Fran Meneley

Murmuration

 

Love THIS! We get huge "murmurations" of starlings in the fall, eating up the left over corn fields. I'm so fascinated by their mysterious elegance - I just had to share.

Brougth to you by Islands and Rivers

Impossible

 

dig this TED talk.

spoken word. written word. journal. visual journal. it's all good. just keep looking for your voice.

a shout out to my daugher's friend Katie who found this.

Summer Equinox

A poem for the longest, best day of the year.

The Swan

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?

Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air –

An armful of white blossoms,

A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned

into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,

Biting the air with its black beak?

Did you hear it, fluting and whistling

A shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfall

Knifing down the black ledges?

And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds –

A white cross Streaming across the sky, it’s

Lake black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?

And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?

And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?

And have you changed your life?

 

Mary Oliver, From The Paris Review #124, Fall, 1992

Landscape

Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that

they have no tongues, could lecture

all day if they wanted about

 

spiritual patience? Isn’t it clear

the black oaks along the path are standing

as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

 

Every morning I walk like this around

the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart

ever close, I am as good as dead.

 

Every morning, so far, I’m alive. And now

the crows break off from the rest of the darkness

and burst up into the sky – as though

 

all night they had thought of what they would like

their lives to be, and imagined

their strong, thick wings.

 

A poem today by Mary Oliver, as my friend Garrison likes to say. Lovely to think about as spring begins to unveil itself. "If the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead" - I love that line. I am sorry to say I don't have a photo credit for the amazing murmuration of starlings, the photo came to me from a friend and I don't know it's origins. 

Honoring the Solstice

 

The Journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--
though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

 

Mary Oliver

...For This Amazing Day

i thank You God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and the blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

 

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth

day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

 

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any-lifted from the no

of all nothing-human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

 

(now the ears of my ears awake and 

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

                                                  ee cummings

Beach Gestures

 

A different kind of field trip this Friday morning. Some photos from a morning walk on my favorite beach in Port Townsend. Small gestures, little poems of random placments of beach debris, the perfection of a curve...

  

...so lovely and perfect...

 

...little paintings in the sand...

...that could all be translated onto a canvas or a page...

 

...but rather enjoyed as a moment...soon to be washed away and replaced by more beauty than the heart can hold.

  I love this little stretch of beach which I only ever visit in the winter - a completely different scenario than the bright days of summer. I love it's mystery and quiet, gray, subdued joy. It's moments, it's gestures.

Moving On

It doesn't seem that long ago that fifth and tenth grades were starting in our house. And now we've completed that circle around the sun and it's dreamily, sleepily summer vacation! My career as a mother of elementary aged children is officially over. Finito. It's bittersweet. Each phase and year seems to be the best, well maybe not 8th grade for my daughter, but mostly I have enjoyed each and every phase and age. Anyway, time flies and we've had a lot of year end celebrations around here. For my son's 5th grade teacher I made a portfolio....

...of some Japanese prints the kids made at the first of the year. 

Their wonderful art teacher had them hand carve a woodblock like print, based on the Japanese style. Mounted with red and black they are quite stunning. A couple of parents and I snuck into school one evening in the fall and pulled an extra set. Now their teacher has a full set of 18, one from each student. A wonderful way to remember this class of students she had for both 4th and 5th grades. Thank you, Mandy for you compassion and enthusiasm. 

I've also been busy making these little portfolios for their 5th grade graduation. Each student received one, filled with appreciation letters from each other and all their teachers. Each one a little different hand painted with their names, tied with a paper button and waxed thread. These are the before, filled with blank paper to be written on. The sweetest graduation gift ever. When I read my son's, I just welled up. They have experienced so much with their wonderful teacher and they learned how to appreciate each other and are able to express it. As a mother, my heart swells with appreciation.

I leave you with this lovely David Whyte poem - or part of one. For all you who have had graduates of all ages in this season of transition, you'll appreciate this:

Now, looking through

the slanting light

of the morning

window toward

the mountain

presence

of everything

that can be, 

what urgency 

calls you to your

one love? What shape

waits in the seed

of you to grow

and spread

it's branches

against a future sky?

David Whyte

from "What To Remember Upon Waking"

Poem In Your Pocket Day

My son's 5th grade class is celebrating "Poem In Your Pocket Day" today. And as we were hurriedly picking a Shel Silverstein poem for his wee little pocket this morning, I came across this poem I thought I'd share. Spring still feels a long way off here on the high prairie of central Colorado...but the light is just beginning to change and a flock of Robin's have landed in the cottonwood trees outside my kitchen window. I'm feelin' it, just a whiff of spring. In that spirit I give you my poem for today by Shel Silverstein - 

Forgotton Language

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,

Once I understood each word the caterpillar said, 

Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings, 

And shared a conversation with the housefly

                      in my bed.

Once I heard and answered all the questions

                      of the crickets,

And joined the crying of each falling dying

                      flake of snow,

Once I spoke the language of the flowers...

                       How did it go?

                       How did it go?

Hope

Hope is getting a lot of air time this political season and I do believe we have a lot to be hopeful about. Make sure you are registered to vote, deadlines are approaching. Ask everyone you know if they are registered, we all need to use our voices to be heard.

When I came upon this poem recently it made me think about hope in a very everyday way and when I gazed on these amazing dahlia's on my worktable last week, I was, and am, filled with hope and wonder. So I leave you with a lovely Mary Oliver poem to get your Monday going as we, "build the universe."

Song of the Builders by Mary Oliver

On a summer morning

I sat down

on a hillside

to think about God - 

a worthy pastime.

Near me, I saw

a single cricket;

it was moving the grains of the hillside

this way and that way.

How great was its energy, 

how humble its effort.

Let us hope

it will always be like this,

each of us going on

in our inexplicable ways

building the universe.