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Archive for the ‘Eternal moments’ Category

The shadows of bush branches outside the window fall on the sunlit wall by my table. 

The wind waves and they dance on the wall and along the tabletop.

Life is in those shadows.  Seasons pass, decades, and the shadows send a signal of what is present somewhere, but not within my reach.

Their impression, more fluid than their being, is energy just passing through of the solid object upon which we are more inclined to focus.

Shadows can traverse time, forward and backward, infinite. While the object that opens that door is even now withering to autumn.

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Spring Forward

A single gull wends eastward against pink clouds underlit by the rising sun.

Perhaps it is Jonathon, dropping in for a visit to try a few new moves.

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I watch my hands finger the small bootie once worn by my children. The tag inside reads “6/12 months.” This was a first shoe for two toddlers just learning to walk.

I see my fingers move, thinning, loose skin on the back of my hands piling up and relaxing. These are ‘doing’ hands.  I have thoughtlessly relied upon them forever.

My children are decades into their lives now. One grew into shoes he used to walk completely out of my life.  The other wears shoes that keep him in motion, learning, building, and exploring.

And here remains the small bootie and the hands that helped those tiny feet touch down on the earth so very long ago.

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Owl Moon

Just past full, a moon so bright only major constellations are visible.

Early morning, autumn in the air, just me and the night critters.  An opossum and I startled each other mid-street.

Rounding a corner, an unmistakable call.  Somewhere in the trees to my left was a Great Horned Owl, I stopped. Soon, I realized I was  listening in the wrong direction.  The call was coming from my right, a greenbelt behind a string of low-slung ranch-style homes.

Then I caught on.  It was a duet, the conversation of two Great Horned Owls, with me in the middle.  I listened in for some time before the call to my left threaded off as it flew quietly through the dark.  My cue to leave.

There is magic in the language of owls.  And a kind of hope, at least so says author Jane Yolen.  “The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon.”

 

 

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Up the gentle green hill, mid-morning sun dapples through the leafy ring around this landscape. Pick up speed running down again, laughing, arms akimbo, making fluttering shadows in the sun.

What’s it all for?

Once many of us ran our own green slopes when young.  Half a century later, probably few of those young’uns do.  For me, time has collapsed, my future passed, and the timeless summer day comes again. If only for the exhilarating run past sun, shade, and flower on a peerless blue sky day.

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