sometimes we emerge with wet feet.
Yesterday, the wind rattled fiercely at the condo and the “arctic front” blew in from most of the Midwest. Our temperatures plummeted and settled around 70 degrees (21C). Oh how you’re shaking your head at this definition of arctic front, aren’t you?
The mind urged, “Stay safe and warm in the condo” but we soldiered forward, ignoring our inclination. I’ve discovered the mind is often in error on these matters, as outdoors proves beguiling, taking us on many unexpected pathways.
The wind felt invigorating! Yet, as we approached the sheltered nature preserve filled with tidal pools, pelicans, terns, tropical flora and fauna, it suddenly appeared balmy and quiet.
Life’s a beach, my friends. One never knows what to expect.
What the woods looked like last Tuesday
Tuesday. Blessings of the flock.
You’re walking up the road. The air feels still. Silence reigns between tall trees with lingering yellow leaves. Fallen leaves smell crisp with childhood memories of burning raked piles. In the distance, a logging truck whines. Otherwise, you only hear your footsteps slapping pavement.
Suddenly, up above, all around, dozens of chattering birds surround. From treetop to treetop they call, they tattle, they sing. They dive, they wing between branches, they dance. What kind? You hear chickadee, you glimpse juncos, you see a nuthatch.
It’s the blessing of the flock! All around they create bird magic for you. They sing until you remember your dream-wings, the heft and tilt of flight. Don’t they remind you of seeds everywhere, hidden in bark crevices, to be found when needed and not a second before?
Later, down the road, silence returns. You catch your breath at the mystery of it, the way the flock surrounds and dissolves. How it teaches in a language of feathers and how it can change everything, simply in the arising.
Black rocks, blue sea, autumn colors, Suzi
Last weekend, as many of you might recall, was the Weekend of the Susies.
On Sunday, blogging buddy Suzi Banks Baum, from Laundry Line Divine, and I met in person (for the first time) and proceeded to dine at the Sweetwater Cafe in Marquette before driving out to Presque Isle to play along the infamous Black Rocks. (She met up with two Kathys while I was meeting up with two Susies during the weekend. You can read her tale of Two Kathys here.)
Just sitting on the deck sipping tea
Surrounded by a yellow and orange forest
Jeweled reflections of sunlight against leaves
I breathe in beauty and sigh…
Lake just above the dam at Hungarian Falls
Last Saturday evening we traveled with friends to the Hungarian Falls, just north of Hancock, near Dollar Bay.
We aimed to hike by the falls before eating dinner in Calumet at Carmelitas, a Mexican restaurant, where you buy chips and delicious pico de gallo for a buck. If you want, you can buy a Thimbleberry Margarita, not that we did.
Sunrise over Huron Bay
Ohmygoodness! I’m feeling a creative high lately. After at least two months of ho-hum suddenly I’m wanting to blog every day! (Don’t worry, it probably won’t continue to happen, although you never know, she said with an evil grin.)
You wouldn’t believe what a lovely day it is in the Northwoods.
A perfect, end-of-summer, beginning-of-autumn day. Oh, the world feels like tepid bathwater. Oh, the world feels like it exists just to make you happy. Oh, you can sit on the deck and read books whilst sipping tea again. Oh, may this never end.
I shall tell you a quick tale before you eat supper.
A tale of sunrise and longing and thoughts and caterpillars and ghosts.
Posted in September 2013
Tagged caterpillar, ghost, Lake Superior, life, longing, nature, outdoors, photography, presence, sunrise, thoughts
The Buick’s windshield covered with heavy dew obscures our road in blurry wet shapes. Up ahead–just to the left!–oh look, it’s a coyote. No, it’s a fox. Darn it, it’s a blurry wet windshield reflection moving into tall waving grasses.
Deep longing to know. To bond with tan-red wild creature skulking into the sunrise. To know its name. To feel its feral wildness, its unknowableness.
I will never know.
And maybe that’s OK.
The sun’s egg yolk eye of new possibility rises lower on the horizon these days. It’s starting to gab with the tree tops here in the woods. Some of the leaves turn starstruck with yellow, amazed that the sun pauses to talk with them. “To think,” some of the more spiritual ones whisper, “he even cares about us!”
Cold slips through the moon’s teeth at this time of year. You can’t see your breath under a full moon at midnight yet. (Not that I’d know. I’m asleep, dreaming, missing all the dark’s secrets.)
In the morning you debate: yes, no, maybe so. Should I start a fire in the wood stove? How much do you want to shiver early morning as you sip your steaming tea? Shall I wear my hooded 2000 University of Michigan sweatshirt over pajamas and burrow beneath the pink blanket?
I told Barry–no fire this morning. I’ll tough it out. He puttered away to work in the silver Buick. No need to scrape the car’s window yet.
Guess I lied. Match soon struck against box sending the sun’s cousin–firelight–working its magic against tree bark, igniting another early September blaze.
Somewhere under the rainbow…
Hello, dear friends and readers.
Isn’t the rainbow photo truly lovely?
It’s a picture taken by Anne, our county treasurer, just after a recent rainstorm. It’s the little K-6 elementary school where I work. Perhaps our tiny school is the pot of gold under the rainbow, do you think?
I am glad Anne took and shared the photo. She said “Do what you’d like with it!”
The second photo–of yours truly–was taken last month by my friend, Doris, in her rose bushes. You remember this rose-colored story, don’t you?