This ash tree fell a couple years ago, surrounded by young saplings.
Here are three versions of the ash tree
through the lens of a kaleidoscope
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Kabuya - created by Sarah Kavage and Adria Garcia
For our
Mother
In golden
light she freely yields
to hands that
stroke and tenderly coax,
fair-haired
strands into cornrow braids.
(I can still hear her sigh,
her moans of delight).
Lie down
here and rest against her warmth,
this place
where cottonwoods whisper
and poplars
reply, with waves lapping beyond.
(I can still hear her sigh,
her moans of delight).
Lulled by
this stillness spoon closer in
to the
cadence and beat of her heart.
Cradled
here, yield, to the warmth, to the field.
(I can still hear her sigh,
her moans of delight).
Catherine
Haynes
Saturday, May 5, 2012
A typical spring morning: babies, beavers, eagles
Unfortunately I only had my cell phone on me, but what a morning!
It seems early for baby geese.
A juvenile and adult bald eagles.
The beaver!!
Crabapples and aspen (on the right)
In Beauty May I Walk
Navajo Blessing Way Prayer
In beauty may I walk.
All the day long may I
walk.
Through the returning
seasons may I walk.
With dew about my feet may
I walk.
With beauty may I walk.
With beauty before me, may
I walk.
With beauty behind me, may
I walk.
With beauty above me, may
I walk.
With beauty below me, may
I walk.
With beauty all around me,
may I walk.
In old age wandering on a
trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a
trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Magnuson Park Trees and Ducks and Birds and ...
Sycamore
Cottonwood has her Leaves on
Nesting in plain sight, but he is watchful
Northern Shoveler
Everyone's SINGING!
Magnuson Park's Mountain
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
There must be a poem about...
There is nothing like standing in a vortex
of singing Red-Winged Blackbirds
The herons are back
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water
and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.
For a time I rest in the grace of the world
and am free.
Wendell Berry
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Sacred Tree - Madrone - easy to see why...
Madrone/Madrona
Arbutus: amongst all the trees of the Pacific northwest, the Arbutus or Madrone Tree holds the title of most sacred tree to the original inhabitants of this vast region. In the legend of the great flood, the Salish First Nation describe how the Madrona tree provided an anchor for their canoes to hold steady and not drift away. On the British Columbia West Coast, the Salish Nation also honours the Arbutus Tree as their Tree of Knowledge because it knows how to find the sun.
from www.touchingwoodrings.com
You can't see them but they ARE there!
March 30, 2012 First Swallow sighting!
Perhaps a dozen of them....
Let the dancing begin!
A juvenile Bald Eagle
Even from a distance this eagle looks big.
And closer still...
Eagle Poem
Joy Harjo
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River . Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon, within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty
In beauty.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
In the place that is my own place....(this tree isn't a sycamore, but still)...
In the place that is my own place,
whose earth I am shaped in and must bear,
there is an old tree growing,
a great sycamore that is a wondrous healer of itself.
Fences have been tied to it, nails driven into it,
hacks and whittles cut in it, the lightning has burned it.
There is no year it has flourished in that has not harmed it.
There is a hollow in it that is its death, though its living brims whitely
at the lip of the darkness and flows outward.
Over all its scars has come the seamless white of the bark.
It bears the gnarls of its history healed over.
It has risen to a strange perfection
in the warp and bending of its long growth.
It has gathered all accidents into its purpose.
It has become the intention and radiance of its dark fate.
It is a fact, sublime, mystical and unassailable.
In all the country there is no other like it.
I recognize in it a principle, an indwelling
the same as itself, and greater, that I would be ruled by.
I see that it stands in its place, and feeds upon it,
and is fed upon, and is native, and maker.
Wendell Berry
oh the ducks are so beautiful!
A pair of green winged teals
Sweet Gadwalls!
Wow. Wow. Ring-necked pair!
Monday, March 12, 2012
Crows kissing, eagles eating, honkers honking....
PLUS new beaver bite marks on one of the slender alders down by the lake (which I did not take a picture of!). The crows were beak to beak when I came upon them....by the time I got my camera out they were looking east...and this one Madrona tree is too beautiful to walk by...
Saturday, March 10, 2012
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