A magical morning

It’s a magical morning. The shoreline serenely emerges through the dawn’s haze. Why moister hangs in the air at -5º I do not know. Yet, the ice mist gentles the emerging sunlight reminiscent of the slow lighting of the opening scene of Broadway play. The diva’s guest whispers “Look over there! Look at the moon.” My mind humors my eyes to search for wherever “over there” is. Suddenly, through the pine silhouette, my eyes find the full moon hanging above the shoreline, daring the sun to obliterate it. The whole tableau- the light, the silence, the white-clothed landscape, sinks into my soul. 

The moon reminds the viewer that she is the source of the nightlong glow, the glow bright enough to view the midnight landscape as if it was mid-morning. She claims the role of magician over her garish opposite, the sun. Her magic holds it charm for hours, longer that the human viewer can keep. She illuminates the earth transforming it into an Ansel Adams black and white fantasy. Every edge and curve of the earth the moon softly highlights flattering each shape that glistens as the snowflakes plays with the moonbeams. Her caressing gaze confirms that these magical moments are no trick, but transitory. that wanes, returning to hidden eternal time.

A jay breaks the viewer’s meditation. His presence reminds that the morning feast has not been laid out. Handfuls of peanuts bounce on the frozen deck to please the puff-up regal fowl. The jay fluff up it feathers to such an extent that it is twice its normal size looking like over-parka-ed child sent out to play in the snow. He dashed away with a treat and within minutes four other jays return to eliminate the abundant feed from the deck. In the mist of their scurrying, a lady cardinal perched quietly above the feeder, the first cardinal seen this winter. She swoops down pass the snow covered feeder to gather the few seeds scattered on the snow.

This imaginary day of “beginning again” with all its affirmations and noise can blind the human eye from seeing that each moment is magical and renewing.

Happy New “Moment”

The dapper man

October 8, 2009 

The day continues the story of gray. There’s now a routine of cool darkness within the cabin and even heaviness outside. The day must go on. So I rush to the car to dash to the center of the village to accomplish the short list of errands.

As I leave, I glance towards the dominate maple. He’s starting to put on his autumn coat. The new cloth covers the old coat of green with a multicolor coat of yellow/orange/red. The new coat is half-way down his form. Yellow, which is mostly green/yellow, is the hem of the coat as he pulls the wrap over his head. The yellow modulates to orange through the middle of the cloak and the collar becomes a brilliant red. “You’re quite the dapper man” I mumble as I nod at him. 

The brief adventure outside the cabin reminds me that fall has arrived. Trees are all putting on their new coat. Many are resisting the effort, but the majority has started. It is beautiful.

As I return home and get out of the car, I hear a long missed sound. It’s the warble of loons. Loudly they call to each other. I’m fascinated by the sound and find myself walking down to the dock to see where the loons are. My eyes search the shoreline and then to the middle of the lake where they usually fish. The calls are still around by there not there. My eyes look south down the lake and there they were. The last two loons called to each other as they lifted off the lake. Their curved “V” outline angulated higher into the sky. I smiled, thanking them for offering me this last look and wished them well on their flight to their winter home.

It sounds like life to me

October 7, 2009

Woke up late today. Before I looked outside, I sensed that the day would be brighter. Looking out the window, I realize that the gray overcast was lighter. I smiled. When I sat down for breakfast, I saw the shoreline pop, the first time since I was home. The rising sun could peek under the light cloud cover and illuminate the autumn-tending swath above Lady Lake.

I watched the light gray sky turn to a very pale blue and saw sunlight cascade across the yard, pouring out between the pine boughs. Mother Nature responded to my bitching yesterday. Like the Diva, I am pleased.

“But alas, it’s but a tease!” The sky turns within the hour. The weather radar shows clouds from here to Idaho. The gray returns. “It sounds like life to me.”

So as I return to work looking out my window, a red crowned woodpecker, a little handful, lands on the wicker chair on my deck. It’s a “beautious thing,” tapping away at the wicker bindings. I’m assuming there are little critters nesting out of sight. The woodpecker spent a few minutes seeking them out. Then he flew towards the cabin out of my view. Then I heard the knock, knock on the cabin wall. It didn’t last long. Cedar isn’t conducive to critters or pecking. He then came back into view. I smiled. He landed on the flag pole, walking up the pole to the turned top. He hit it three times and decided that there was nothing to be found there either. Then away he went. It was a marvelous diversion.

“It sounds like life to me.”

Lost summer, lost autumn

October 6, 2009

Again gray, an all-day gray. Last night I was intrigued with the oncoming rain storm that deepened the underbelly of the gray to a deep purple black. Strange how changing the blanket of gray with a contrast with black can excite the mind? How do people live in this gray for long periods of time?

My mind was distracted and inspired by a haiku a good friend wrote. It stimulated my imagination. The author highlighted the image with the sound of crickets. “Ain’t no crickets in Minnesota at this time.” It’s too gray and cold. My mind moved back to summer and clearer nights. It captured a sound that is peculiar to this space. I was moved to write:

Illumined skylight

moon softens edge of earth with

lonesome sounds of loons

 

I beg for sunlight. Not only to shake me from this winning, but to see the autumn glow that only the clear blue sky and sparkling sun can offer. My major maple is well into its change. The orange/red covers every leaf and each leaf is hanging on to the branches sturdily. Its brilliance is muted by the gray background. The maple doesn’t seem to mind that the weather is taking away the glory of the moment. I do.

The weather diminished the summer luxuriating with it consistent cool. Now, Mother Nature is minimizing the autumn spectacular. So who’s to blame?

Winter nap

It’s gray again. The forecast said partly sunny this morning, but when I look at the satellite pictures, it’s gray over most of the country. “Get over it,” I mumble to myself.

The critters have returned for their morning feast. Seven crows stalk the yard. I’m not sure what they are doing; they don’t eat peanuts. The Master Jay perches on the oak limb that holds the bird feeder. He puffs his breast out making himself look too heavy to fly. Why the crows ten times his size decide to leave, only the “fowl knowledge” knows. I glance back on the jay once the crows leave. He’s now halved his size and soaring to the deck for his morsel.

Fearless is feverishly gathering all he can. I watched as he engorged his cheeks with two large peanuts and added one more between his teeth. Then in a blink, he dashes off the deck. He appears to return within 30 seconds to repeat the process. The only limits to his salvaging are the jays and Guido. As they appear, the “chips fly.”

Lady Lake, on the other hand, appears depressed today. She lies perfectly still wrapped in her dirty gray robe. She resigns herself to another boring day. There’ll be no humans racing across her surface; there’ll be no tree color to brighten her wardrobe; there’ll be no sun to place the dancing diamonds over her gown. She thinks, “Perhaps if I lie perfectly still, time will go faster.” It doesn’t; it drags without leaving a trail.

And I too get to confront the drag. There’s a lot to do. Every place I turn is another “thing on the list.” It’s best I do not look out the window often; the sky is not inspirational. I need to focus on Fearless. He seems to be able to do without sunshine. Of course, he’s getting ready for his long winter nap.

A “winter nap”, now that sounds inviting.

Bone-chilling uselessness

 October 2, 2009

The diva will have to wait. I will do the basics- clean up after breakfast, feed the critters and sort the accumulated stuff from the kitchen table, but no more. I need to focus on preparing for the interview. The cold, wet autumn helps me keep the inward focus. There’s nothing inviting outside the window.

Just got off the phone with a friend planning tonight’s dinner. We mused about my least fond memory of time at the lake. I remember vividly, fifty years later, standing in the gray, cold and wet weather watching my father steal trees from one of the local tree farms. I wasn’t allowed to help. I was there to keep him company. My body recalls that bitter, bone-chilling uselessness. Every second the gray sky soaked into my soul and chilled my youth. It seems to take years for him to capture the six or eight trees [those trees are so squirmy] and pack them into the truck. We bounced are way back to the cabin and I spent more years watching him plant the liberated trees. There was no joy in this activity.

The joy of course is in the space around the cabin. Almost every tree I look at was one of those trees planted in the fall rain. I’ve never counted how many trees ultimately were planted, but perhaps 100. They are all old growth, now; tall, straight life canopying the cabin.

What beauty has come from a simple felony?

But, back to my preparations. I need to focus.

It’s really black

October 1, 2009

It’s black, it’s really black. It’s 6:30a and it still black. It’s the winter black and I have not adjusted to this change. My mind knows that the sky must be overcast which is keeping the pre-dawn glow from silhouetting the trees and slashing the horizon with the tree line of opposite shore. 

I remain in awe of the change in seasons. Minnesota has no subtlety when it comes to the change. The sun shortens its shine time and moves dramatically across the horizon. It has moved more than half way south of the lake edge in three months. The trees exchange the deep green of summer with the fiery clangorous tones of red/orange/yellow. The temperature drops suddenly causing humans to run to the thermostat and search for long sleeved shirts.

It’s not hard to figure out how ducks know when to fly south.   

Now at 7:15a, the clouds shine with its morning orange/pink edge keeping the body a lavender/blue. The swath of color covers the sky above the edge of the earth I see from the window. Lady Lake revels in her morning dress. Her silken covering mimic the sky and the echoing between sky and water illuminates this space. It is glorious.

I couldn’t have a better welcome home greeting.

“A matter of life or death”

 

The sun has been up for more than an hour and I cannot see across Lady Lake. A pink/violet cloud still hangs over her. She lies totally still, not wanting to stir with the air temperature just a half degree above freezing. Autumn has arrived just as I returned 

I was away from the Diva, the critters and Lady Lake for a month. After a long day of traveling back home, I could barely move as I hauled my luggage and groceries into the cabin yesterday. I did not have the energy to greet my family here appropriately.

When I leave this space unattended, I’m get anxious as I return. This morning, I was reluctant to leave my warm bed. When I awoke, I wondered, “what remained the same and what changed? Yet, the morning activities outside the window assured me that all is good.

The critters returned in forced for their morning feast. I was particularly impressed with the jays. This summer, they usually came early for their one peanut and I would not see them until the next day. Today, two of them spent over two hours plucking up peanut after peanut. “Making up for lost time,” I mused. Guido, the lead squirrel, returned nonchalantly. Even Fearless spent time gathering the nuts and taking a few moments to sit on the Adirondack chair greeting me through the window. I greeted him back with a gentle smile. And yes, the crows returned to strut across the yard, making their presence known with that unique “CRAWWW” song.

Why should I be anxious? Nature will take care; it has for millions of years. I get anxious because I care and forget that my caring is not “a matter of life or death” for nature. It’s “a matter of life or death” for me.

It be gray

August 19, 2009

There’s a simple stillness in waiting. The view of the iron wing supported by a pair of wheels lies motionless in front of me. I’m waiting for my flight to Brainerd and the tarmac shows no signs of life, any form of life- human, mammal, fowl or vegetable. The plane holds it space sitting heavily on the gray cement, waiting quietly for some initiative.

The gray of the tarmac reflects the hue of the sky. Strangely, the stable gray ground is confused by the slowly moving clouds above. After two hours of bouncing through that air, it seems strange that I hold steady on these gray chairs.

Inside the terminal, I put on a sweatshirt to cover my arms. I’ve become accustomed to 80 degree weather in my travels. I don’t have to worry about being too warm now that I’m back in Minnesota. Even more so that I’m in the Minneapolis/St. Paul terminal, the airport wants to make sure its passengers are ready for the weather here. When I travel, I dress for the temperature in this terminal; I cope with the temperature at my final destination.

Metaphorically, I need to prepare for life’s journey rather than it’s completion.

It’s the wind

July 28, 2009

I sealed up the cabin again today. The one day of summer passed yesterday and I returned to the morning I’ve grown accustomed to all season. It’s gray, windy and 62 degrees. I miss the summer morning meditations on the front deck; I confront instead viewing the dawn from my window perch.

In a conversation yesterday, I confirmed that “windy” is the password for this season. We reflected on how often the lake has been buffeted by strong winds. I mused over the three days of consistent 25 to 30 MPH winds we had in July. Wind with the cool temperatures drops the “feels like” temperature to an early spring or late fall sensation. Mother Nature has conspired to steal summer memories from lakeside residents.

With the strong winds, my bird critters cannot easily fight the air currents to partake in their morning feast. Only the crows strained against the elements to pick at the seeds.

So the morning view is void of animal life while the plants seem to flourish. The flower boxes on the deck are heavy with their overgrowth. They were planted early with spring flowers that fail in the summer heat. Since that heat did not occur, they are luxuriating in the extremely long growing season. 

So no matter how hard the winds blow, life continues to thrive. It is a matter of perspective.