I'm not ready to write a hopeful piece yet. But I can write something about what it feels like, persevering through this moment.
Maybe you’re young and healthy and/or unafraid. Or maybe you've been brainwashed. In my better moments, I can imagine you feeling as if you’re being yelled at to evacuate, by people you don’t trust, in a language you don’t understand. That makes me slightly more compassionate toward you. Can I suggest some ways to spend your doom-interrupted days?
"edges slide together like the feathers of a wing, everything touches everything." (Mary Oliver) I don't know what, exactly, causes this phenomenon, but that sense of distance collapsing-- between experiences, influences, memories-- is moving, and beautiful, and profound.
It's easier to get through the gray days when you're feeling a strong source of light from somewhere, even if it's metaphorical light.
There's been an unusual friendship developing in the night garden. Two of our regular visitors - the raccoon and the possum- coincided a few times over the last couple months; we watched via the wildlife cam, holding our breath, waiting to see how they'd react to each other. At first, one would come into view … Continue reading Raccoon & Possum: BFFs
I remember the moment it occurred to me that trees could be older than me. I was eight years old, in my grandparents' yard, marveling at a (to me) giant tree that had a swing hung from one of its branches. I'm sorry to say that I don't know what kind of tree it was, … Continue reading Speak for the Trees
When ripe acorns start dropping off of the many Oak trees in our neighborhood, the squirrels mostly disappear from our garden for about six weeks. We still see them when we walk the dogs; working during all the daylight hours and into twilight, gathering acorns one by one and carefully burying them in different spots. … Continue reading Musings on Squirrels and on the Limits of Science