Green Tribe of Belonging

 It's the time of year when I begin thinking about planting. The winter solstice is behind us now, and the days are getting a bit longer. At our solstice gathering here at Prairie Hill last week, we watched a demonstration of how the earth's tilt on its axis creates the seasons. And though our landscape here is covered in snow and temperatures are still very cold, we've started our path toward spring. Looking out my windows, I see just white around buildings, no green showing. The skies are the only real changing canvas, and they give a welcome show of clouds, sunset color and flocks of birds flying through. Everything else seems pretty dead and bleak, though we know that this is merely a dormant season and life underground and in holes or dens is just waiting for the temperature to trigger a renaissance.  At this time of year, we have to use our memories to remind us that this cold barren world is only a passing thing. The older I get, the more I get intimations that all l...

  Shadow Her soft, resonant name describes her nature, gentle, unassuming, quiet and steadfast, my sweet feline companion, shiny black coat  with a white patch under her chin. Curled up on my bed during the day or basking in the sun through a south window. She was the miracle kitty. One morning  she seemed almost dead. I rushed her to the vet where they connected her up to life-saving tubes and miraculously she survived, almost thrived. She had a heart murmur from the very beginning, and later an injury that gave her a lasting limp. We now limp around together in our home, Both of us putting up with our imperfections, though she is more patient than I. She has a streak of independence, so won’t tolerate being picked up. But on her own terms, she snuggles up to me when I am sitting up in bed, my notebook in hand, she in perfect comfort, purring, purring. Before sleep, when I’m reading in bed, she climbs to my side again, a loyal companion. When I turn off the light, she kn...

Wandering Moon looking through my window, Geranium blooms smile back at her. Wind whistling through fallen leaves, Clouds racing through the sky. Moon so very far away, Yet she feels just like a friend. Nights shaped by her circling glow, Days lit by her cousin the sun. As they wander across the skies, So we wander here on earth, Our footsteps moving through the grass, Their bright trails moving above our heads. All together, we make a world, Sun the father and moon the mother, Air the breath, soil the ground. Light and rain make us complete. A treasure-house of living forms, Wandering far through soil and air, Sacred family,  small and large. We all belong. This is our home. NF 12/5/22

 This  Thanksgiving holiday has connected me to my family. And when our family gets together we talk about our childhoods: how my dad would fall off his chair if we ate our beans, how we used to compete about how many ears of sweet corn we could eat in one meal. We shared memories of our school bus driver, of our classmates. Being with family seems to root me, to give me long deep roots. It reminds me that I belong somewhere.  This time the family experience reminded me of how I used to play outdoors. As I grew old enough to be on my own, rather than under a mother's careful watch, I could go anywhere I wanted on our big farm. My cousin John was just a year older than me, and he often led the way. We climbed up to the top of the silo and looked out across acres and acres of crop land. We built a tree house on the bank of the Wapsinonoc Creek and hung a bag swing off the tree so that we could swing over the creek. We went out to the middle of a corn field and ate soft smal...

Can I sit awhile in your presence, oh rugged giant of a windswept tree? I am seeking sanctuary, a place apart from the static-filled life of humans. There is peace and deep stillness under your branches, close to your rough trunk, in the sound of moving leaves, the smell of wood, of growth, of green. I chose you because in tree-years we might be the same age, not yet ancient, yet on the far side of maturity, gradually declining, standing solid in storms still, but not as strong or as vital as once we were. I breathe in your presence, your steadfastness. Your arms stretch out far to either side, seemingly without fatigue, showing grace and fullness, flexible and strong. I imagine the great collection of roots below you, your shape as large underground as above. Maybe that strong root base, invisible to me, enables you to be serene, unwavering, firmly supported. I, on the other hand, am often much fatigued. I sense no root base. I don't feel securely planted. I am vulnerable to storm...

 As I was waking up this morning, I started wondering about time. We have an elaborate system of time-keeping these days, but imagine what it was like back at the beginning of human history. We humans were living in what we might now call "the wild", among lots of other living things. We would get up in the morning from wherever our bed happened to be, find food, socialize maybe, work on the shelter we called home. In the warm parts of the year, we'd probably have an easier time. When the temperatures began to drop, we might have begun to think of storing food for the winter, improving our home to keep out the cold. As the days grew shorter, we probably spent more time huddled up together or sitting around a fire. Our time calculations were very basic, and all attuned to the sun, moon and weather.  Now, of course, when we think of time we look at our watches, or our calendars. What a huge leap! And I was curious about how that happened. So I've been researching time a...

Waking Up Imagine a future where we are all heard, where we all listen to each other, not only to our human sisters and brothers but to everything, the large and small inhabitants of our home planet, listening to everyone's voice. Imagine a life where we are open to new thoughts, where we listen instead of lecturing, where we are eager to explore, where learning is utterly important and the status quo does not exist. Imagine a future where we don't have to be martyrs to a present that doesn't work, a present that denies our life force and is leading to a dangerous precipice. Imagine that we turn around in time. Imagine taking that curve into the future, letting go of competition, of rigid beliefs, pausing before defending, opening our minds to possible multiple bright outcomes, moving toward a wide horizon of change. What have we got to lose? We have seen enough bleak days. Now it's time for bravery and courage. No more cowering, sadly accepting a flawed world. Time to ...