When I pulled back the studio window’s drapes, I was surprised to see more snow falling. Yesterday’s warmth had melted every bit of it from the branches of the trees. Now, once again, the world was a wonderland.
I noticed that a few little chickadees were huddled on the branches of the lilac bush above the rocks where I pour sunflower seeds for them and their friends. Ten minutes after I delivered the morning’s supply, the cardinals, jays, titmice, and mourning doves joined them, flying in from every direction.
The snow was falling so heavily that the birds were hardly visible in the lilac’s branches. But I welcomed their color, as subdued as it seemed. It reminded me that beneath the snow, flowers slept. I planted new bulbs in the fall. I like that little ritual. It provides me with quiet little bursts of anticipation as I plod through winter’s dark and often colorless days.
I wondered if, on some level, the birds perching in the lilac sensed the dreams of the fragrant blossoms that the tree held deep in its cells. I hope so. And I hope those dreams wrapped them in joy, even as the sparkling snow fell around them.
I passed the quarter way mark yesterday on my 100-day challenge. And I must say that I’m loving it. It’s got my creative juices flowing. As I go through my day, some part of me sits over there in the corner watching for the perfect thing to send out to the universe today.
If you missed it, the challenge I set for myself was to post something here on Notes from the Woods every day for 100 days. I envisioned it as a series of love notes that I would tuck in an imaginary bottle to release into the thought-stream of the internet, letting it land wherever destiny would take it. I could send anything, share anything, as long as I sent it with love.
On Friday, the second day after a big snow, the sun appeared and lured me outside. I ended up at a local park, a big field actually, some of which serves as ball fields for the area’s kids. I posted photos of the snow under blue skies. And yesterday I posted a photos of a big boulder I discovered at the edge of the park’s still undeveloped field. That inspired me to share photos of rocks I have in various corners of my home.
And that led to a friend sending me a note telling me how the pictures brought back wonderful memories of summer days when she and her sister and mom would sit at the edge of the Saginaw Bay collecting the prettiest rocks they could find and dropping them in a bag to take home.
Another viewer said the pictures I’d posted of birds surprised him. He hadn’t realized the doves stayed in the area all winter long. He told me how he loved the soulful cooing of mourning doves and how he would listen for them on spring mornings when he worked in his fields.
I liked how the photos stirred happy memories for my friends. I like how they preserve memories for me, too. The ones of frost on the windows reminded me of rides in the school bus on cold winter mornings when I was a little kid and how I loved the designs and way the colors of the sunrise painted them.
If you find that you’re bored on these house-bound winter days, dig out some old photos of your own. Find those old albums and boxes you have of photos from years ago that you have tucked in a closet or drawer somewhere. See what stories they’re keeping for you.
Or if that’s not your cup of tea, try dreaming up a 100-day challenge of your own. What do you think you might love doing every day for the next hundred days? Resurrect an old hobby, or adopt a new one. See where it takes you, what skills you can polish, what new things you might discover or learn.
Meanwhile, drop by my blog. See what love note is waiting there for you. Maybe it holds a cherished memory or two.
We climb on them and play with them and pass them by without notice. We give them as gifts, or if we’re lucky, receive them. We keep them in bowls and pockets and jars. These gifts from the heart of the earth . . .
Rock Concert
When I came across it in the snowy park, I laughed. Something about rocks invites us to play.
Scene of the FindWinter Rocks
The find at the park prompted me to attend to the rocks I keep at home, gifts and discoveries tucked in corners, waiting to bring me memories and smiles . . . Enjoy!
“You never know, when you get up in the morning, what the day will bring.” That’s one of my pet sayings, and it proves itself true over and over.
Sure, for the most part our days unfold more or less the way we expected. So much so that sometimes we find ourselves longing for a break in the routine. “The daily grind,” we call it, as if its sameness wears us down.
I think that’s why life gives us a jolt now and then. “Surprise!” it says.
I forget what movie it was, but one of the main characters was this wise old Native American man who was considered a sage in his community. He had an easy going manner and you couldn’t help but like him. If I had to describe his attitude toward life I’d use one of my favorite descriptors: He lived with divine nonchalance.
I think of that as a kind of faith, a trust that everything is as it should be, whether it’s what you wanted or not.
One day he decided it was a good day to die and he went off to the mountain top to offer his life to the Great Spirit. He performed his ritual, burned his herbs, did his chant and stretched out on his sacred rug to wait for the Great Spirit to take him.
But it seemed the Great Spirit had other plans. So after a day or so of waiting, he made his way down the mountain to return to his tribe. “What happened?” one of the men who greeted him asked.
He shrugged, and with a little smile said, “Sometimes the magic works; sometimes it don’t.”
I never forgot that. Despite our best efforts, sometimes the magic doesn’t work. And when it doesn’t, the best you can do is shrug, smile, and carry on.
The sky’s colors sing the coming of the sun as it pushes upward to clear the eastern hills. As they brighten, they illuminate the frost forest, etched so silently during the night on my north-facing window.
I hold my breath in wonder at the scene. How could I not be thrilled! What a gift! What a sign!
It’s Saturday night as I write this and I keep hearing an inner voice say, “Tomorrow, snow. Big Snow. Big Snow. Big Snow.”
It only happens a couple of times a year here and it’s magical. The kid in you can hardly sleep the night before. And the big waxing moon doesn’t help either. A full moon AND a big snow. Wowzers!
You can feel it coming somewhere deep in your bones. It’s the big unknown of it that gets you. It could be really scary or it could be wondrous and fun. It could almost bury you or make a sharp turn a couple miles down the road and almost miss you altogether
Whatever it brings, you’re as ready as you can be. Bring it on.
But in the meantime, a part of you that resides in a larger dimension retreats in prayer and contemplation. No matter how it affects you personally, storms this big always bring tragedies and suffering. You wrap the world in compassion and ask only to serve.
I used to think that serving others in times of great challenge meant you should get out there with your chain saw or bullhorn or something. My own contributions seemed so insubstantial compared with what the heroes do. But then I figured out that I am who I am and the best I can do is the best I can do. And that is all I’m responsible for.
I heard a man put it into words that sum up what I’m trying to say: He was explaining to someone why he’s comfortable with his view of things and the way he interacts with the world. ”I trust in the nature of my path,” he said, “and I trust that I’m being guided to go where I need to go.” That seemed such a sane and mature thing to say.
When I walk through the woods or fields here, or along the creek, I am often struck by the amazing variety that surrounds me. And how everything has its place and plays its part. And somehow it all works together like some perfectly choreographed dance. Why would our own paths through life be any different?
So, a Big Snow is coming. And I can hardly wait for the adventure.
In the meantime, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to savor the ambience of the room, its soft colors and gentle light, its warmth and mildly fragrant air. It’s peaceful. I am grateful. I am blessed.
May you be blessed, too, and at peace with the nature of your path. May the storms pass swiftly and leave you unharmed.
