Thursday, March 19, 2009


Ah, it did seem like the perfect day to wander down the trail, so I did.
The ground was still very wet and walking was more like picking ones way through the puddles, some still with a crust of ice on them. The brilliant sun did little to ease the chill, but I had entered an enchanted place, a world where everything was a curiosity.
I began to see why the crafters of fairy tales choose mossy stumps and gnarled tree roots as the home of sprites and trolls. here to might be the homes of Junies, who would follow the lanterns of travelers, and all manner of ancient
folk who inhabited those long agos and far aways
of storytellers. It was so quiet, and I remember listening to the stories told to me
buy my father and grandfather when I they took
me for walks in the wood, stories of deer and rabbit hunts, ghost stories and tales of the tommyknockers who warned the miners of impending cave-ins in trade for gifts of cookies, cake and Sam Thompson Rye.
I miss most the stories about the men and their teams of draft horses who brought the logs out of the woods in the day when trees stumps "were big enough for a team of horses to stand on."
Tale of the people who lived and thrived in these woods long before my European ancestors arrived,still echo in my heart.
Quiet I am the only one here, and I can think of the first days of spring and summers sweet promise, I feel like I have grown wings, like I can see for miles, and like I have landed in the place that is right for me. Surrounded by the simple beauty of ordinary things.

I wonder who will emerge from this tree stump if I rap on their door? An deer mouse under a spell, or a troll who brews ale? A sprite, with their childlike wonder , mischief in their soul and the perspective of the timelessness. Probably not.
In that time before science, and realism and all the other "isms" when imaginations were free to roam, instead of being used to solve problems . Imagination explained the imponderables and the unexplainable. The stuff of the legends, that hold all the great truths of our lives, may-be best understood by the child in us.
Still to be looking with different eyes and thinking with the assurance that there is often more than meets the eye, letting your imagination weave the threads of wind and rustling leaves into a world where treeroots hide explanations and dreams, and the ice on puddles hold not only last years leaves, but out fascination.
All in the moments between here and there. And the opening and closing of doors.

I wonder if anyone is home.

Sunday, March 15, 2009


The earth is slowly melting out of it's snowy blanket, the ground is still frozen, the pounding rain runs off or forms muddy puddles, the remains of last year plants caught by the early snows are tangled mats of what will soon be compost.
Each morning when I get up and look outside to see the snow receeding, until one morning, there they were the first blooms of spring. I rescued these from the yard of a house that was going to be torn down.
And I have been rewarded every year since.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

a thin white gold band

It was a very shinny washer, very shinny indeed, and it had some odd wear patterns on it. As I looked at it further, and then took it out into the light, I realized I was holding a wedding ring, a thin white gold band, with a lifetime of wear.
A wedding ring is a powerful symbol, and I wondered how a woman's wedding ring got into a box of junk bought at auction.Trying to trace it's owner was , I was told, impossible and that it could have been in that box for over 10 years.

Monday, March 2, 2009

and it's really cold

I love this old photo, I'm quite sure that it was taken in March, mostly because I say so.
March, and I can feel the sap rising and the sun is warm on my face, even thought today is in the single digits the sun gleams and as my Dad would say, "Cheer-up! Brighter days are coming!"
The prickly pear cactus is melting out of it's snowdrift, amazing that it will survive at all in this climate, even blooming most years.
The crystals that hang in the windows don't send out as many rainbows. Easily the best thing about winter was watching those rainbows dance across the walls caused by the low angle of the winter sun.
Even though winter is far from over, it is that first take that giddy knowledge, that one will soon be free of heavy clothing , snow shovel and ice scrapers.
And I like that.

slightly wordy Slent Sunday on a road

Not every picture is worth a thousand words, but the memory it represents is.