A Quiet Day

I spent a quiet afternoon reading out on my swing. It is a lovely place to curl up with a book – I even enticed Spike to spend a few minutes with me – although he really didn’t like the swinging feel (he’s such a chicken). The dogs were happy to be outside for a short while, then they wanted back inside where it is cool. Not outdoor dogs that’s for sure!

I can’t get over how dry everything is here. The grasses in the hayfield have not recovered from haying. The ground is covered by sharp, prickly dried grasses although the clover has sprouted out from the little bit of rain we got the other night.

This is what I found when I was walking in the field this afternoon. Nature is so beautiful.

If the skies fall, one may hope to catch larks.
Francois Rabelais

He Loved the Time Too Well

 

He could not die when trees were green, for he loved the time too well.
John Clare

This quote sounds like it is referring to someone with bipolar disorder – mania usually comes in the spring and summer when the trees are green and weather is resplendent, but as fall progresses, with the leaves falling off the trees, and then winter, with its long dark, cold nights, depression may set in… a shroud that envelops the soul, a darkness, and emptiness that matches the starkness of a winter night…

Today’s word of the day is hard-boiled (HAHRD-BOYLD adjective 1a : devoid of sentimentality : tough b : of, relating to, or being a detective story featuring a tough unsentimental protagonist and a matter-of-fact attitude towards violence ; 2: hardheaded, practical). when I read this I immediately knew what I was going to have for breakfast, except I had mine soft-boiled with toast.

I was reading a May 30th issue of TIME this afternoon – there was a photo of Palestinian protesters carrying a dead comrade. I couldn’t stop thinking about this photo, it really got to me. I thought about it as I read the rest of the magazine, which included mention of a Nazi responsible for 28,000 deaths; the drug wars in Guatemala where 27 people were killed, 25 of which were decapitated ; and other purveyors of heinous crimes. How can these things happen? How do people lose their humanity? Is there a genetic fault in the brain? Or is it a case of nurture gone wrong? What can we do to stop such atrocities?

All Spruced Up

We are back to the normal routine of coffee and computer in the morning – I really must do something to break this addiction to bits and bytes – sitting on the deck sipping my coffee would be a much nicer way to start the day.

Walking down the laneway this morning one of the blue spruces away from the house caught my eye. I’ve never seen it look so BLUE. It’s compatriots are blueish and don’t stand out with such vibrancy. These spruces were planted by the previous owners of the property, they planted a variety of coniferous trees, many of which didn’t make it. When we purchased the property we too planted a few thousand Norway Spruce mainly along the roads (and along the property line to the north where our closest neighbours have their house – strangely none of those trees took). It took a long time (it was 17 years ago) but they are finally looking like trees. They are beautiful in the winter (but let’s not go there right now!). In the summer they make great nesting sites for so many birds.

In the picture below you can also see the poplars that we planted along with them to be “nursery” trees. Many didn’t survive, but some have grown quite large. It might be time to cut some of them down now so they don’t crowd out the spruces so much.

What pleasures have there been? The feeling of the hot, humid air caressing my skin ; the smells, the summer smells… summer is awash with fragrance, so much the opposite of winter which is barren of scent, although perhaps the absence of scent is a scent in itself ; swinging on the backyard swing ; drinking a frosty banana blueberry smoothie – so tasty and cool ; in the living room the dappled green light was like a shady forest glen – it feels cool and peaceful.

 

Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.
George Eliot

 

Bless those who challenge us to grow,
to stretch, to move beyond the knowable,
to come back home to our essential nature.
Bless those who challenge us
for they remind us of doors we have closed
and doors we have yet to open.

Native American Prayer

Attributed to the Navajo Indian Tribe