After Irene

Hurricane Irene has come and gone, and so did we. G. and I evacuated to Fuquay-Varina to stay with family. The hurricane blew in less intensely than expected, but it was enough. We, our home, and our neighbors are all safe, but things are not the same.

As a hurricane neophyte, I don't know how to write about this storm. I walked over to the park this morning, the first time since the storm. It is closed to traffic, and it's a mess. Trees are down and debris covers the road.

I have most noticed what is missing - and not just shingles. Trees and shrubs, which I passed everyday, are broken and blown away. Prior to the storm, they mostly blended into the blob of green that surrounds my walkway. Prior to the storm, I neglected to see the individual beauty and contributions of these objects of nature.  Those trees will never live there again.
 
The landscape will have changed when all is cleaned up or rotted away. Nature cleans out what she doesn't need, and we just get in her way. All is evidence for paying attention and appreciating the here and now. Observe, grasshopper, observe.

I also missed my red pickup truck friend. The park is closed, and I wonder where he goes now to eat his morning biscuit and have his morning read. I hope he comes back. I'd like to tell him that he is missing the marsh turn from green to gold and the perfect stillness of the water. Fish are jumping and flocks of birds are feasting in the grass on their way to who know where. It all changes so quickly.

Ok, I'm going to try to write to this blog every day. You don't have to read it, but I need the practice.

Reverie

Mornings when I walk or bike to the little park near my house, I always see the man in the red pick-up truck. He parks near the water where he has a sweeping view of the marsh. His pick-up is old and beat-up; he's old too. He reads his paper and finishes his breakfast biscuit. He doesn't seem to have any place to be in a hurry. I notice him as I pass by the truck, and if he looks up, we nod in recognition. A snowy egret stands quietly by the green marsh grass, also in no hurry. I don't try for conversation with either of them. Their quietness is enough.

Morning Conference

Six black crows sit atop a tall pine tree
cussing and discussing their day.
Brash and bossy,
they all talk at once,
and two fly away
in disagreement.

After Summer

The seasons changed today. I know hot days are still to come, but I know Autumn in my bones, and I felt it. Night exhaled deeply and blew cool air all the way into morning. Delicious. The color of light is slightly different this morning. "I can see clearly now..... the humidity cloud is gone." Soft gold has taken a tenuous hold, but it will grow stronger. Butterflies linger over fading flowers, and a blue tailed gecko suns himself on the porch rail. The universe is breathing again, and so am I!

Breathe In: Breathe Out

This morning, on my porch, I am reading The Wisdom of No Escape by Pema Chodron. This book is a series of talks she gave on Meditation at Gampo Abbey in Nova Scotia.

I like the idea of meditation. I completely see its value. I know people who meditate, and I envy their experiences. I can't do it.

Lord knows, I've tried often enough. But my busy head just won't shut up. "Label it 'thinking' and then let it go." I know it's just thinking but my thinking gear is stuck on fast forward. For me, sitting quietly, is like opening wide the throttle. "Did I set the chicken out to thaw? I'd better go to Lowe's today for another can of spray paint. Hmmm, what did we call that thing in the middle of the ice cream freezer from which Daddy always ate the frozen fruit?"

So I sit on my porch, with my book, my coffee, my dogs, and the morning spread out in front of me. I tuck up my legs, fold my hands in my lap and wait. Breathe in and breathe out.

The Mourning Dove is at his place on the electric wire, cooing over my back yard. I've always thought that Mourning Doves call the morning awake.

I can see the sun coming up through the pine trees. It's light turns their needles to gold, but it's soft, lovely, and so foreign to it's evil day twin who will soon take over and burn every living thing to a crisp all day long.

I have a tiny wind chime attached to my ceiling fan, and it sends out a delicate chime with the motion of the fan. It's nearly inaudible with all the birds waking up and making so much noise ...... cawks, and peeps, and whistles as they urgently dash across the yard and in and out of the trees. What is the nature of their tireless business so early in the morning?

The dogs are just like me. They sit down to meditate and promptly fall asleep at my feet. Fine examples. I don't believe they get stuck on the "just thinking" part. Teddy is snoring.

Let's see: that vine needs watering; petunias need dead-heading; the sedum has outgrown it's pot; tomatoes need picking; and the fern has strewn it's dead leaves all across the porch again. How fast the grass has grown since last week!

You know, I think this is the first morning in at least a month that it has been cool enough to sit on the porch. A little breeze is worth waiting for as it whispers the pines just beyond the yard.

Oh, my gosh, there is a blue dragonfly! It's the first one I've seen here.

Well, thirty minutes have passed. My coffee mug is empty and my butt is starting to hurt from sitting still.  Meditation, phooey. I still can't get the hang of this.