Anglin Lake

They say there are bears and moose in these parts

but we have seen the little things

a bird on the path, hopping just ahead

robins playing in the leaves

woodpecker flitting from trunk to trunk 

knocking occasionally

golden leaves drifting down

squirrels chattering

lake calming

loon calling

boats drifting

birch trees, gold tipped

or hollowed fuel for scribe and fire

streak of blue jay

patrolling ravens

chattering chickadees

cabin owners came out as we hiked by 

showed us pictures of the garden

before the golf ball sized hail of 

July 22

chatting about life at the cabin

 lotsa bear, all colors - black, brown, cinnamon

  moose came by this morning 

 'poor man's orchids' just started blooming 

 taking down the 'widow makers'  (dead trees ready to fall across a walking path)

 

We continued on, walked all the way to Anderson's cabin

moose tracks ice cream was the reward waiting in the freezer when we got back

The lake flattening is mesmerizing

from ripples

to glassy waves

to glass

it mirrors the wind

sound is amplified over water

like sound across a wintered field

sun steadily slipping down through the trees

now banking off the water

amplified light, just like sound

this is my Father's world

 I rest me in the thought

of rocks and trees and skies and seas 

that round me rings

... the music of the spheres

fragments of a song long ago sung

Loon calls as sunlight hits the water

clouds hide the final crossing of sky

as Randy comes out with the camera

certain that the sun will still

 throw color down

and the lake rolls again 

 some silent vessel has disturbed the surface

  the shores echo in protest

the woodpecker has resumed its hunt in earnest

lake and sky hold the light 

while trees and shoreline darken

to silhouettes 

finally breathe out the last breath of light

and then sparks of light

 deep in the heavens

and the nearly full rising moon

 begins to spill light back onto the trees

as we sit by our fire 

Land of the Loon Lodge

Glimpses of this week ... words seem to be evaporating

Dynel in the house.

Lilies breaking ground

Fern-leafed peony, top view.

Indestructable Iris ... coming up for the second spring between the patio blocks.
Gives the phrase "bloom where you are planted" a whole new perspective!

Retreat

True north - Beardy's Reserve, taken by my Randy in fall 2014

I have a friend who has come often in these past months with words for me.
She said, with the first book, that she was not one who came with casseroles but with words.
And so the words have come, in books, in calendars, in a retreat guide (which could be used all at once, or in small bits and pieces).

Then, another note, from another friend, about retreats.

And in the quiet of this Saturday morning,
I sit on my chair, with my books around me,
pen in hand,
coffee cradled,
and retreat with thoughts of what has been, and what lies ahead.

Trying to give things names,
trying to make sense of the landscape,
and the things that lie covered in a dense fog.

How do you name things that you can only partially see?
How do you navigate where you can only sometimes catch a glimpse of the path?

learning to travel slowly
   to use other senses than my sight
   to trust what is said by those who see the fog but are able to also see above and beyond it
learning to trust that something is being recreated, remade, while I cannot see

not a season for running, or marathons
stopping often at the deep wells of grace
a season for listening
for holding my breath
for watching

much treasure is found when we walk slowly