Rusty comes from a long line of firefighters. His Irish heritage not only gives him his red hair and blue eyes but also a passion for helping out in an emergency. Most of his family are fighting fires in the city. He’s out west trying to save the big trees.
We’re so thankful that he and others are willing to risk their lives every day. Thank you.
Mike is still working remotely. Normally he’d be out on his bike right after work during the cool September early evenings, but since he’s been home all he can do is think about projects.
Instead of fresh air and exercise he’s spackling and painting, sanding and hammering, and drawing and measuring. His youngest daughter is finally off to college and since he’s not sure what the school year will look like with COVID he’s been fixing up her room, and the living room, and the kitchen, and every other place he and his wife have decided to update. Like an octopus fixing it’s nest in stormy water, Mike has a hand in everything.
Mushrooms like butterflies partaking sweet nectar their underside soft coral required a pause, a reflective moment, an eternal moment. Thank you.
Grandchild number 5 came into the world this past week. Her sweet tender feminine presence, like soft coral, lights up the room. Welcome little one. The world is a bit messy right now. Hope you brought extra powers with you!
Bud and Tina were close. They’d been that way since junior year in high school. Even though Tina went off to the west coast to pursue her acting career she kept in touch mostly by social media, but on occasion, usually in a semi drunken state, she’d call him just to say hi. Bud almost seemed to know she was going to call just as he knew that some day they’d be more than friends.
That day has not yet come, but after this weekend’s meet up in Meredith he was confident that she realized that they have a very deep connection. Tina admitted to him that she feels his warmth and loving touch right down to her roots. We’ll see!
Moss and saplings cover and intrude under a canopy of blue light. Uncomfortable frustrating experiences creating a space of knowing, a kind of wisdom. Wisdom based on fear, making you mindless and almost superstitious.
The ugly wisdom.
The kind that compels you to park in the same area, sit in the same area and walk the same trails because they work, they are familiar. The burl, the reaction, that brings you to respond with a quick no so that you don’t say yes.
The ugly wisdom
Soon comes a gentle breeze expelling last nights rain off your leaves. Soon comes light and with it change.
Samantha was very popular. It seemed she had a new date every Saturday night. She knew that if she sucked in her stomach and contorted her body in just the right way her email would be flooded with likes from the dating site she used.
Dale took this shot. Up until today she wondered how Sam managed to find so many available men. Now it was obvious. Dale was quite attractive but always the person behind the camera. She had an eye for light and balance, and enjoyed the way her photos came out. She’ll never bend or shape herself into what someone might want and because of that she didn’t date much, which was ok because she didn’t want a lot of dates. She wanted just one date.
In the damp humid air fungus emerges from the forest floor, ascending, growing tags like shells. Each one a moment when you allowed yourself to accept limited love and to be less than who you really are because it was not enough or it was too much.
Sean just doesn’t understand why he never gets a second or a third date. He goes to the gym at least 5 times a week, dresses in complimentary colors, and remembers to listen intently. Sometimes he actually holds his breath when others are talking.
He read somewhere that in order to seem desirable he had to stand out which to him seems ridiculous because it’s so natural to blend in. Maybe he’ll work on his voice next.
When you choose to love for who they are. When the parts of them that are not pretty, but hardened and stubborn and want to reach up to the light or down into the earth, but still want growth, life. When full acceptance of their joyous passions and their tortured wounds are met with your mindful embrace.
If I can’t fly then I want to be a tree, strong and resilient, whose roots form webs and networks with it’s tribe, always an exhale, always a balance a compliment.
Always alive even when life steps in with heavy rains and wind, when my branches break or worms make bags and pockets and eat my leaves. Even when squirrels make nests, ugh those squirrels. Even when the woodpeckers dig and dig and find those bugs.
I still exhale. Even when a person comes and takes my bark, my skin. Even when I’m broken or cut down.
Still then I have my tribe, my network, my web. And I exhale.