Paying Attention

While waiting for a ferry, I watched the people getting off. There were the usual mix of humanity until the very end. A young woman in a red tweed skirt, orange vintage blouse and a jauntily perched plaid cap walked off. She had an English Sheep Dog and a vacuum. It was an old Hoover and she was pulling it along. The dog was leading the way. The hand holding the leash was also holding a small leather bound book that she actually appeared to be reading.

I was so engrossed watching them depart that I nearly missed getting on the ferry.

What was her story? Where had she come from? Where was she going?

I admit I've created a dozen different stories for her. But I am certain none would be as interesting as the truth.

Young Teachers

Yesterday in the cafe garden, a father and his young daughter decided to make a rather extraordinary rock sculpture that belied the laws of physics. He was loving and supportive as she told him exactly how it should be. At one point he told her he thought the rocks would not balance, but she persisted as only a five year old can.

And he trusted her. A small crowd gathered around them and when they stepped away, only when the young artist was completely satisfied, mind you, it was magnificent. Nearly three feet tall and balanced on whimsy and light.

She then dusted off her hands and said it was time for hot cocoa.

Busy as a bee

Lately I've considered the idea that we are becoming human doings rather than human beings. Everyone seems to be getting busier and busier and it is not uncommon for people to double, nay, triple book themselves. Almost as if we could actually do it all. Whatever "it all" might be.

The bees, as busy as they are, do not care for such nonsense. They have their duties and that is all. And somehow that includes drinking nectar and making honey and being part of a community, a hive of consciousness.

There is a great Nina Simone song, "Sugar in my Bowl" where she sings, "I want a little sugar in my bowl. I want a little sweetness down in my soul.." Don't we all long for some sweetness?

Perhaps we might learn a thing or two from the bees and gather up some nectar and make a little honey.

Moon Rise

The full moon rose tonight, a copper colored ball with a touch of sass. Geese flew by honking their joy and a screeching owl, the largest I've ever seen, swooped by my head before ascending to the shadows of the upper branches. A small rabbit fled into the brambles and rocks surrounding the Grandmother Tree and I thought, "Run, little fellow!"

The first fragrance of Fall is in the night air. A little precursor of what is to come as the days begin to shorten and cool. The skin lifts in the chill.

Earlier today I was blowing bubbles with my friends between the pear trees, watching them float over the meadow.

How virginal is the future as it sculps into the next moment. And the next.

August Days

I have always, and I mean always, wanted a hammock. There's something essentially summerish about a hammock. Lazy dazy dozy days in a hammock. Sometimes reading. Sometimes napping. Always floating.

August is the hammock month as far as I'm concerned. Watching the light swirl and shift through the lace of the trees. Daydreaming. Letting the breezes dance off the water, the cacophony of birds and sleepy bees. The purity of storm-cleansed air or the crackle of a summer thunder storm.

Sipping lemonade made from scratch with fresh raspberries from the garden.

I know there must be work to do. An entire battery of "shoulds" but honestly, it's warm and the air smells of summer roses and sweet grass. What's a girl to do?

Balancing Act

The thing about spur of the moment rock sculpture on a beach is balance. And patience. Stacking them is one thing. Getting them to stay put is entirely another. And then there's the artistry of the exact right stone where it belongs.

I love making them. Even when the whole kitten-kaboodle topples over. Because when you get it right? Perfection.

And, honestly? Even when it all falls down, it always land exactly the way it should.