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The Great American Eclipse

August 20, 2017 by Cynthia

The last total solar eclipse visible throughout the continental United States was in 1918.  On Monday, August 21, a total solar eclipse will stretch across this country, offering a personal view to anyone interested in stepping outside.

When the moon slips between the solar disk and the earth, it throws shade on the path below. For millennia, the darkened sun has influenced history, struck terror, and inspired wonder.  A solar eclipse is on my bucket list, so I am hoping to see what I can see.

Oddly enough, during an eclipse, the moon is not visible, but its impact is clear.  Although gobbling the light, it’s form can only be guessed.  It is not unlike life, when shadows fall from a source never seen, history shifts, and the path dims – often for years down the road.  Total or partial, eclipse is as home in the soul as it is in the sky.

Wishing you good weather, and the view you seek, wherever you may be.

 

 

 

 

 

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VOTE

November 8, 2016 by Cynthia

“Build bridges not walls.”

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What goes down…

August 19, 2016 by Cynthia

On holiday. Mountains in these parts.  Walking up a steep incline, a young woman bicyclist passes me with considerable speed going downhill, her joy evident in the fast downhill flight.

Later, my hike concluded, the young woman passes me again.  More slowly this time, she is working her way back to the top of the hill.

Worthy thought—what goes down, must come up.

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Why did the turtle cross the road?

June 2, 2016 by Cynthia

Westbound on a busy semi-rural highway.  High speeds, people trying to get somewhere else.  I am late too.

Setting sun renders oncoming silhouettes.  Roadside, a glint of something round on the ground.  A passing glance adds to the picture — a small frisbee-sized turtle, head up, waiting by the side of the road.

There are at least five cars behind me.  Driving on, I sadly considered the likely fate that awaits a reptile aiming for greener pastures.

All things considered, I swung a U-turn miles down the road and headed back.

Hoping I wasn’t too late, I scanned the roadside and found the turtle – now in the middle of the highway, still moving.  As each truck or car passed, its head and feet snapped back into its shell, unaware the shell afforded no protection from the machinery in its midst.

When traffic cleared, I ran for it.  Airlifting it to the green bank opposite, the turtle reached its destination.

Why did the turtle cross the road?  I have no idea, but at least I know it made it.

 

 

 

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Updates

February 19, 2016 by Cynthia

No time, every second spent twice.  Finally space to fill, computer on…no “connection.”

The screen tells me “working on updates.”

Progressing from 100 percent, to zero percent, to 30 percent complete.

Life–you start at 100 percent, and spend the rest of the time working on updates.

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Remember

February 5, 2016 by Cynthia

Remember, the moon is bright because it is looking at something we cannot see.

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Residue

February 1, 2016 by Cynthia

Black ice this morning.  Pretty treachery.  Transparent deceit hidden until after the fall.

Picking along on foot, I finally located traction at roadside, in the residue of the last big meltdown.

In the thick of things, we throw what we can at the blizzard to keep from sliding off.  After the storm subsides, it turns out the effort, and the good energy, live on, in the grit left behind.  Useful to know.

 

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Winter Garden

January 1, 2016 by Cynthia

A blanket lies over the garden, crusty white.

What remains standing, in glorious decline, is known as the winter garden. But I know better.

Beneath the snow, in the ground, microbe and mulch, root and rot, the crowns of spring sleep.

Protected from upheaval, they shelter. Gathering, to push forth when light lingers longer.

Real strength rests below, embroidered with the deceit of decay above.  Winter garden.

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Beachcomber

December 29, 2015 by Cynthia

Snow finally showed.  Wet and heavy, courtesy of El Nino somewhere in the equatorial Pacific.

On Walkabout, the sidewalk was somewhere under the tide.  Snow plows hurled slush upon the compacted snow.  A frothy wave permanently rested on its beach.

Like any beachcomber, I left only footprints to mark my passage.  Soon they will melt too.

 

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Gone Again Unto a Beginning at the End

November 9, 2015 by Cynthia

Quiet, watching, underground. The season is as the dead. Too late to change what was, too early to say what will be. A reasonable drive toward madness, or something else.

Inalterable change, greater than the days of the calendar, is underway. On foot to a new land, or just surviving until tomorrow, the present is breaking its bargain with the future. Can you feel it?

Melting ice a world away creates rivers to the sea. Movement, ceaseless movement, away from stability, toward fluid, restless change. Electric impulse, blinking eye, tipping point. Here.

Ripping panic, any country, the crowd turns. Some trampled, some survive. Machines rain from the sky.

Brutality, frail flesh falls, bones bleach.

Raise your hand. Strike, defend, or answer.

Spin the protest, business as usual.

The sun pales to the onslaught, a spider navigates a windowpane. Look away. Evade the futility of Now.

November butterfly flits toward twilight. Or something else.

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