When I set out down the prairie path this chilly morning, with its low-hung, gray sky, I decided to try to look with an artist's eye; to notice the composition of things framed in a view-finder, see the colors and the textures around me. Though I began this way, with binoculars on and camera in hand, what struck me were all the sounds I heard in the quiet vacuum the songbirds left. And from that observation, came a new idea for me...to record my thoughts for future writings on my I-Phone while I walked. Since I had it on me, today was my first experiment, so it remains to be seen whether I like the idea. I felt a bit "on the spot" at first...almost making stuff up if I started down a thought and then ran out of interesting things to say. But eventually, I settled in...or more appropriately...it settled into my shirt pocket.
In every season there are dominate flowers in the prairie. Just a few
weeks ago it was the yellow goldenrods, the white bonesets and the
purple ironweed complimenting each other. Today, near the end of September, it is the Asters. They are the only bright whites
and shades of purple popping out against the browning and faded backdrop
of grasses and flowers going to seed. Prairies are dynamic, and even
when that last flower family hangs low and brown, it will have a warm
beauty all its own (until perhaps the purple stiff gentian blooms...one last colorful hurrah in
October!)
The tall bluestem arches over the path and I must push it aside to move on. Parachutes of milkweed seeds are leaving their gnarly pods or just about to. The periwinkled mist flower, so abundant and glorious this year, is fading to a dirty blue and makes me a little sad. Things fade in life. My lips and hair are proof. But this is not a dead prairie, though the unknowing eye may see it that way. When I take women for walks here I explain to them that when it turns this color, the land becomes a smorgasbord for all sorts of other creatures. Not dead at all, just at one of the ever-revolving stages of life...the one where one life must end so another life can begin.
Here are two mini-retreat suggestions for tonight or tomorrow:
- Find something in nature that looks dead. Is it really dead or merely dormant? Is it now completely useless? What are the chances new life came from it in some way?
- If your phone has recording capabilities, go off by yourself and answer this question in the microphone: "[Your Name], what I would like to say to you is..." Yes, what would you like to say to yourself? Sounds silly...but I'll bet it will be interesting.
Don't forget to comment...I would love to know your thoughts
1 comment:
Cindy, I took time to redpond to your first question which I appreciated you for asking. I took time to reflect on a small oak tree that I inadvertently ran over while mowing and darting the rain drops yesterday.The tree and Ihad a history. I realized in its 23 years of existace it had not thrived while I was busy excelling in my new teaching career. When it was but 6 inches high, I tucked it in a safe place beneath the pine trees while waiting for the right time to replant it where the people (my hudband or I) could easily go around it and spare its life while mowing our front lawn. After years of busyness, I realized how unfair and neglectful I had been, I hurriedly transplanted it last summer. Gave it a bucket of water and wished it well. Again I had a very busy year at work. I retired in August with the intent of spending more time with friends and caring for God's special gifts. I'm learning to live in the present and take joy in the moment every moment we live. That small oak tree that survived so many years only to have its life cut short by my haste has reminded me of the connections we make to nature and the lessons we learn if we just pay attention and slow down to appreciate and be grateful for all we receive each day.
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