Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Snow Tracks

The Snow falls silently in the twilight of morning. It piles up, now three inches deep. It gets me thinking about tracks. A trail of tracks links back to the origins of everything and forward to the person who left them. When I find a trail, it is the intersection of me and them. I wonder who I will intersect with today?

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Human Song

This morning the air was such that I could hear the highway to the West, and the Ocean to the East. Suddenly, I head a person call out. They did not seem distressed. Perhaps they were calling out to a dog, but it occurred to me how infrequently I hear Humans calling out. I hear their signs; car noise, doors slamming, chain saws buzzing, but not their voices. Loud as we are as a culture, we are rarely loudest with our voices, and even rarer our singing voices. I often hear birds singing long before I see them. I have seen thousands more Humans than I have heard people singing.

Yet we can sing. Some say that we, as a species, sang before we spoke. Why did we stop? When will we start again? If we sang before we spoke, it must have been for some purpose. Have we lost that purpose? If so, is it waiting for us? While we are talking and talking trying to find our purpose, is it a song waiting to be sung?

Monday, January 15, 2018


Inside the South facing kitchen window, plants are green and bright, composing as they grow and become more plantlike.

Outside the window, plants are brown and tan, decomposing as they grow and become more Earth like.

This reminds me that Life grows in all directions all the time.

I wonder what kind of Life my expectations might keep me from noticing.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Housefly II

As I sit down to breath I notice Housefly, still lying frozen in front of me. As I do, it occurs to me that, around Housefly, are White Pine needles, Oak and Maple leaves, and a variety of other reflections of death, decay, and transformation. I wonder why, when first I saw Housefly days ago frozen in the Snow, I didn't attend to these other dead things. I get curious as to why I was struck by a body and not a needle or a leaf. I then take in that the Snow upon which Housefly was originally lying has also transformed without my appreciation. I wonder what else my corpo-centric perspective is blinding me to?

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Blue Sky

I look up and see the clouds momentarily part. “Blue Sky,” I think. Then I think, “But only because I am in this spot.” This gets me thinking about perspective. The intermingling of events that has me here, noticing this patch of blue, that is only a patch of blue to me, right now. I wonder what will coalesce to happen next?

Friday, January 12, 2018


This morning, I notice the sound of water dripping off the roof of the cabin. I see the water drops falling through the air. Further off, my view is obscured by fog rising up from Snow. Water reminds me that all around me is transformation. I wonder where this water is going? I see my breath emerge as mist, and I remember I am part of the transformation. I wonder what I am becoming?