calling card

Allured by your downy plume, I muse who...

is leaving this calling card from a nocturnal escapade between my house and yard....

scent of a supermoon

letting go of charlotte

My sleep abruptly halted at the bellow of a container ship's mighty fog horn.  Wet walls of cloud held to the rocky beach and like a nightmare's beast, the vessel cloaked itself in the gray sheets of dankness only to haunt my morning with an echoing cry.  
I threw on my long coat and grabbed my cup of black coffee to march up the hill into this ghostly mist.  Immediately my eye caught a spider's web twinkling with what looked like fluid filled diamonds.  As one experiences the Queen's jewels, I stood in awe of the delicate beauty and intricate patterning of this woven preciousness.
September's webs are no less a spectacle than the glorious Orcas passing by the nose of the point.  Quickly, I realized that in every bramble and fern infinite magic could be witnessed. 
I jumped back into a reality evoked by the classic childhood story of Charlotte's Web and as I walked up the hill, my thoughts wound nostalgically into themes of letting go, impermanence, and acceptance of change. 
Charlotte's Web scared me profoundly as a child.  In growing up under Vashon's shield of innocence and safety, I had an immortal's understanding of life and love that named change as a formidable enemy.  Loss wasn't an option if you played fairly and gallantly overcame evil. 
But as years passed and black and white chivalry proved a fallacy, I began sewing my own tapestry of understanding about love and letting go.  I no longer built castles.  I started crafting a sense of stability out of the intangibles of my heart.  Out of presence and acceptance.  Out of forgiveness and love.  My sense of safety has grown abstractly and vastly as a result.  My ability to withstand storms and villains is far more grounded than it was.  And I no longer need an island to keep me from the harsh reality of humanity. 
Before returning home from my morning's walk, I spotted one last web on the fence facing our porch.  The spider clung beneath the railing, sheltered from the wet drops.  She looked content and calm.  I exhaled and she drew her delicate legs close.  In her strength and tenacity, I inhaled a sense of my own. 

work is for the birds

Labor day.  My morning feet were slow to take step.  It was work to get my body to the gate.  With deep inhalation, I opened my ears to welcome the depth of birdsong echoing from the surrounding woods.  The cacophony of winged creatures enveloped my senses.  This chaos was the sound of business getting done.  The work of nature was happening all around me.
The industry in place between alder limbs and sword fern furls was a complex system requiring layers of communication and movement.  My being stood alone but not autonomous from this sophisticated infrastructure.  My work was a cog in this beautiful spinning wheel.
And then my eye caught a wonderful surprise.  After months of walking by it, a glorious bee's nest was suddenly hanging square above my head.  Like an international airport, bumble bees entered and exited on schedule.  My mouth hung agape in awe.  I stood and witnessed their world in deep gratitude.
Love is work.  Work is love.  Loud and repetitive.  Chaotic and concise.  Work never stops.  It merely ebbs and flows in a day and through the night.  Work is being and we work to be.  One.

mother nature screams

A week ago, the point was hit with an unseasonable August wind storm.  The fierce gale whipped up white caps and crashed the neighbors wedding in true mother nature style.  Giant staked yard tents were tossed like frisbees across the field and small fishing boats were stranded ashore on the rocky beach with no mercy.
Instinctively, I frantically started cooking while our power still pulsed to prepare meals for whatever wild was yet to come and just as I flipped the scrambled eggs off it went.  There is a primitive joy that comes from that moment of disconnect, when all gizmos and hums cease.
"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning how to dance in the rain."
This guy came down during the strongest wind to kiteboard.  I think he does a brilliant job of living the quote to its fullest.  Cheers!