Pathway to the Church of the Beaver Pond

When I lived at Skyliner’s often on a Sunday, or any other day of the week, I would head out towards my “personal sanctuary.”  No pews out there, no priests in robes speaking a male dominated tongue, or no hugging the stranger next to you .  There are good things about church, but it’s nice, for me, to have an alternative – like The Church of the Beaver Pond.

Through the Aspen Grove

Pathway to the Beaver Pond

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Through the Aspen grove listening to the little heart-shaped leaves making music in the wind, then on to the little pond where creation, life and death, spoke truth and comfort.

Beaver Pond

The shapes, colors, and fragrances of Fall are a promise.  Fall promises change, a u-turn out of summer and a colorful opportunity to contemplate the truth that nothing stays the same.  Winter is on its way and we adapt.  We re-style our clothing shedding tee shirts and searching out warmer coats.  We revise ourselves with the seasons, hopefully with grace,  and Look, there on the stove we find warm soups and maybe a friend for lunch.  Humm, that reminds me, my artist group is coming tomorrow, and I have a chicken vegetable, coconut milk soup I have to get started.  So, I remind myself, “it’s” all there and we’re part of it, endowed with the ability to hope, and love, and surround ourselves in an atmosphere of the best we can be in any moment.  I just watched “Martian Child” twice.  The child starring in that movie…he’s just enough to make you “Fall in love.”

Watercolor on Paper
250.00
The Nature of Fall                                  

Giving Thanks on Thanksgiving 2016

I posted this poem last Fall, but it’s one of my favorites:

“Slowly,

She celebrated the sacrament of letting go.

Then orange, yellow and red, Finally she let go of her brown.

Shedding her last leaf she watched its journey to the ground.

She stood in silence wearing the color of emptiness

Her branches wondering how do you give shadow with so much gone.

She stood empty and silent stripped bare leaning against the winter sky.

She began her vigil of trust

                                                              And then the sacrament of waiting began.”

Winter is the season I “wait” for each year, anticipating the peace, surprise, and absolute beauty of snow all around, on the ground, in the trees, flakes falling through the cold skies.  Thanksgiving in the past marked the first day of skiing on the mountain.  It still does for the younger part of my family, but now, a bit older and a whole lot more cautious, I’m blessed with “slow beauty”  – or cross country skiing.  Isabella and I venture out daily, she wearing bear feet and I my skis, to feel the blessing of all that is in and all around.  I’m thankful for the quiet of winter and “trust” that the snows are here to stay.  A fire in the wood stove, holiday lights inside and out, a blanket and a good book to end the day is what I have?  (Just read “Lab Girl” – so good and funny – and now “Boys in the Boat” – well written.)  Thank you all for being but, yet, one more blessing that I can give thanks for.

Wishing everyone a Thanksgiving filled with love, kindness, wellbeing, and warmth – the warmth part is for those who prefer  temperatures that would melt snow. 

 

Isabella

 

The young ones on the mountain
The younger ones ski on the mountain on Thanksgiving
Slow Beauty
Slow Beauty