A little dazed perhaps (wow)

A little dazed perhaps…(right!)


Monday Morning Wake-Up Call: Off to work

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Source: Baby Hippo kissing Mama via themetapicture.com. (Thank you Susan)

Miracle? All of it. 

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At times these days I think of the way the sun would set on the farmland around our small house in the autumn. A view of the horizon, the whole entire circle of it, if you turned, the sun setting behind you, the sky in front becoming pink and soft, then slightly blue again, as though it could not stop going on in its beauty, then the land closest to the setting sun would get dark, almost black against the orange line of horizon, but if you turn around, the land is still available to the eye with such softness, the few trees, the quiet fields of cover crops already turned, and the sky lingering, lingering, then finally dark. As though the soul can be quiet for those moments.

All life amazes me.

~ Elizabeth Strout, My Name Is Lucy Barton: A Novel


Elizabeth Strout won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for Olive Kitteridge.  Her new book, My Name Is Lucy Barton, was selected as An Amazon Best Book of January 2016.  The excerpt above is not representative of the storyline but Strout is a master at story telling.  “My Name is Lucy Barton” is highly recommended.

Check out the book reviews:


Notes:

  • Related Posts: Miracle? All of it.
  • Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

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A dunlin searches for food as it’s golden brown reflection is portrayed in the golden light. Photograph by Mario Suarez Porras from Oviedo, Asturias, Spain. This was a NatGeo Top Shot in the Daily Dozen, Nov 10, 2015.  Source: Nationalgeographic.com (Thank you Carol)

 

Ethereal Blue

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“Photographer Steve Mandel recently ventured to Antarctica where he captured breathtaking images of glaciers. His frosty shots are a unique twist on landscape photography—instead of presenting one view of the icebergs, the California-based creative shot a split view in a single frame. Half of the picture shows the glacier above water, while the other part illustrates what lies beneath.

‘This was my first [time] shooting above and below shots,’ Mandel tells us in an email. ‘I was inspired by some images I had seen taken by a National Geographic photographer.’ He’s fascinated by the form, color, and physics of icebergs, and explains what makes them so special. ‘The top of the glacier is white because it is new snow, that over time, compresses. The beautiful blue color in the ice is older ice in which the air has been partially compressed out.’ This delicate balance produces images that often have an otherworldly feel to them, and with this series, Mandel has captured moments frozen in time.”

Don’t miss other Mandel’s other photos in the series at his website: Antarctic Ice

Don’t miss the interview with Steve Mandel: My Modern Met


Source: My Modern Met

Walking in Woods. Clueless.

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2:30 am.
We’re back on the front seat of the insomnia bus.
Unfinished business from work is clanking around.
No. Don’t get up. Not yet. Keep your eyes shut.
It’s dark. It’s quiet. I listen through my eyelids.
The North winds whistle, and freezing air leaks through the window sills.
It’s cold. I pull the comforter up.  Zeke, at my feet, stirs.

It keeps coming back.
It’s mid-December.  A late Saturday afternoon.  Overcast.  Rain is threatening.  I grab the leash, call for Zeke and we walk.

Baker Park is a small suburban park, a brisk ten minute walk.  It’s adorned with a half-sized aluminum backstop, grassy fields and a small playground.  A wooded area rings the back end with paths carved by the Boy Scouts in a summer project.

Zeke bounds ahead, his feet stirring the leaves that layer the earth.

I pass the first. It’s a glance.
I pass the second. It has my attention.
I pass the third. I slow my pace.
I pass the fourth. I’m troubled now.
I approach the fifth. I stop. Don’t you dare move to the 6th.

[Read more…]

Lice? Hmmm. The rest? Zen Mastery.

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Ryokan was a Zen master, hermit, calligrapher, and poet. He was known for his great kindness – he would pick lice out of his robe, place them outside so that they could get some sun and then later put them back into his robe. He smiled continuously, and people said that when he visited they felt “as if spring had come on a dark winter’s day.” He took the name “Great Fool” for himself. When a thief stole his few simple possessions, he wrote this famous haiku:

The thief left it behind:
the moon
at my window.

Roderick MacIver


Notes:

 

The word will get around

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I went out before breakfast
to fill the bird feeder.
So far only jays come,
but the word will get around.

~ May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude


Notes:

  • Photograph of female bluejay at bird feeder by Cyanocitta
  • Dec 23, 2015 forecast – a high of 54° F. Tomorrow’s forecast: high of 66° F

 

Miracle? All of it. 

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Whirring notes of a varied thrush soak in through the walls of sleep.  Gradually ascending toward consciousness, I struggle to remember where we are, then realize what shore these songs ring out across. As the sky pales toward sunrise, I awaken to a world of dreams.

More varied thrushes join the first, until the woods and thickets chime like a chorus of bells. Other birds blend into the medley: fox sparrow, robin, hermit thrush, winter wren, ruby-crowned kinglet, Townsend’s warbler. Their sounds are trapped and magnified in the forest, made rich and deep in the saturated air – ribbons and lacework of song, shadows and flickers of song, splinters and shards of song, and the whispered secrets of unfamiliar song.

The cove fills up with bird voices, until even the noise of surf fades to irrelevance. And what of the songs beyond this patch of shore? If we hiked down the beach or back through the woods, we would hear the same chorus, repeated endlessly, permeating the air with sweet, mingled phrases. I wonder how many thousands of birds are singing at this moment on the island alone? How many millions along the north Pacific shore? And how many billions in the curved shadow of dawn that lies along the continent’s western flank? Throughout this vast expanse the land breathes with song and pours an anthem of morning into the sky. In the flow of a summer sunrise, the living continent sings.

~ Richard Nelson,  The Island Within


Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”


Notes:

Saturday Morning

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[…]
My head carries the sound of tap-dancing through puddles.
One slow stab of wonder until I get to sleep again.
I think the trees are firework taxidermy.
A steady reminder of celebration and light.
How quiet.
I’m a collapsing house.
Come collect me.
[…]

~ Dalton Day, “Stepping Out of Sorrow,” published in Souvenir


Notes:

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