*Resisting Winter

If I could,

I would stand at the

ready

as each leaf falls,

and return the jewel

to its branch,

restoring autumn

to its perfection.

Time, like sand,

seems to slip

through our fingers faster,

the tighter we try

to hold onto it.

Resisting change,

just like resisting

the passage of time,

is such a futile act.

Winter will come, and

will not be stopped.

As soon as we embrace

each moment for what it is,

anxiety falls away, and

relaxation takes its place.

There is such perfection

in the present moment.

Frost will come,

and with it the

splendor of ice crystals,

glitter that glistens

like fairy dust,

as the sun dances

across the land.

Until then, the leaves will

slowly begin to rust,

and the trees will loosen

their grasp on the jewels

of the passing season.

To mourn this rite of passage

is as useless as wishing

to stop the hands of the clock.

We can cherish what is,

and welcome what is to be,

and be grateful for the

joys to be had in this

perfect moment in time.

Surrender to the Moment

In the moments that I stood outside in the chill of the winter's morning air, I forced myself to breathe deeply, and surrender to the moment: the cold, the dark, the silence, the contrast of the stars against the black blanket of sky. The wisp of a moon cast a soft glow behind the silhouette of limbs. There was not a rustle of leaves; there was no city's glow. Just the stars and I were witnesses to the waning night. The faint beginning of a new day was erasing the blackness overhead, loosening its grip on the night.

How I love the early morning, and the subtlety of the changes, barely perceptible to my senses so accustomed to the blatant barrage of sights and sounds throughout the day.

Be still in the silence. Listen to the quiet, and notice the nothingness of the night. Allow yourself to experience this apparent emptiness until it starts to expand your spirit, and you become aware of the fullness and richness it brings into your spirit. Sweet, precious night evolving into the dawning of another blessed morning. Namaste, indeed.

(January 12, 2013)

Marysvale: Up Close and Natural

Rustic, Rural, and Real...

That's Marysvale!

Welcome to Marysvale.  See that green roof just beyond the yellow flowers in the distance?  It is our privilege to call that house our home.  Marysvale is a sleepy little town nestled at the mouth of Bullion Canyon.  I love the dark night sky here that doesn't compete with neon or city lights.  I love the pastoral scenes, and the good people.  I love the sagebrush, flowers, trees, and even the weeds.  I love the deer, the turkeys, the rabbits, the fox, and the owl that visit our home.

This old building is my ONE MILE turnaround spot.

Today, I just want to share some of the pictures I have captured trying to "live in the moment" here.  You may laugh at my weeds and "my" shack, but it's all good.  This place feels like home to me, even the wild, unkempt parts.  Every season captivates me.  I love the sunshine, the rain, the snow, the fog, the sunsets, and the sunrises.  Everything feels so fresh and clean here.  It is a good life.  A good life indeed.

(The pictures are in no particular order, and
some of the captions were written when the
pictures were taken.)

Several metal crafters live nearby.
Margaret, this one's for you!

Even the weeds capture my curiosity.

How can you not fall in love with this place?

"Grandma" lives on my friend Pam's porch.  She seemed quite perturbed
when I interrupted her nap to take her picture.

Wish I could identify all of the flora and fauna.  Queen
Anne's Lace?

Hiking to Bullion Falls is a favorite activity.

My goal is to capture the beauty of the Rocky
Mountain Bluebird.  This picture fails at that miserably.

When the fog settles over our mountain like a soft, white, winter shawl, I'm glad to be indoors, enjoying the view where it's warm.

It's not the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, but it has a beauty of its own.

The remnants of yesterday's raindrops are dripping off the eaves The sun slips in and out of the clouds as the thick fog that had settled over the valley floor and wrapped around the base of the mountains slowly rises toward the light blue sky. The trees have the open pasture surrounded in a halo of golden leaves. If only autumn could linger in the canyon a little longer.

Quaking aspens...the gold mines may lie empty and dormant, but Bullion Canyon is still full of gold in the fall.

Happy Fall, y'all! Everything I love is here...the golden aspens, the reddening Rocky Mountain maples, the cool mornings, the perfect days. I look forward to wearing sweaters with my jeans, sitting on the deck in the predawn hour, listening to the aspens flutter in the breeze, and taking pictures of all that makes me happy. Of all the seasons, I fall in love the hardest for fall.

When our owl came back, it felt like a blessing from nature that all was right with the world.

*Know You What It Is to Be a Child?

“Know you what it is to be a child? It is to be something very different from the man of to-day. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of baptism; it is to believe in love, to believe in loveliness, to believe in belief; it is to be so little that the elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child has its fairy godmother in its own soul.” by Francis Thompson

I wanted to capture the essence of this quote today as a light snow swirled outside our windowpanes. I pulled on my ski pants, a hat, warm socks and my snow boots. Before I put on my ski parka, I was sweating and wishing I weren't so hot. It brought back memories of pulling on those infernal rubber boots that had an elastic band clasp that pulled over a large plastic button. Those boots that I could never pull off without pulling off my inner shoe, too. I recalled snow days where it seemed it took hours for my brother and I to put on all of the clothes mom required. I called for Marley, and we set off for the back woods.

Our house sits on six acres of woods and open ground.  I love to walk along the path that leads to the creek.  In the spring, the aspen trees rustle with the slightest breeze.  But today, in the snow, there was only the muffled sound of my footsteps as I clomped along in the new dry snow that was dusting the old crusty snow from earlier in the week.  I love the silhouette of the greyish white winter branches against the sky.  Marley woofed at something unseen to me.  According the all of the tracks down below, we've had a lot of deer traffic.  I'm sure there are rabbits and occasionally turkey and squirrels. 

I lifted my face to the sky, letting snowflakes land on my cheeks and eyelashes.  I wanted to be present in this perfect winter moment.  I could hear the creek bubbling along under the frozen drifts of snow.  I peered through the willows to see the bare patches where the water had melted the snow.

Winter has not always been a season of pleasures for me.  I hated walking to class in the deep snows of Provo at Brigham Young University.  I hated the cancelled flights and the delayed travel plans coming and going during the holidays of those college times.  And then I discovered cross-country skiing after college.  I learned how to dress for the weather and discovered another universe dressed in white and surrounded by cold air and steamy breath.  I have learned to laugh at snowflakes with my children, to enjoy a good packing snow with youngsters at school.  I have enjoyed the challenges of downhill skiing during my mid-life.  Now that I'm 50, I am learning to enjoy all that life has to offer.  Every season, every time, every phase. 

Childhood is a good place to revisit.  We must get older...but we can choose whether we will get old.  I choose NOT.  I am loving this life and the variety each season offers me.