3:30 pm
Barefeet today, celebrating the 70s we enjoyed.
Lawnmower working during my sit, rendering me essentially deaf for the duration, which helped me to focus on my physical sensations and my vision. Felt exposed in the tree with the lawnmowing nearby, standing on the limb in daylight. Experimented with different sitting/standing positions to find some cover amongst the branches. So different from the other night, when I felt so hidden and secure.
Wove my way through the tiny forest behind our house and our neighbors' houses on my "different way home." Rarely go through these woods, as they extend behind our neighbors' houses and I like to support their privacy, so it was a treat to have the excuse to explore them today. Delighted to discover a small stand of false solomon's seal, and gathered some of the feathers of a favorite hen I lost to a predator a couple of weeks ago.
Approaching my house from the wrong side of our fence, I found myself channeled around the garage to the front door rather than up the deck to the back door where I usually enter the house after my sits. Something about coming to the house in this way prompted me to visit my sparse and wildly overgrown front garden, which happens to be the only place that perennial flowers are safe from children and marauding poultry. I rarely visit this part of my yard as I am usually accompanied by one or both of my little ones, and this garden is too near the fast road we live on. But today, I sat down next to it, pulled some weeds, and noticed with a bit of awe how much color was in it already, thanks to the spreading violets and grape hyacinth. The sage, oregano, blue flags, and lilies that I have managed to throw in the garden over the few years we've lived in this house are growing strong, despite being surrounded by wild plants.
I was filled with the serenity of having a flower garden to sit beside and tend, a pleasure which I have not known for a few years now. These quiet moments today, of tender awakening to and appreciation of this lovely place on the earth, the beauty and nurturing possible in this one spot, was one of the best parts of mother's day for me. Thank you for the suggestion to take a different way home, which is the path that led me to this discovery.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Twelfth evening: Brilliant world
5:30 pm
Sunny day today, 70s. Spent the day with my husband and our kids out on an island off our coast, precious and exhausting time. Took some rose wine up the tree with me when we got home this afternoon and settled in.
Earlier sit than usual. Robins had all kinds of new words to their songs tonight, like they'd been traveling. Whole new verses I hadn't heard before! Cricket chirped more rapidly than other evenings. A crow cawed once. We see them flying through our yard often, but this is only the first crow I've heard during a sit this year.
Spotted a regular avian visitor of late whom I only ever see the taillights of: long brown tail, brown wings, bigger than a robin, with white under its tail. Thought I caught a glimpse of green-yellow on the underside of the wings today. Thought it was a thrasher at first (haven't seen one in years, so my recollection was a bit fuzzy), but they don't have the striking white under the tail that this one has. Have also heard a single sharp note that I believe was from this new bird. Will try to memorize it if I hear it again to help with the identification.
Both the beech sapling and the young maple growing at the base of my sit tree have shot up, putting on six, eight new inches since my sits began less than two weeks ago. It's astonishing to see how quickly they can grow, like life is just exploding within them and that's the only way it can get out. The sun shone through the branches of the pine as I sat, and every now and then shone brilliantly through, onto the leaves of the little maple. I had been studying the maple leaves, noting how they are almost full-grown but still as tender as when they were tiny. When the sun shone brightly on them all of a sudden, their whole appearance changed. They had gone from being dimly-lit leaves hovering in the shadows to exquisite specimens of the earth with layers of shadows dancing across them, mingling with the dazzling sunlight, all bright green and sharp-toothed edges. It reminded me of how, when we pay attention to things in our lives and share our attentiveness with others, we transform the world for one another.
Sunny day today, 70s. Spent the day with my husband and our kids out on an island off our coast, precious and exhausting time. Took some rose wine up the tree with me when we got home this afternoon and settled in.
Earlier sit than usual. Robins had all kinds of new words to their songs tonight, like they'd been traveling. Whole new verses I hadn't heard before! Cricket chirped more rapidly than other evenings. A crow cawed once. We see them flying through our yard often, but this is only the first crow I've heard during a sit this year.
Spotted a regular avian visitor of late whom I only ever see the taillights of: long brown tail, brown wings, bigger than a robin, with white under its tail. Thought I caught a glimpse of green-yellow on the underside of the wings today. Thought it was a thrasher at first (haven't seen one in years, so my recollection was a bit fuzzy), but they don't have the striking white under the tail that this one has. Have also heard a single sharp note that I believe was from this new bird. Will try to memorize it if I hear it again to help with the identification.
Both the beech sapling and the young maple growing at the base of my sit tree have shot up, putting on six, eight new inches since my sits began less than two weeks ago. It's astonishing to see how quickly they can grow, like life is just exploding within them and that's the only way it can get out. The sun shone through the branches of the pine as I sat, and every now and then shone brilliantly through, onto the leaves of the little maple. I had been studying the maple leaves, noting how they are almost full-grown but still as tender as when they were tiny. When the sun shone brightly on them all of a sudden, their whole appearance changed. They had gone from being dimly-lit leaves hovering in the shadows to exquisite specimens of the earth with layers of shadows dancing across them, mingling with the dazzling sunlight, all bright green and sharp-toothed edges. It reminded me of how, when we pay attention to things in our lives and share our attentiveness with others, we transform the world for one another.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Tenth evening: Robins
7:30 pm
With my littles sleeping, I walked out under a double rainbow to collect eggs and close the hens in for the night. We had a downpour an hour ago, and the wild birds now seemed triumphant in their cheery calling, so many joining the song.
Miles of dramatic clouds moving at a steady pace. Dark and heavy patches with the thready wisps that talk of rain falling. Flaming orange bursts where the sun was streaking through, leaving its mark.
Barely a hint of wind, but the apple blossoms still sent their fragrance across the yard to where I stood on the porch, wrapped in my fleece blanket given me by a long-ago friend.
Awareness was a companion to me today, seeming to hold my hand (or maybe my arm), pressing me to stay awake during different points in my day when I would typically be lost in thought. "Hey now, hey there! C'mon, you've got it in you! Stay with me now, stay with me..." it seemed to be saying at every turn. I am accustomed to awareness being a tender thing I have to nurture with great care, not this assertive creature who drops by unannounced. This new version works for me!
Ducks dabbled in the new puddles in the grass, cocking their heads to eye me every now and then.
Peepers still holding strong at some distance from our yard. No "ree...ree" tonight. Robins, robins, robins! Some cheerio'ing, some teent'ing, and some piping their high-pitched tut-tut-tut. Never have I been awake enough, alert enough, to hear these three robin calls all in the same moment!
A new voice in the evening chanting, one of my favorites and as-yet unidentified song: the liquid gurgling song that only emanates from woods, never from fields or the air. Who are you?
With my littles sleeping, I walked out under a double rainbow to collect eggs and close the hens in for the night. We had a downpour an hour ago, and the wild birds now seemed triumphant in their cheery calling, so many joining the song.
Miles of dramatic clouds moving at a steady pace. Dark and heavy patches with the thready wisps that talk of rain falling. Flaming orange bursts where the sun was streaking through, leaving its mark.
Barely a hint of wind, but the apple blossoms still sent their fragrance across the yard to where I stood on the porch, wrapped in my fleece blanket given me by a long-ago friend.
Awareness was a companion to me today, seeming to hold my hand (or maybe my arm), pressing me to stay awake during different points in my day when I would typically be lost in thought. "Hey now, hey there! C'mon, you've got it in you! Stay with me now, stay with me..." it seemed to be saying at every turn. I am accustomed to awareness being a tender thing I have to nurture with great care, not this assertive creature who drops by unannounced. This new version works for me!
Ducks dabbled in the new puddles in the grass, cocking their heads to eye me every now and then.
Peepers still holding strong at some distance from our yard. No "ree...ree" tonight. Robins, robins, robins! Some cheerio'ing, some teent'ing, and some piping their high-pitched tut-tut-tut. Never have I been awake enough, alert enough, to hear these three robin calls all in the same moment!
A new voice in the evening chanting, one of my favorites and as-yet unidentified song: the liquid gurgling song that only emanates from woods, never from fields or the air. Who are you?
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Ninth evening: Stranger to the dark
8:30 pm
Overcast and cool tonight, misty and nearly dark.
Moved through the wet air to my tree, felt called to stand still for a long moment before climbing it, then climbed up when I felt the "go ahead" signal. In the darkness, I didn't pay any mind to the sappy spots on the branches that I usually try to avoid in the light. Tonight they were invisible, and I was able to focus simply on the act of climbing rather than thinking about cleaning sap off my clothes or hands. I climbed more like a child.
Peepers, "ree...ree..." frog (still need to identify), one cricket joined by another later on. (Do they chirp more on humid nights? How do their weather-forecasting chirps sound different from one another?)
In the growing dark, the clusters of pine needles looked soft and fluffy against the weak gray of the clouds, like green fleecing. Looking up and outward from my branch, I imagined that the needles at the ends of the branches were the shell of an egg, the crisscrossing branches the blood vessels, and me its tiny curled embryo.
The cool, wet air pressed on my skin, reminding me it was there.
I felt very secure in the tree, snug and hidden in its branches. Cars passed, neighbors arrived home, and no one would have ever known I was there. I could have stayed all night (maybe tie myself in like Katniss!), safe in the darkness. I was entirely content to be there.
On the walk back in, though, I noticed how strange our yard looked, how deep and unknown the expanse of my family's yards seemed in the darkness. The only evenings I have spent outside these past four years have been my sit spot nights.
Overcast and cool tonight, misty and nearly dark.
Moved through the wet air to my tree, felt called to stand still for a long moment before climbing it, then climbed up when I felt the "go ahead" signal. In the darkness, I didn't pay any mind to the sappy spots on the branches that I usually try to avoid in the light. Tonight they were invisible, and I was able to focus simply on the act of climbing rather than thinking about cleaning sap off my clothes or hands. I climbed more like a child.
Peepers, "ree...ree..." frog (still need to identify), one cricket joined by another later on. (Do they chirp more on humid nights? How do their weather-forecasting chirps sound different from one another?)
In the growing dark, the clusters of pine needles looked soft and fluffy against the weak gray of the clouds, like green fleecing. Looking up and outward from my branch, I imagined that the needles at the ends of the branches were the shell of an egg, the crisscrossing branches the blood vessels, and me its tiny curled embryo.
The cool, wet air pressed on my skin, reminding me it was there.
I felt very secure in the tree, snug and hidden in its branches. Cars passed, neighbors arrived home, and no one would have ever known I was there. I could have stayed all night (maybe tie myself in like Katniss!), safe in the darkness. I was entirely content to be there.
On the walk back in, though, I noticed how strange our yard looked, how deep and unknown the expanse of my family's yards seemed in the darkness. The only evenings I have spent outside these past four years have been my sit spot nights.
Eight evening: Sleeping
Still sick, fell asleep putting the kids down tonight and didn't get back up to do my sit. (Woke up 12 hours later feeling great!)
Monday, May 7, 2012
Seventh evening: Easy prey
Sick today, husband sick, rough evening. Sat for a few minutes on porch at about 9:30 pm.
Barely aware of anything other than the absolute necessities of the day, which were a struggle to tend to. Felt like all of my energy was turned inward, to healing, leaving me blind to the world going on around me. As an animal, I would certainly have been easy prey today.
Barely aware of anything other than the absolute necessities of the day, which were a struggle to tend to. Felt like all of my energy was turned inward, to healing, leaving me blind to the world going on around me. As an animal, I would certainly have been easy prey today.
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