vowing to blog for her own edification, with a little less judgment of her efforts and a little more pleasure.
There was a full moon in the infant hours of this morning, and it lured the tide high. Its remnants were pooled along the pathways even as the water raced back to the river, leaving naked, muddy banks and marsh leaves.
There were no eagles today, or herons (they were probably all devoured by mosquitos). Of late I've had numerous close encounter heron-in-flight sightings. Being me, I look for meaning in the out-of-the-ordinary, and always when I have unexpected heron encounters, I feel the words stillness and silence echoing inside, even when the herons are in motion, pterodactyl legs hanging behind as the long, strong wings slowly and precisely carry them forward....and then, there's the glide and noiseless landing. A heron sighting renews my vow to embody silent peace and emotional stillness. That's what sent me to Ramshorn today, alone, without a dog in tow, the aching need to be still and silent; the time spent on the little observation deck is as close as I come to the heron's quiet watchfulness. And today,into that stillness bubbled grief....both from the recent loss of one of our dogs, and a different, more bitter grief over what hasn't yet been born, in many ways due to my own flailings and failings. I'm grieving for dreams, my own and those shared with Linda, that haven't yet come to fruition....that may never see the light of day, and the grief roils my longed-for stillness, a muddied turbulence that could easily suck me down into its depths.
Yesterday morning, after letting the chickens out, I was heading back towards the house when the unmistakeable scent of Fall surrounded me....some combination of fading leaves and cooling soil rose from the damp stone walkway and signalled the inevitable change of season. Too soon, I thought....not from an "oh no-not yet" mindset, but a sense that September 4 was too early for this, that Mama Nature is confused and heading down that path too early. But facebook offered up its On This Day memories, and there were three different blog posts, from three different years, all written on September 4th, marking the seasonal changes, the last hurrah of summer and quiet arrival of Fall, tied not to the equinox, but to fading leaves and weary grasses, busy chipmunks, and changing light.
And so I watched the marsh, and its creatures, sought to still myself again, and acknowledged that in this little microcosm we call home, all is as it should be: leaves are giving way to change, and letting go. Bees are determinedly gathering the last nectar and pollen from goldenrod, asters, and knotweed. The wrens have left and the chickadees are back. Cattails are growing plump and geese are gathering on harvested cornfields. We've seen Monarch caterpillars, fat and strong this year, and at Ramshorn today there were quite a few Monarch butterflies drinking their fill on their way to Mexico. Cool night breezes whisper us to sleep, and Fall's treasures are just beginning to be revealed.
In our wee part of the world, all is as it should be for this moment and (a reminder for myself), all is happening at exactly its right time.