I opened a familiar book just now, and had to laugh.
There is a page on “January Thaw”!
Gives me hope with still another week of January 2011 ahead.

In this book I found a conversation on gardens;
something to dream about, at least:

“My garden is a place of commitment and neglect, of arrogance
and humility. It is a place of taking stock and of deep silence —
a place of contemplation. And so for me over time it has
become a place of grace.

I experience as the particular human being I am. I have no
choice about that, but I trust that I am more like other people
than not, and that what I find working the soil might also be
what others find working theirs. I want to trust that with reverence
for place and awareness of my foibles, I can grow to be more
present and a better steward of my small corner of earth.”

…and on another page, the voice within said,

“Any love that has been experienced
is not lost.
It returns to Love itself.

How full of invisible life
is the garden you’ve been given.

At this very moment,
you are in company with everything.
Trust does not need visible signs.”

……………GUNILLA NORRIS, from her book,
A Mystic Garden, Working with Soil, Attending with Soul.

with love …


It’s been almost 30 days since the shortest day of the year, and
already I glimpse a violet cast to the horizon, relieving the deep
blue-black of night. Wow. Hope.

Here is a haiku about winter:

“Willow trees are bare —
Dried the water, and the stones
Lie scattered here and there.”


I am amazed today that I was able to focus with such commitment
yesterday to understanding the changes in Medicare. Like the
stones scattered, suddenly each stone clear, I found I could
read without mentally editing, not even avoiding that which had
seemed to be tech-talk.

It took me two hours.

I put it away, glad for the winter that permitted such lack of
distraction. No warm winds, almost no bird song, even the sun
held back. A sense of oasis, I had had no idea bare bones could
feel so good.

with love …


Well, another round of snow outside. Doesn’t look as if it will give us a day off,
but it does remind me of a paragraph from a book:

“There is something joyful about storms that interrupt routine.

Snow or freezing rain suddenly releases you from expectations,

performance demands, and the tyranny of appointments and schedules.
And unlike illness, it is largely a corporate rather than individual experience.

One can almost hear a unified sigh rise from the nearby city and

surrounding countryside where Nature has intervened to give respite

to the weary humans slogging it out within her purview. All those affected

this way are united by a mutual excuse, and the heart is suddenly and

unexpectedly a little giddy. There will be no apologies needed for not

showing up to some commitment or other. Everyone understands and

shares in this singular justification, and the sudden alleviation of the

pressure to produce makes the heart merry.”

………………..WM.PAUL YOUNG, from his book, The Shack.

It’s not yet dawn, so who knows what today’s fall-out from the skies
will bring! However, if not today, we can bet on someday soon.
I do appreciate how the snow from last week is still white and abundant.
……. and beautiful.

with love …


I had some cut-up pears just now, and I watched my hand spoon up
the fruit, and was amazed to be so reminded of the summer, to
see the freshness of the pear. Right before me is a small book of
poetry, recalling, in another way, the summer into fall that has led,
now, to winter.

From that book:


Light wakes us — there’s the sun
climbing the mountains’ rim, spilling across the valley,
finding our faces.
It is July,
……….. between the hay and harvest,
a time at arm’s length from all other time,
the roads ragged with meadowsweet and mallow,
with splays of seedheads, slubbed and coarse, rough linen.
The fields above the house, clotted with sheep all spring,
are empty now and froth with flowering grasses,
still in the morning light. Birds move around
the leafy fields, the leafy garden.

It is the time
to set aside all vigil, good or ill,
to loosen the fixed gaze of our attention
as dandelions let seedlings to the wind.
Wake with the light.
Get up and go about the day and watch
its surfaces that brighten with the sun.
Remark the weight of your hands,
your foot in its sandal,
the lavender’s blue hum.

And later, when the light is drowsed and heavy
go find the burdened fruit trees where the shade
lies splashed and opened-out across the ground.
Spread over it a quilt worn soft by other bodies,
then curl and fall down into sleep in light.

Awaken to a world of long, loose grass-stems,
and leaves above,
and birds, breaking out of the leaves.”

…………… KERRY HARDIE, an Irish poet.

Such poems cannot disturb a Thursday morning
nor distract us from the intent to ‘produce’ of a
Monday morning.
It is practically the weekend, another snowfall
on its way, and we dream this July dream as
we fall asleep of an early evening in January.

always with love,