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Archive for the ‘seasons’ Category

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Today was the day. It was time to let my seashell friends and stones go back home. They’ve been gracing my windowsills nearly a year, coming to stay a few at a time over time. The spiders and dust motes made them sneeze. So in the spirit of Solstice next Tuesday, it seemed the right day to let High Tide give them a go.

So off to Point Robinson, north of the lighthouse.

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Out of the basket, landing in the sand with happy chirps.

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Ah, what a beautiful crew. I’m going to miss them.

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They jumped onto the just-right-size driftwood to take in the view, get their bearings.

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Then we sang songs. I wish you could have heard them harmonizing.

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When it was time for me to say farewell, one little green stone asked to go back in my pocket. I said yes, of course, yes.

I must admit, the basket wasn’t empty when I left the beach. New stones had invited themselves for summer vacation. But that’s another story.

     Enjoy the whole movie story with music:  

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Saturday is a day to unwind

Saturday is a day for unwinding,
Whether or not the sun in shining,
Whether or not the birds are singing
(which they are, by the way).

All your stress spins off into the grass

Let your stress spin off on the grass,
Fertilizing green sprouts while weeding your mind.

Notice that moment when time slows enough
for your soul to catch up
and sing in slow motion.

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Took my inner artist to the beach today on this rare dry Seattle Saturday. The sun was already behind clouds, but I didn’t care. I met two most wonderful seashells, rare to find whole, hard to find small, fun to zoom in on in wonder. Enjoy meeting them, too.

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Before I could welcome the New Year
I had goodbyes to say
and thank yous to pray,
and rare sunshine showed up to take notice.

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Goodbye was due to my old friend Doug Fir,
whose last wish was I dance on his growth rings.
His rings tallied up drought and the raining disasters
that helped him grow tall and yet taller.

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Before my goodbyes my knees buckled and bent.
Long skinny shadows suggested forgiveness I seek
for too many days through too many years
tucked under a desk, life ignoring.

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As penance and promise when I welcome the New Year,
I will measure the width of your growth rings, Doug Fir.
I will witness your years with the breadth of a hug
that tugs my heart wide, wide, wide open.

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Take a deep breath now, I said to myself,
and I shifted my sorrow to solace.
Will you dance with me now, Mr. New Year? I asked.
Will you honor my friend
who is gone?

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Yes I will.
Who will lead?

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We’ll take turns.
You go first.
Spring leads.
Summer follows.

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But it’s winter.

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As I welcome the New Year
I will dance in the darkness
deep down in my heart
I will welcome the shade
and the cold.

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Then let’s dance in the sunlight
that shines on us now
even though the air
is still frosty.

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Bring me lightDSC_0901

Bring me joy
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Bring friendship
DSC_0899Bring blue sky

Help me ring in the New Year with gladness.

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Make me silly
Make me strong
Make me giddy

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Make me wrong
to sit too long at my desk without playing.

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Help me laugh

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Help me sing
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Help me flap my strong wingsDSC_0979

Help me land on my feet DSC_0950

Please stand with me each day,
Mr. New Year.

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May I count my own growth rings
this year as I change.

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May I remember to bow
and say thank you.

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May I take time to dance
and play with my friends.

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And sing wondrous songs with my soul.*

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Thanks for dancing with me, Mr. New Year!
~ You’re welcome! ~

*Big thanks to my friend Alan Claassen for permission to put his wondrous song in this video:

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Stacking my thoughts

I made Monday a Sunday.
Slept in. Dawdled. Worked only one hour.

Then I went to the beach by myself plus my soul and my snapshot machine. And beach blanket.

High tide was on its way in. So much for exploring.

My self said lets sit. No need to explore. We can see what we see from this spot on the rocks.

She was right. Our eyesight grew sharper with a short-sighted focus. What could we see in the sand and the gravel and driftwood from here? A lot it turns out.

Like flat rocks to stack, like thoughts on a shelf.

And blue mussel halves of size large and medium. Then lo and behold, a super small two-halves still-intact whole!

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Add a half ancient shell with hole for a string to add to my collection back home, then a super small shell of the same kind, sans string hole.

Clear sandblasted glass then a green shard.

My eyes were having so much fun noticing, I mostly took pics with my mind.

I noticed how high tide comes in with so much stuff in the swells. It matches the muck in my mind that’s needing releasing.

The waves serenaded. The sun played hide and seek. The sand bugs jumped up and down in delight or delirium; it was hard to know what they meant in their popcorn-like frenzy.

Time slowed. Time passed. Sea slowed and did a 180 sans fanfare.

By the time dinner called I noticed the waves were clear of all stuff. So was my mind.

On the beach blanket

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[Please enjoy our second video story and photos!]

I walked down to the meadow on Saint Patrick’s Day to visit my friend, Mr. Gnome. The daffodil sisters were shouting with their hyacinth smell for me to come over. They had something to say.

I stood on a log to get closer. The eldest leaned down. I peered into her face, and inhaled as big as I could.

“Oh my gosh, you smell divine!”

I heard them whisper

“Why, thank you,” she said, on behalf of the whole clump of girls. And they giggled and waved with delight.

“The slugs have been bugging us,” the eldest told me. “Their breath is so bad. Can you help?”

“I’m not at all sure,” I replied. “What can I do? They live here, too.”

“Just look at these holes in our petals!” she cried.

“You may look bedraggled,” I said, “But that’s what comes from a full season of growth. You’re living your life. You’re feeding the slugs. You’re perfuming the air with your heavenly notes. You’re lovely narcissus!”

Then I added, “You’ve made this meadow a sight to behold. I’m beholden to you and your crew.

“And I know for a fact, you’ve blessed and impressed more than me, the slugs and the bees. We’re so lucky you live here. I don’t know what to do, but let’s ask Mr. Gnome.”

I knew with his spidey-sense ears that he’d heard the whole conversation.

Mr. Gnome simply whispered, “I’ll have a talk with the slugs.”

We met in the garden

P.S. If you missed the last story, it had a video, too.

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This morning’s glorious blossoms called for a song.
And a serenade.

So we invited Izzy’s spirit to our backyard
and invited him to play for us
and his namesake plum tree.

Apologies for the birds, the bees and the Cessna
for their fly-by’s in hopes of being seen.

Every blossom on the tree cheered when Izzy was done.
It really is a wonderful world!

 

 

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