Vulnerability Along A Path

As the dreary days of December draw near, I am surprised to realize exactly how long it's been - nearly five months - since I've posted to this blog. As I walked around the pond today, I wondered if I had become bored with it. Is there such sameness in the seasons that the sense of wonder has gone?

I don't think that's it, as the picture above, which I took in August, would indicate. I think it's this. As nature has seasons, so does a human life. Some phases of life are predictable, such as birth and death. Others are likely to occur - falling in love, or the heartbreak of lost love. A newborn might fill months with joy, or the loss of a parent give you an unnerving sense that their passing aims you at that horizon - exposes you directly to that same, unavoidable fate.

I have found myself, for several years now, in a confluence of changes. What the changes have in common is that none were expected. And it feels to me as if my seasons, and I, have been thrown off course.
I have experienced sorrow. I have felt real fear. I can stand in my own kitchen and be overwhelmed with disorientation – as if nothing is familiar. Key structures in my life have fallen by the wayside. What I presumed for my future does not exist anymore. I am, in this season, lost on my own life path.

Someone once said to me that things that happen to us are simply what they are. What we feel about what happens is just our projection onto those things. That, in and of themselves, the things are nothing. We choose our emotional reaction. A little bit, I understand that. But still, for me, some things are sad, some things are frightening. Some things disorient me.

There have been times when the thought of running away felt like a refreshing idea - to just hightail it.


But what I have choosen to do is to redirect my focus to things that are good and joyful and full of love. I am finding in myself new reserves. And some days I feel a swell of confidence and no fear. And there have been times I have asked for help and had my prayer answered. I have new faith grounded not in religion, but in the power of grace and love.
So, has my absence from the blog been out of boredom with the pond? No. I've been busy rebuilding structures - things to set one foot upon - and then the other - to make me feel sure and safe and loved. Tenuously, gingerly, carefully - I am moving forward on a reconstructed path.

Earth: Our Planet, Our Home

Bit by bit we are learning more and more about how fragile the Earth is, despite its enormous size in relation to anything that inhabits it. Twice recently I've been reminded of this in ways that are quite dissimilar.

Two weeks ago, I spent eight days at a writers' retreat at Wellspring House. Preston and Ann Browning operate this wonderful place and, as I left at the end of my stay, Preston gave me a copy of his essay, "Struggling for the Soul of One's Country: American Pathologies and the Response of Faith". It's a writing that is so well done, so truthful, so unnerving, that I invite you to do yourself (and the generations that follow) a favor, and stop to read it now. You will be enlightened, no doubt, about the tenuousness of our planet.

When I returned home and unpacked, of course I was anxious to walk around the pond after a week's absence. To my dismay, over a fifth of the pond's bordering shrubs had been cut to the ground. I cried. It was utterly disorienting. Stacked neatly in two large piles were the wilting brances, berries just ripening, dying. Along one side of the pond, I measured a 77 pace stretch (approximately 230 feet long) that had been razed, except for four blueberry bushes. At one end of the pond two thirds of a section of shrub had been cleared, exposing more than half a bed of reeds in which a Great Blue Heron often takes cover.

I live in a condo complex where there is abundant and beautiful common space, the pond included. I asked a neighbor if she knew why this growth had been cleared. Her thought was that those who had lived here since the complex was first built 20 years ago wanted to see the pond as they had when they first bought their property. Apparently, from their windows they had been able to see the water's surface. I had to respect this thought, though I wondered how these neighbors could have gone ahead and made this change without consultating all owners - including those of us who bought our homes when the pond had verdant shores.

My greatest concern is to the ecosystem that exists at the pond. In one act, to remove at least a fifth of the growth, I imagine to be a shock to the system. Visual esthetics aside, at this point in time, there existed a balance, a dependency, of one life to another.

I could support trimming, or clearing, thoughtfully spaced and done in a manner that is mindful of the habitat. But the imprudent leveling of tracts of shoreline shrub is upsetting to me as I am certain it is upsetting to the balance of nature at the pond. And it makes me wonder how Earth will survive if the current dominant species, at the grass roots level (literally), is not more knowledgeable and respectful of its treatment of all forms of life on the planet.

Again, I invite you to read the paper by Preston Browning. The people of this planet, especially those of the nations of greatest means, can no longer treat its host (or each other and other life forms) with self-serving disregard.

Summer in a Day

My little bit of planet Earth felt like a slice of paradise today. The sky was clear, the air was warm, the greens couldn't have been greener, the breeze not more gentle. Fortunately, there was no obligation to keep me indoors. So, I spent over two hours at the pond. And in that time, which I hoped would never end, a garter snake slithered across my path,

draping blossoms affected me in the way a sip of iced tea says, 'Ah, it's summertime!'

And, a magic moment occurred. I've mentioned the 'plop' of the fish as they splash back into the water after a jump into the air to snatch a fly. But did I ever think I'd catch it on film? I do believe there is a fish cutting its way back into the water in the arc of the splash below. I've often thought that I could sit a year and never get this shot! That I caught this one today encourages me - perhaps one day I'll actually get a picture of the fish suspended in air, a foot or so above the water, as my eye has seen on several occasions. (As with all photos on this site, click on the image to enlarge for better viewing, then use the back arrow to return to the post.)

Darting within the branches of the trees along the far side of the pond, perching birds would come to rest for a second or two, enticing me to find them with the sweetness of their song and then frustrating me with the impatience with which they'd take off. Still, some posed just long enough. Below is the Tufted Titmouse.

And here, the Eastern Kingbird.

What is it about the Song Sparrow that endears itself to me? It's this - it sings its little heart out, wanting all to hear and to find cheer in its song. I know I do.

Below, the Red-winged Blackbird calls to its mate and then takes off, defying my quickness as well as the auto-focus of my Nikon, in its urgency to catch up with its partner.

This muskrat swam the full distance across the pond directly to me, taking the little turn shown here just as it was within a few feet. Normally a timid animal, I was surprised by its boldness today.

Having fun with my camera, I took this picture of a dragonfly as it hovered in the air and the lens locked on it.

The White Tail dragonflies are known to me for their friendliness. Each year they swoop around me and set down along the path before me, today as many as three at a time in the fifteen feet ahead of me.

Below, a Rusty Skimmer holds on to a not yet fully opened leaf.

The Blue-Eyed Grass below caught my eye. This tiny flower stands alone, just a few inches above the ground. Its detail in color and design is lovely.

As if to keep me aware that my sense of paradise was actually achieved on Earth, our planet's moon, as a half moon, hung in the blue sky above the pond.

May's Buzz

When it happens - the burst of spring life at the pond - it starts with an energy I imagine to be like a mini big bang. All things - big, little, sleek, slimy, sweet-scented, stinky - come to life at once. Bees buzz, frogs croak, peepers peep, birds call their distinctive calls, and fish splash with a plop after a leap into the air for a fly meal. And as the days get warmer, the soft, light green of the buds becomes a vibrant green as the leaves of the trees and the ferns of the undergrowth unfurl. Everything that moves simultaneously flies, swims, and darts about with enthusiasm and an urgency of survival - eager to mate, eager to spawn, eager to protect their newborn. Pictorally presented, here's May at the pond.

A look of disinterest by day, this frog will belt out his best mating call by night.

Briefly, through the course of a week or so, the scent of Honeysuckle permeates the air, especially on a humid day.

The pads of the waterlily rise to the surface to gather the sun's rays, and to act as a landing strip to the Short-stalked damselfly (click on photo to enlarge, see center pad. Use back arrow to return to post).

The proud papa flaps his wings (a warning to predators?) -

- as the content mama impresses her children with her protective presence.

The Baltimore Oriole darts and dives after its mate.

The familiar American Robin shows off its markings which blend with the colors of its perch.













The Redwinged Blackbird frantically fans its tail as it calls to its mate who calls back from the grove of trees to its right.

A busy day comes to an end.

Spring Comes A-Round, In the Circle Game

As I walked around the pond yesterday and snapped these photos,

I seemed always to be looking at circular images,

as if the seasons, as they "go round and round and round"

create whirlwinds that energize matter into circles -

and "we're captive on the carousel of time".*

Above, a plant puts out its early blossoms in pin-wheel fashion.

And this evergreen gives a fireworks-like spray of needles.

While Bluets grow in round bouquets.

And the dandelion raises the question, 'which came first...'

as it presents the completed circle of beginning and end.

* The Circle Game, Joni Mitchell

Picture Perfect

Those of you who follow this blog know that one of my greatest thrills is to see the Great Blue Heron. And one of my greatest frustrations is getting a good picture of the bird. My luck seems to have changed as today I am fully satisfied with the pictures I took.

Today, the Heron made its spring debut. I saw it in the late afternoon, just as I approached the pond and the sun's light came low across the water. Shown below, when it first caught my eye, it's apparent how this bird blends with its surroundings.

Other years, the Heron and I have taken a little time to get used to each other, and it's pretty late in the summer before it lets me get close. Today, it seemed as if the winter had not chilled our relationship and we each were confident in the other's company.

I'll let my pictures, taken over the course of half an hour, show you our dance, which is like a game of tag. Ever aware of my approach, it let me get within fifteen feet today. One step too close and it would lift-off, glide further along the pond's shore, and would alight in a new setting for my picture taking. Past years, on the day of our first meeting, it would immediately leave the pond when it became aware of me.

Above, it has settled after I scared it from the shore where I first saw it. The topmost picture shows its glide to this spot.

It stalked along the shore allowing me to get quite close. I'm sure the shoreline scrub gave it a sense of safety.

A move I made stirred its cautious nature and it was off, displaying its spectacular wing span and the beauty of the arc in its down-stroke. See the ripples on the surface of the pond caused by the droplets of water the Heron's feet leave in its trail?

Landing in last season's dried reeds, it folded its wings, and then scanned the water.


Tired of my intrusions, it took off once more and headed for the island where it hunted undisturbed.

The picture above has a surreal quality, which I think was caused by the lighting. The Heron looks translucent and as if it were cut and pasted into this shot, or oil painted onto a photo background. Please click on this picture (or any other) to enlarge for fuller appreciation.

I can't imagine that I'll do any better with the camera than I did today. There was a karmic peacefulness in my work, the camera's response, and the bird's confident debut.

Bottoms Up - It's Springtime!

The Canada Geese that arrived at the pond this week (along with the Mallards), seem to be having a welcoming of spring celebration of their own as they dip their beaks to the pond's floor and feast on whatever it is they find there, and in so doing present their rear ends to the sky!

I am so amused as this normally regal looking waterbird presents such a comical demeanor as it feeds.

I'll let photos show this bird abandoning composure and going bottoms-up! God definitely has a sense of humor!

Enjoy and happy spring!

These birds are from the same family!

I can hear the upright geese asking one another,
"Should we ignore this or tell him to get a grip!"

I'd look away too!

Or, perhaps I'd give it a try when no one was looking!