When you do something, you should do it with your whole body and mind; you should be concentrated on what you do.
Winter has lost its newness and its luster and I find myself alert for the small voices that signal change…
Without any snow cover there’s little to contrast the lack of color in the landscape if we don’t look closely…
The change now, in mid-February, is in increasing daylight as the sun swings north again…
That light and the sogginess it brings underfoot, the extra brightness it adds to shrunken viburnum berries…
And the fragile texture of butterfly wings that it reveals among the tatters of last summer’s hydrangea…
All are among the small voices that signal hope for change. Have you gone looking, yet, for Spring?
Mostly I didn’t find much, but there are snowdrops in the neighbor’s garden and the promise of hellebores… can peepers be long off? Cardinals are singing some at first light and the redtails perching closer together… maybe it’s closer than it feels.
😉
The beach at Asbury Park 2/4/09 
I’m funny about pens; I prefer markers, actually, and they must have the finest of points that flow smoothly without skipping or stuttering ink across the page. They needn’t be expensive; for years I’ve favored a fine-tip marker made by Staples that costs $5.00 for a dozen.
There’s something wonderful those pens do for my handwriting; they make it look like practised calligraphy, almost.
😉
Pablo Neruda wrote a whole book of Odes to Common Things, but I’m not sure he ever wrote an ode to a pen…
I love
all
things,
not because they are
passionate
or sweet-smelling
but because,
I don’t know,
because
this ocean is yours,
and mine:
these buttons
and wheels
and little
forgotten
treasures,
fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms,
glasses, knives and
scissors-
all bear
the trace
of someone’s fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.
From Ode to Things by Pablo Neruda
What are some of your favorite things, special forgotten treasures of your everyday life… hats, flower vases, compasses, the velvet feel of a particular chair…
Share, please!
BTW, Dave at Via Negativa wrote a series of Odes to Tools that is just delightful. Enjoy!
Click for full bunny cuteness!
BTW Lynne, he’s about one and a half times the length of a loaf of bread… so a bit bigger than a breadbox, I guess. I found this pic online with a dog for comparison and this one! that could be Boomer’s less handsome twin.
😉
A BIG bunny who loves to spend the late mornings stretched out in a sunbeam. He and his bondmate Sunshine aren’t ever caged (there is no cage big enough for two Flemmies to live together) and so instead they have run of the sunporch.
They have their favorite napping and loafing spots depending on time and season. In the cold and dark of winter, they prefer a sunny spot with something warm beneath them. In the summer, they most often hang out in a dark cardboard box, with their bellies stretched out on the cool tile.
If I’m in the room and they’re awake, they’re underfoot, dancing and binkying and begging for food like puppies, threatening to trip me at every step.
Very sweet!
My brother shared this pic of a couple of his chickens on top of an old shed; he said with last week’s snow they just sort of poked their little heads out the coop and didn’t know what to make of it.
Silly chickens!
Not having much first hand experience, I’m not sure if I should believe those who say chickens are pretty smart or those who say they’re really dumb.
It’s pretty neat to see my brother understanding a bit more about bird behavior because of his chickens; he recognizes the peculiar sound the flock makes when they’ve spotted a hawk overhead and this winter he’s busy figuring o
ut how to keep starlings out of the coop to steal the chickenfeed.
Anyone with suggestions on that?
He demonstrated some weird kind of chicken logic for me today. They react to particular colors he says… he called them “fashion police” actually, and brought out this shirt that he says they hate. Sure enough the flock scattered at the sight of it and were freaked out for the rest of the afternoon, clucking suspiciously at us from beneath the pine trees at the edge of the yard while we talked.
Silly chickens!
…the pond at his feet was frozen solid at mid-week. It was fifty degrees today, so I imagine the GB Heron is looking a little less cranky today.
😉
(Probably not.)
I have this series of almost funny pics of Luka playing with his basketball in the snow yesterday; he’s all googly-eyed and acting his normal goofy self.
This last one, his serious face, is my favorite. He’s concerned that my attention has wavered from him and the act he puts on for the camera. I’d spotted a pair of red tails perched in the black locust at the corner edge of our yard and was planning a way to get closer to them without spooking them from their perch.
He’s plotting what silly move of his will have me giggling his way again…
Snowy boardwalk reflection at Asbury Park 
I’d intended to share pics of iceboats this weekend at the river or maybe to celebrate the snow that’s been falling all day, but instead…
This story has been heavy on my mind and heart all day. The victim was nameless when the story first went to press this morning, but later in the day he was identified and I recognized a connection to one of my clients and before the workday ended I found myself meeting with a policeman to share next of kin information.
Sad.
I’m bothered by the things I left unsaid last week in my rant about the homeless. I spoke mostly from a place of frustration, rather than from that place in me that works everyday with the poor and that sees the things they really lack.
A job, a home, a purpose to their day… society can provide for those things in some form or another, but…
There’s no way to counter the lack of a loving family to go home to or someone that smiles just to see you come in.
There’s no way to replicate the feel of a warm-mittened hand in yours on the walk home from school.
There’s no way to know what a kiss in the morning, coffee brewing and the newspaper waiting might do.
I’m not foolish enough to believe that love is the only answer. I know enough about the circumstances that lead people to find themselves in this situation. I understand about addiction and mental illness and the kinds of holes in a person’s spirit that a job or a handout can’t fill.
But we can try, can’t we? To take better care of the people we love? To look out for our neighbor? To hand over a dollar or two for the man begging outside the coffee shop, without worrying that he’ll use it, instead, to buy a bottle?
The need is overwhelming to those of us who stop to consider it, rather than just shutting down, or shutting it out entirely. It’s easy to forget, I think, that the answer needn’t be yes or no, all or nothing.
It’s painful to see the need of others; even more painful to be helpless to fix it. Admitting to that is the first step, I think.
