It's been a while. Here now, posting from today's walk.
I have photos and notes from the past couple of weeks, from my week days, from Trust Time.
However, today I go where it matters.
I went out to a familiar place. A place with both privacy and some folks too.
I went alone.
I was greeted by lizards skittering, birdsong, dragonflies shimmered.
I was wary of the possibilities of bigger animals.
I embraced the scent carried to me on the breeze, the soft winds through the leaves and my hair.
I was wary of the helicopters overhead and the Forest Service Fire truck on the road.
I walked the path to the Old Oak. Through the cool tunnel, my footsteps echo off the rough concrete.
As always, I capture the sun through the trees, through The Oak of the Golden Dream. But, this time I see an old woman. I am thinking of Margery of Sharing Trickster's Hoard. I am thinking of age, of aging.
The tree's Crone Growth throws her shadow on New Growth of a fallen tree. I considered how it appears to be a dying tree, until I move over and investigate just where the new growth is coming from. It is arising from the old tree itself. I consider how everything feels like a metaphor at times and how we keep going, each day.
Walking back on the same path, I notice the light on this flower. This is something I completely missed while going the other way. I think about that...how things can look so different, depending on which way they are being approached. Everything is so dry, yet things grow. I wish I could capture the smell of this space, to carry with me at all times.
I'd brought along a small notebook & pen from the car, so after returning to the main park area, through the parking lot, I sit in the shade at a picnic table for a long time. Just looking and feeling and then writing. I write things that matter in the moment. Was it over at Grace's: "More picnics"? I think of these words and smell someone's BBQ. It smelled good, even if I don't eat meat. More picnics I think. At home I ask J. his thoughts on picnics. We decide a picnic would be fun.
The picnic table is on the outskirts of the small amphitheater. I climb onto the stage to try and snap a photograph of a large bird circling. Crow? Hawk? Turkey Vulture? It is too high, too small, too far away to tell and I easily loose it in the vast blue above.
I sit on the picnic table bench, parking lot and any hint of civilization behind me. Trees in front, all I can see. I take photos, still shots to create a panoramic view. To remember. I start far right, right-center, center, left...and then I land on me. I try to capture what I am feeling in an expression on my face. Calm. Peace. The simplicity of this moment makes me want to weep in appreciation. Makes me want to stay and sit looking forever, leaving the commute behind.
Sitting with Self
I watched the Sun play Peek-a-Boo through the leaves of an old Oak. I remembered a stack of jean back pockets I had collected. There was a variety of plans considered for them back then, but they did not make the move. I think of them again now. Wishing I had a pocket to leave as a gift to others who frequent this space (think CMB Project). I think I'd like to leave them with a crocheted strap, including a bead or two...maybe a poem in the pocket or a secret message or a trinket...leaving room for the dreams of those who find them. Room for a dream or maybe two.
I stop at the local Sprouts on my way home and discover an Octopus Squash (my name).
I've been working on a lil paper project, but that's pretty much it.
I think this date... 3-17 will always hold a unique meaning to me.
It was the day we left work due this new disease called the Corona virus, COVID-19.
We thought we were going home for two weeks (work from home), maybe a bit longer...
but we really didn't know, as it was all so Brand New. We really knew Nothing. We were scared, uneasy, unsure. We were nervous. I remember us talking with one another...questioning, expressing our concerns, trying to figure things out. I remember one of my biggest concerns was bringing this horrible new thing into my Senior Building, where many compromised elders live. I really didn't want to be the one who did that! I didn't want to get sick myself, due to asthma and really didn't want to get any of the children or families sick. I didn't want J. to catch Covid.
Then we got into the thick of it. The shopping with empty shelves, things we could not find to buy...what we did find was wiped down the moment it entered the house. Our safe zone. Shoes left by the door, doorknobs wiped down each time...hands washed ~ over and over and over again. The masks came...cloth, bandanas, homemade and shared by friends (thanks Dee!)...surgical blues a new fashion. K-95's came later.
Two years of fears, of our world seemingly crashing down around us in every way.
💚 💙 💚
Now, here we are TWO YEARS LATER...
I never did go back to that classroom, with those co-workers, children & families, to that building, parking lot, life.
THOUGHT: After rereading my old posts and seeing comments from Our Michelle in NYC, I think of her as I compose this post. I think of her when it comes to poetry and flowers blooming. I think of her when I think of her city, NYC. I think of her when small critters are involved or when I review the ups and downs of the past two years. I think of her now, when this newest crisis in Ukraine wears me down and when too much loss weighs me down. I am selfish in my thoughts that ones I love, who are no longer here (including my parents), do not have to worry through yet another crisis. I'm grateful for that, for them.
Not as much GREEN (or quotes) as in last year's 3-17 post, perhaps partly because the novelty has worn off? We just continue going, trying our best....like this teeny bloom above, poking its little face out of the dense shrub. That brown leaf looks huge, but it was merely quite big.
🍀
Some #GOODMAIL went out today.
The poem, an old favorite, that I may have posted here before.
I used it once in a preschool class where my co-teacher and I had been talking about what things could 'hold a story'. Bags, buckets, boxes...all typical props in a preschool circle time. At one point I exclaimed that there could be a "Story Boot"...and so there was. I bought miniature props for each line of this poem and made some too. Yarn for worms, tracks made in clay and a laminated picture of ten trees. I carefully placed the many items (in poem order) into my pair of hiking boots, pulling them out as I recited each line. It was a blast! What do you think could hold a story? Yeah, yeah, I know...anything!
The March Scene was done with oil pastels and an 18 month old. He used the Golden Yellow. 🙂
I threw in a little good luck card from a very dear woman.
...A very Grand tree by the Tax Man (glad that's done!) ...
🌳
Also this year a video re-visited, because I was seeking the calm.
I then went on to do some reading on this very special Maia. You can follow the links. An amazing woman. Let's celebrate her during this time of Women in History, shall we?
Above: Look closely at the way this squirrel holds on...and then is able to let go! I watched it for a long time while eating lunch. We could learn something from this little one, yes?
A March Birthday gift went out too. 😍
Below: I was surprised to notice joggers on the ridge for the first time last week. Even after making this commute for 9 years, I'm not sure I'd ever seen them up there! Leaves one to wonder: what else am I missing? The photo below that was the same scene, turned into a painting of sorts. I like how it turned out.
In addition to all of this green, if you love BLUE, like I do...go HERE
Pretty cool 💙
A gal can dream!
This lot for sale is located 'up the canyon' as I say and seen on this WALK
UPDATED: These just in. They're from 2020 and I think of Marti as I add them here.
