Secrets of the sea

(La Jolla, CA. November 2007. © Robin)

My soul is full of longing for the secrets of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me…

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

For your listening pleasure — The music.

This week, so far

Monday:

Tuesday:

Today:

It’s been an interesting three days. We had snow on Monday, an almost complete meltdown on Tuesday, and things are frozen solid again today.

Yesterday’s meltdown was so fast that I thought for sure we’d all sink into the mud, never to be seen or heard from again.

But it’s the winds that are making the big news around here today. The wind gusts have been so strong that they caused a train to derail, sending the cars into Sandusky Bay. I was looking at some of the photos posted with the story and found it kind of strange to see train cars bobbing around in the water.

Nothing quite so dramatic occurred in our immediate area, but the wind did manage to keep us awake for a good part of the night.

I often wish I could take a photograph of the wind.

I don’t mean the bending of the branches on the trees or the grasses in the meadow, although that’s part of it. I want the whole of the wind: the touch, the feel, the tastes, the scents, and the sounds. Not that you can get all of that into a photo, but sometimes the good ones, if they’re really good, almost capture it all.  I don’t know that I’ll ever have the skill/talent to take that sort of photograph, but I know it’s possible because I’ve seen a rare few that are like that, taken by some incredibly talented people.

I went outside to take a few shots of the pond this morning. The wind pummeled me so hard that it took my breath away at first. Then it wrapped around me, carrying me in a sideways motion down the hill (coming back wasn’t nearly as easy). There were seeds from the wildflower meadow being scattered everywhere by the wind, some of them twirling around in little seed tornadoes.

The air was so cold and the wind so chilly that my hands and face were numb within minutes. The scent of the cold air almost had a bite to it. Clear, crisp, harsh, piercing. And bitterly, bitterly cold. If wind had a color, this wind would be glacial blue.

It’s not the kind of day you want to spend outdoors. Not unless every bit of flesh is covered. The wind chill is below zero.

Later in the morning, I was putting away laundry when I heard a high-pitched shrill, shrieking, screaming sound, sending chills up and down my spine . It’s what I imagine a banshee must sound like announcing death. The shrieking was followed by a low moan and then a howl of great pain, as if in reaction to the banshee’s news.

Now the wind is making a harsh whooshing sound. Every now and again it whistles and sings, sighs, murmurs and whispers, before picking back up again, rocking the house and rattling the windows.

I wonder if the wind will someday just carry us away.

Walking across the pond

(Small animal footprints across the frozen pond. January 2008. © Robin)

What else is going on right this minute while ground water creeps under my feet?

The galaxy is careening in a slow, muffled widening … The sun’s surface is now exploding; other stars implode and vanish, heavy and black, out of sight. Meteorites are arcing to earth invisibly all day long. On the planet the winds are blowing … Somewhere, someone under full sail is becalmed, in the horse latitudes, in the doldrums; in the northland, a trapper is maddened, crazed, by the eerie scent of the chinook, the snow-eater, a wind that can melt two feet of snow a day. The pampero blows, and the tramontane, and the Boro, sirocco, levanter, mistral. Lick a finger: feel the now.

~ Annie Dillard

The wisdom of nature

(Tidepools. La Jolla, CA. © Robin)

We have today to learn to get back into accord with the wisdom of nature and realize again our kinship with the animals and the water and the sea. To say that the divinity informs all things is condemned as pantheism. But pantheism is a misleading word. It suggests that a personal god is supposed to inhabit the world, but that is not the idea at all. The idea is of an indefinable, inconceivable mystery, thought of as power, that is the source and end and supporting ground of all life and being.

~ Joseph Campbell

Apparently, my blog is hot. Just saying.

You guys must be setting it on fire.

The sweet smell of dawn

(This morning’s sunrise. © Robin)

I love the sweet smell of dawn –
our unique daily opportunity to smell time,
to smell opportunity –
each morning being, a new beginning.

~ Emme Woodhull-Bache

The music.

Clowning around

(Mummers Parade. 2006. © Robin)

Children have a remarkable talent for not taking the adult world with the kind of respect that we are so confident it ought to be given. To the irritation of authority figures of all sorts, children expend considerable energy in “clowning around.” They refuse to appreciate the gravity of our monumental concerns, while we forget that if were to become more like children our concerns might not be so monumental.

~ Conrad Hyers

Mystery

(Moonset with halo by the frozen pond. January 2008. © Robin)

I no longer feel that life is ordinary. Everyday life is filled with mystery. The things we know are only a small part of the things we cannot know but can only glimpse. Yet even the smallest of glimpses can sustain us. Mystery seems to have the power to comfort, to offer hope, and to lend meaning in times of loss and pain. In surprising ways it is the mysterious that strengthens us in such times. I used to try to offer people certainty in times which were not at all certain and could not be made certain. I now just offer my companionship and share my sense of mystery, of the possible, of wonder.

~ Rachel Naomi Remen

The music.

And the bonus video.

Allowing for possibility

(Snow & ice art on the pond. January 2008. © Robin)

To be playful is not to be trivial or frivolous, or to act as though nothing of consequence will happen. On the contrary, when we are playful with each other we relate as free persons, and the relationship is open to surprise; everything that happens is of consequence. It is, in fact, seriousness that closes itself to consequence, for seriousness is a dread of the unpredictable outcome of open possibility. To be serious is to press for a specified conclusion. To be playful is to allow for possibility whatever the cost to oneself.

~ James Carse

You can’t tell from this photo, but that silly face on the pond is huge. I keep waiting for it to show up on the local news. Kind of like crop circles.  Or whatever it is that distracts the news people from reporting real news.

My feet (Part 2)

(My feet at the beach. November 2007. © Robin)

Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.

~ Henry David Thoreau

Stevo has been wondering: Where are the feet photos in the blogosphere?

Well, here they are again: My feet. I wonder how well my feet posts will compete with each other in terms of getting the most hits.

One of my favorite feelings in the world is that of my feet in the sand. Mud is good too, but sand is best. Snow isn’t so bad either, now that I think about it. But my feet can’t take a lengthy excursion barefoot in the snow.

This photo reminds me that it might be nice to get a pedicure, even in the midst of winter when my toes rarely make a naked appearance anywhere (mostly in the shower/bath and on the yoga mat these days). My feet could use a little spoiling. They’ve been working hard lately, putting in a lot of mileage in an effort to meet my 2008 walking goal of 1,000 miles.

I almost forgot:  The music.

Winter fun

(Skating on the pond. January 2008. © Robin)

Winter came down to our home one night
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed
slippers of snow,
And we, we were children once again.

~ Bill Morgan, Jr.

The pond is frozen solid. M went ice skating while the ice was still clear earlier in the week.

Yesterday it snowed. Last night, under the fullness of the moon, we tried out M’s new sled on the sledding hill. (I bought him a new sled for his birthday, which was last week.)

The new sled is awesome. I want one. It zooms down the hill and across the ice at a speed that almost took my breath away.

This is what I love about winter: Feeling like a kid again.

Here’s a little music to go with it.