it is worth a lot

A new butterfly/moth (?) visited my meadow sage today. I simply could not identify it in my butterfly book or online. But, it is such a pleasure to have wildlife of some sort on my cement-encrusted back garden…makes life in the City seem more natural. And, it was just nice to observe.

No picture of this, but walking back from the store/library this afternoon, three young boys (6 or 7 years old) came racing by…one on a skateboard and his two friends cavorting, pushing and all of three nearly done in with laughter. And, most of the people on the street were completely into the joy…lots of smiles and nods from the stodgy old folks (anything over 20). When the kids stopped, I noticed that one was pressing a Kleenex to his cheek. A bit bloody. His friend said “where is your tooth?” “In my pocket…not going to lose that! It is worth a lot.”

Lesson: taking in stride the loss of a baby tooth and just having fun with your friends is not an occasion for being upset.  And, besides, “it is worth a lot”.

sunsets

I have been slowly trying to find a way to have a Mother's Day memory that was not about the sentimental moments with my Mom. She has been gone for many years and the memories are dusted with sentiment and maybe even turned sepia with age. One thing she so loved was the sunset. In her years of living on Maui, I knew better than to call for our weekly visit until the sun had set over the Pacific. It is a sweet memory. One of her favorite hymns was Sunset and Evening Star, the poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Just a nice memory to close out the day.


Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

sunday in the park

I thought of Seurat when I saw the crowd on the hillside at Dolores Park celebrating Cinco de Mayo. And, the mural is on a deli at the end of my block and on the way to the park. It seems so wonderful to me that a painting from 1866 would influence how I saw the crowd today....and, of course, the muralist had a similar thought when he used the pointillism to create a tableau of local folks enjoying a day in the sun. Was I influenced by Seurat or by the mural I walk by every day?

(The mural is just down the block from the red brick church the artist placed on the edge of the park.)

west of the West

California already is heaven, is a form of heaven, and anyone who lives in California knows the mystical quality of Big Sur, the importance of it - it's west of the West, it's where the dream stops.

                                                       Jean-Marc Barr on his role as Kerouac in Big Sur. 

 

tasting the season

Early this morning, at my neighborhood market, the produce man was putting out a wonderful display of fresh strawberries from a nearby farm. In the next bin was the last citrus of our local season, still good, but clearly the winter citrus time is over.

Summer is “stone fruit” season. Each day gives us something superb: with dozens of varieties of peaches, pluots, plums and apricots. We seem to know the week by what will be at its perfect ripeness. It is almost too much! Maybe it is too much. But, we indulge.

However, the weather changes and the coming of brilliant Cara Cara oranges, a vast array of mandarin-type citrus, luscious pears and crisp autumn apples say “it is fall”...simple joys through the cold, gray days of winter.

Then, Spring and a couple of weeks of sunshine produces a new bounty….berries. We don’t really need a calendar to tell us of the changing seasons…we can taste it. 

who stand and wait

Patiently waiting dogs outside a nearby coffee shop…not quite what Milton had in mind with his near perfect sonnet, On His Blindness. I don’t mean to make light of this beautiful poem, but the focused waiting of these dear companions immediately made me think of the final line…a beautiful reminder for me about patience and what our purpose really must be.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide,

"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts: who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait."

 

just one seed

The miracles of Spring on the smallest scale have been very much in my thoughts the last few days. Perhaps because life on a larger scale has been difficult to hold: friends and family dealing with major health issues, the daily news overwhelmed by negative/violent stories, the utter dysfunction at the political level.

What an astonishing thing it is for one seed….just one seed…. to burst forth in its cycle of birth/rebirth.  That is what I am given to hold today. The other thoughts are really irrelevant when the miracle of being bursts in! Digging around in my little garden area this morning and visited by three butterflies…two monarchs and a wood nymph, I think. Without a camera that would catch them at a distance, so I am attaching a tiny, wild Lupine that I discovered in a nature preserve in the Sacramento delta….just because it seems right today.