in from the chill

Autumn has a teasing paradoxical soul heaped with both gratitude and scorn, bountiful harvests of plenty and bereft fields littered with discarded misfits. Colourful and muted.  It flirtatiously engages you with its vibrant reds and yellows and then grounds you with it's russet tones.

Autumn has a soulful melancholy lament when the frost-nipped wind is allowed to bellow and moan, bending the trees desperately trying to hold on to their youth.  Brittle bone leaves rattle-cackle as they tumble on grey pavement.  On the other hand, chilly cheeks and rosy lips nipped by the invitation from  the brisk air remind us that there is life in its sharp eyed allure in its breath. 

It's turning cold.  Night drapes early, echoing a bluesy cadence.  Stars shimmer a vibrant delight, flirting with harmonic blues. Inside, embers glow heat.  Light flickers a welcome to cocoon under soft fleece, to sip tea, to sit close, to rediscover the meaning of growing old together. 

Come in from the chill.......sit close with me by the fire.  It's time to share a few secrets only spoken on a cold autumn night....Time to come inside to enjoy the comforts of cozy talk, red wool socks, of quiet love, of slow dancing.  Let us celebrate life as this paradoxical season shifts into hibernation. 

this week's Photo theme is "turning cold...."  For more interpretations and variations, check out Carmi's blog right here!

November

As the full moon rises from the depths of the river bed, leaving its remnant glow on the ambling current, November's silence drapes the landscape with the last vestiges of warm golden light. The downturn of autumn looms.

Fragrant earthy decay settles into slumbering comfort. Traces of amber senses from leaves past their prime litter the pathways and mask the green grasstips on abandoned fields.

Somber moods steeped in burgundy passion yawn contemplative lyrics of longing. The land has been threshed, mourning the passing of time. ....the passing of lifegrowth.

The season of rustic thoughts, shared by ancestral hauntings is upon us. May we have the courage to listen to their ripened echos caught in the boughs of the pine, captured in the cold gales of a storm, wrapped in the forgotten sheds where ancient dreams have been laid to rest.

November is here. Crawl under the blanket. New dreams need to find the sacred germination from stories told by the firelight. It's time to share.

all my life's a circle..........

In the chilly hours and minutes,
Of uncertainty, I want to be,
In the warm hold of your loving mind.

To feel you all around me,
And to take your hand, along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
Donovan.....

The candles are burning bright tonight in my home as I write this. Lily, our trusty pooch, is monitoring the front lawn through the window looking for little trick or treaters carrying big goodie loot bags, all excited to be out in the dark on this blustery Halloween Eve. There is a combined sense of fright and delight.

I love Halloween. It truly does bring the neighbourhood together in a different way than on any other day of the year. Little Emma down the street, who is almost 4 years old (how did that happen??!) looked so adorable in her flowy pink wizard costume. Of course, Lily had to be the first greeter as she ploughed past me as I opened the door........... her tail wagging, a smile on her face. When we opened the door to Emma, it was a reunion between friends. I heard this tiny little voice exclaim.......... "Happy Halloween Lily!" Then, a big yawn came from the worn out wizardess, and a polite thank you without any prompting. :) So grown up!

Tonight, I'm have the house to myself. I chose to stay behind to hand out the Halloween candy. I'm too wiped out and physically feeling a bit off kilter. To combat a sense of weariness, I've lit dozens of candles and put on a CD chock full of the songs I love to listen to when I am in need of rejuvenation. It feels like a multi-sensory haven which has generated a sense of grounding and a lovely feeling of nostalgia wafting all around me. It's exactly where I want to be, reflectively soaking it all up.

Every single song that has played tonight has conjured up a photo album of beautiful faces, heart held memories ............... stuff that dreams are made of .... Within the tunes, I can hear intimate conversations, envision late night guitar picking, picture smiles and tears, reunions and shared walks. I remember boisterous campfires, spirit moving canoe paddles, nights laying on a floating dock looking up at a sky so full of stars. Close enough to wrap your hands around them. And then there were the nights when the northern lights danced up from the horizon. Oh my God, they are sight to behold.

It's the stuff that dreams are made of
It's the slow and steady fire
It's the stuff that dreams are made of
It's your heart and soul's desire
It's the stuff that dreams are made of.... (Carly Simon)

Connections to past and present feed an internal flame that propels me onto to the adventure ahead..... wherever that may lead, whatever it offers. While the music plays on, I fall into a place deep inside... where the ME in me is most authentic. To label it with feelings? A profound sense of gladness.

My gladness, however, is steeped in multiple layers of feelings, softened by a cotton gauze over the lens with which I view it. Tears spring forward, smiles too as I realize how much time has already marched on in my life and how FULL it has been thus far. I bring forth the living spirits of the people who continue to touch me .... the ones in particular who are far away in physical distance, but never ever far from my grateful heart. I kiss them all tonight. I kiss them all......

When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near, to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues behind.

For standin' in your heart,
Is where I want to be, and I long to be,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind.
(Donovan)

As the outside winds send welcoming gusts from the past summers in blustery autumn billows, I sit here surrounded by the wafting scents of candles and wonder what makes their flames flicker and dance in unison? I think I know.

I 'm not alone in this ultimate adventure called life. Let the music play on.....

It seems like I've been here before;
I can't remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we'll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my thoughts have bends;
There's no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.

Harry, keep the change, Chapin.

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is adventure. Mine is enhanced daily by my friends and family.... the beautiful people whose spiritual presence always make the candlelight flicker and dance and bring meaning to the music that touches my soul.

clarity

rain soaked impressionism
through the windshield
from the driver's seat
Oct, 2009

Most days, clarity is an illusion steeped in mystical impressionism. Ah! But on some days, stark reality rattles bones and leaves a lingering echo reverberating deep into the baritone swell of the soul. This is when the desire of seeing an altar resplendently graced with Affirmation moves into a ripe longing. It can send you to your knees. Holy loneliness haunts until it is recognized as a transitional touchpoint.... an awakening epiphany. A fear of God moment? In all its reverential orchestration.

The thought I am pondering today as I picture what my preferred altar looks and feels like as I sit feeling the resonance of the cello playing inside me.....

Love always has a tinge of vulnerability to it. When it's real. When it rattles bones. When you give it. When you receive it.

Which leads me to wonder.........

Does God feel vulnerable too when He shares His love for real? How about when He feels your love for Him?

Nature's artwork, Keswick Ridge

A blending of colour
The collage of nature
Simple extraordinary gifts from God.
enjoy.

As we are always.......... loved.

Happy Thanksgiving

Late afternoon yesterday, I drove towards the country roads of the Kingston Pennisula. It is a stunningly beautiful part of New Brunswick, especially at this time of year. Below a blustery stormfront, the landscape rhapsodized in a joyful harmony of colour. It seemed like such a contrast of emotions meeting on the horizon. It reminded me of a moody piece of music played by a full orchestra; one you can't help but feel deeply.

Soon, the road lost its yellow markings, and the pavement became patched and hilly. It curved to the left and then to the right, and hugged the shoreline of the Saint John River, which had widened its majestic flow. The rough waters with its silver shimmering crests looked forebodingly cold. Summer docks, abandoned once again stood silent. As did the boats moored along the banks, waiting to be lifted up on a winter hoist, to be covered in blue tarps, to be tucked in for winter. Abiding respect. That's how I felt.

Openings where barren fields, cropped only a few weeks ago of their bounty appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Old barns creaked by the heaviness of hay stacked to the rafters stood on high ground, their red rusty roofs spoke of the fatigue of days of hard labour. Flower beds in front of farm porches laden with colourful overblooms in big clay pots and hanging baskets of ivy and hardy geraniums dotted the sideroad.

I slowed down to watch an elderly man down along the shoreline, his body angled to meet the wind as he walked the empty sand beach behind his country home. I wondered what he was thinking about.... whether he was reflecting. He seemed to be in reflection. I know I was. It's that time of year.

A combination of evergreen pine, maple and birch trees lined up closer as though they were welcoming sentries on watch. Every time the wind burst forth a new gust through the narrow passages of the standing sentries, their yellow leaves detached and came showering down like handfuls of confetti. Lovely fluttering leafy butterflies. All around, the complicated splendour of autumn unveiled a resonating feeling of gratitude.

No other season encapsulates the feeling of wanting to stop life from moving so quickly as autumn does. No other season generates such a warm glow of gratitude,
for the bounty we have received,
for the harvest we are about to receive,
for the bountiful harvest others need and somehow don't receive.
May we always remember our neighbours.

This morning, the glory of autumn continues with a sunrise which lifted up in a delightful orange glow....the chosen colour of the season. Its new light reflected off the grand stay of tall trees next door, and turned the leaves into glimmering golden embers, like a fire burning way in the middle of the the air.

......a fire within a fire a burnin'
way in the middle of the air.
The little fire burned by faith
and the big fire burned by the grace of God.
Ezekiel saw a fire a burnin' way in the middle of the air.....

This afternoon, we gather with good friends to celebrate, to give thanks, to say grace together. At this time of year, grace is spoken with a timbral reverence. Humility underscores our words of praise and as we gather to hold hands.

If I could only press the pause button so I could stay here a little while longer to taste the sweet nectar of the eternal.....mmmmm, I want to linger, mmmmm, a little longer.......

Happy Thanksgiving.

ps. The last two photos were actually taken from the street I live on. Beautiful isn't it?

oh, and Mr. Chambers? I'm sorry to report that Mr. Piano man will not be joining the Thanksgiving feast today, but you both have an open invitation to break bread with us anytime ........... for the long haul.

pastels.......

If I were an artist,
I'd choose pastels as my medium to create sweeping murals.
Those vibrant clay lipsticks
allow for a blurring overlapping landscape to emerge
in a coupling of colourful clarity.

Using the warm energy from my fingers
to ply its buttery substance
I'd pull their intense colours across the canvas
blending them into harmonic hues and contrasting drama.

I'd let them weep into shades of autumnal laments
staining romance onto a wanting canvas
in a textured velvety cream.....

As I apply my colours with varying fingertip pressure
I'd sense a moody tenderness,
courting sharp light with opaque tones,
capturing transience in flight.

If I were an artist, I'd choose pastels....
Strong vibrant clay lipsticks of pure pigment
to layer a dappling brilliance of lifetimes
with forgiving imagination.

yes I would.....

summers gone

Ordinary moments

sitting across from you

are lost in November's dying light.

walk away

walk away

slowly

into the blurred roar of silence

let the leaves weep upon reflection.

November Tolls

Lost notes

muffled by wayward apparitions
seep out of the stormfront
weeping their dreary sound
onto loosened images
etched in shades of grey
carpeting a lonely landscape
where melancholy lingers.


The flowers of the forest play on.


A cavalry of hollow dreams
loom over clay remnants
on a stubbled field
where fog blurs reality into images.

Good friends never come back.

As the last note is played,
echoing on the edge of fog fed light
Notes lost in the blues
where silence renders memories
where life once harboured hope.



The world is waiting for the sun
to rise out of the grey draped hills
Until then.....we will recognize for whom the bell tolls.

la lumiere de soleil

November's golden luminosity bathes the landscape in a fragrant breath of regal knowing. Amber light warms the stark reality caught in the branch spaces of newly naked birch. You can almost hear the sigh in the lost suppleness of youth as it stretches towards the softening glow. Shadows and reflections empower the landscape like a Vermeer masterpiece.

Autumn evenings bend early into fleeced capes draped on shoulders and wool socks on summer sandaled feet. Streetlights reflect the slowing down loneliness of empty streets, glistening in rain soaked leaves, the last to fall from the trees. There is an essence of a sombre drama found in a black and white late night movie born from days past. Aromas steeped in pipesmoke sweetness waft and blend with the bayberry candles flickering on the mantle. As the sun slips out of sight, a recognizable balladeer fills the night with baritone longing.......

The birds they sang

at the break of day

Start again

I heard them say

Don't dwell on what

has passed away

or what is yet to be.

Ah the wars they will

be fought again

The holy dove

She will be caught again

bought and sold

and bought again

the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

This week's thematic photography prompt is autumn.........for more photos and thoughts, check out another famous Montrealer......... Carmi

the passion of red

Red bleeds meaningful attention. We are pulled into this colour like no other because of what it represents in our thinking. War, conflict, vibrant life and the drama of death all encompass the passion of red. It runs the gamut doesn't it?

Held in it's hue is violent rage as well as desirous love. The beat of red tangos. It never waltzes. It pulls people close together face to face in heated debate, fueling attacks and consequent drawbacks after vicious stabbings and accusations. But, it also is the sexual flame between two people in the throes of lovemaking.

Red is life lived to the fullest. It is a open hearted expression.....of stirred yearnings to actively take on an adventure.....to run, not walk.......to dance, not stand still.......to take hold of the pulse of life and let go of doubt.

Red is there at the beginning of life and at the end of it. As in nature, when the sugar maple leaves turn from green to red, we recognize a time of transition......and with any transition there follows change.

I spotted this leaf atop of a young sapling which was nestled in a group of mature evergreen trees. It was only one of two leaves on the small tree and it was a wonder that it had the strength to compete with the evergreens for sun and sustenance. But it did, with a wound cut through it's perfection. I love the symbolism of this brave little leaf. What a feisty survivor. May it grow to experience many seasons and many transitions. May we all.

the blur of light and colour

It only takes a whisper of rustling wind to diffuse the sharp colour of an autumn morning. It gave the leaves a translucent blurry feel to them. I took this photo last Saturday morning while walking amongst the large colourful maples on the grounds of the Lieutenant Governor's estate in Fredericton. The trees were just ablaze, peaking in their brilliant reds, oranges and yellows......the sun was tickling the tips of the leaves and sending rays down in between the strong branches. Picture perfect.

I looked up while standing under this mightly maple with a trunk so wide I couldn't get my arms around it and saw the light dance in colour. Knowing the wind had stirred up and the chance of capturing the picture I originally had in my imagination, I decided I'd see what would it look like with a little wind to lift. It turned out to be one of my favourite shots that morning.

Sometimes the best shots are the ones you initially consider deleting because they aren't in complete focus. We are sticklers for perfection..........looking for the gotcha photo. How often does that happen?? RARELY! What a small window of creativity we allow ourselves if perfection is our goal. Life is rarely in focus, so why should all slices of life captured through a lens be sharp, balanced and frame-worthy?

Light and movement allows colour and shade to bleed together and blend into an impressionistic softening blur......offering us a gazing gift of beauty we may not have experienced if we only ever strive for perfection.

This week's thematic photography prompt is blur............For more interesting impressions, check out Carmi's corner of the blogworld.

bounty......

handknit wool socks to insulate you from the cold ground and to make your feet happy.

There is most definately a nip of autumn in the air this morning as I sit here with cold toes in need of socks. Fewer birds greet me at dawn, when I usually awaken........their melodic symphony has flown south with them leaving the more robust baritones to carry on in their absence. Squirrels are in abundance scampering after one another up and down tree trunks and along the dewy grass filling their coffers for winter. One just skittered and leaped by in front of my window as I am writing this.

Yesterday as I emptied a few flower pots to be stored until spring, I came across many acorns that had been tucked away in the soil and felt badly that I had found a squirrel hiding spot. I think though that they realize humans are a pain in the ass and mess up best laid plans, so they have back up spots. They are entertaining little creatures on a mission and they remind me that this is the time of year when we all begin to prepare for a more internal hibernation. There is a holiness to the rituals, and a tender sense of external quieting as the leaves float off the trees as part of the dance of autumn. The harvesting of the fields are concluding filling our tables with a bounty of goods and produce to take us through a long winter of candlelit contemplations.

It is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada. The colours of fall are at their peak, the sunlight is the most sharpest clarity.....offering up long shadows of remembrances. We can't save daylight time. We have to savour it as it is. Today, we're off to enjoy the outdoors........some apple picking, a walk in the woods and then up to Keswick Ridge to give thanks at a harvest table surrounded by friends and family. It's my favourite time of year.

The photography theme this week at Carmi's place is "ground(ed)" I've chosen these photos, all of which I took yesterday as my offering to this week's theme. As much as the trees around here are doing their very best to grab my attention, the ground displays many lovely treasures too........especially if you're lucky enough to be walking around in multi-coloured striped socks.

my favourite time of year....

Sit by my side, come as close as the air,

Share in a memory of grey;

Wander in my words, dream about the pictures

That I play of changes.

Green leaves of summer turn red in the fall

To brown and to yellow they fade.

And then they have to die, trapped within

The circle time parade of changes.

Scenes of my young years were warm in my mind,

Visions of shadows that shine.

Til one day I returned and found they were the

Victims of the vines of changes.

The world's spinning madly, it drifts in the dark

Swings through a hollow of haze,

A race around the stars, a journey through

The universe ablaze with changes.

Moments of magic will glow in the night

All fears of the forest are gone

But when the morning breaks they're swept away by

Golden drops of dawn, of changes.

Passions will part to a strange melody.

As fires will sometimes burn cold.

Like petals in the wind, we're puppets to the silver

Strings of souls, of changes.

Your tears will be trembling, now we're somewhere else,

One last cup of wine we will pour

And i'll kiss you one more time, and leave you on

The rolling river shores of changes.

Phil Oches.

I love this song......it never really ever leaves my music memory. It always reminds me of a special friend. Maybe I will get him to sing it when I see him next.

Autumn is here, bringing with it cozy cabin merlot thoughts and knitted wool warmth, welcoming woodstove fires and fleece worn walks to take in the amazing beauty of the season. It is the time for reflection, and connections with others. It's time for hunting season too. Hide MOOSE, hide! Sister Sarah has cocked her rifle!

Happy autumn splendor. May you kick a leaf or two..........

things.......

It has been said that to be full of things is to be empty of God. Whereas, to be empty of things is to be full of God. (Meister Eckhart) What does that mean to you? And how on this earth can we ever feel like we have successfully emptied ourselves of things in order to receive God's love? It seems like a mighty big task, perhaps too monumental.

Things...... the cluttery knickknacks that we allow to accumulate in our brains? The lists of "to do's," "must haves," "gotta finish," "must resolve?" It includes the feelings of avoidance, fear, guilt and shame which paint our spirits with opaqueness. And don't forget the negativity aroused by our doubting self-talk.


Layers and layers of phyllo clothing........

We are messes aren't we? We are all packrats at heart.........stuffing ourselves with "things" to a point where are minds are satiated......perhaps overflowing........clogging our arteries, and armouring our hearts. Too much of a good thing? Too much of a bad thing?

Too much. It blocks the light.

Too much and we are burdened beyond recognition.

Too much and we may even have to pass up a small little wafer, for fear of exploding. (with visions of Monty Python as I write this sentence!)


No wonder we have a tough time finding the way to stillness. Our "things" are chugging and churning and pulsating through our veins blocking spiritual oxygen found in the light.

And now we find ourselves ensconsed in the season of reflective thought. It is also the season which is the most pardoxical, for autumn is a feast for the senses where bounty and empty intermingle. It is the season where we fill up with both beauty and more serious contemplations.....soulful reflections..........some of which stop us from moving forward, some of which continue to block the light despite our efforts.

Our "things" drag the energy right out of our efforts.

But, maybe thats the key to reaching empty. Maybe that's what needs to happen before the spiritual kindling will catch a spark......a ray. Maybe when we expend our energies, when we don't have the strength for even the churning and chugging to take place, when our defences have been spent, that we finally begin to feel like there is some space amongst the clutter.

When I think about it now, this can take a long, long time. We are physically and mentally strong! We have the capacity to put up a good fight protecting our things! Fear and determination coupled with our ability to deny, avoid and repress...........to push it down and down in order to ADD more things into the coffers........no wonder it takes a long time to be emptied...........to accept that emptiness is where we meet God. It's a lot of work pushing all of our things uphill, but we seem to choose this route more readily than the other........leaving it all at the bottom of the hill and walking up free of burdens. Why is that???

So where to start? I think autumn gives us this answer too. It is found in the clarity of the wind, in the profusion of the colour. It is found in the rattling dead leaves tripping down the street. It is found in the early nights and the startling sunrises. It is found in the migration of the flocks of birds, in the busyness of the squirrels. It is found in the bounty and maturity of nature and of ourselves.

Autumn is the season of gratitude. This paradoxical season allows us to see that all prayer begins with thank you. And from there, we learn that the things don't matter, because what we are thankful for helps us make sense of our past. It softens our spirit and soothes the churning. From our acknowledgement of gratitude, we begin to fill and feel a connection with God.

We just need to sit quietly and say the words out loud.....if only in a whisper.


And so I begin..............thank you....


"If the only prayer you say in your life is "thank you," that would suffice." Meister Eckhart.