January 7, 2016
Yesterday morning as I sat at my desk, drinking my coffee and looking out on the Merrimack River, I welcomed the day with this post on my Facebook wall: (more…)
December 12, 2015
The dike trail at Hellcat Swamp in the Parker River National Wildlife Refuge was opened for a week not long ago. As I walked the trail on the outer western edge of the Refuge, along the banks of the Plum Island River, I could feel the sun so warm and comforting on my back.
There was a special sense of peace felt there walking in this space that see when ever I make a trip to the Refuge.. I asked so often as I stop at Northpool Overlook, “what is out there?” (more…)
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December 9, 2015
Musings from my nature writing journal…
A cardinal flew across the road today as I was walking. It darted out from the trees and made a quick trajectory to the other side of the road, flashing its brilliant scarlet-feathered figure in a swift streak before my eyes. I became transfixed upon the stand of trees and brush that the cardinal had descended into, managing somehow despite its brilliant color to blend in to the colorful fall foliage. There it sat hidden in nature’s camouflage. And, I waited, patiently and quietly for him to emerge, ever peering deeper into the wood to catch a glimpse of him fluttering from limb to limb. (more…)
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December 7, 2015
Musings on a late summer’s day from my journal…
The tidal waters converged around the sandbar creating a rippling wave that crisscrossed and danced diagonally on the shore. The blue ocean water sparkled in the large tidal basin evoking the vision of a large sapphire sitting in the sun.
As I waded in the warm tidal pool I looked down to see a school of minnows swirling about my feet and my ankles. I imagined that they tickled my flesh as they swam by so swiftly in the sun-warmed water.
What a blessing to have this perfect last beach day soaking up the sun and lolling in the water that was near warm enough to be in the tub. Life was teeming at the water’s edge, from the minnows and hermit crabs to the sanderlings and piping plovers and of course, the large shore birds, the gulls of the Atlantic shore. Soon the cooler fall air would shift into play and the warmer weather birds would migrate.
The vast swarms of swallows had left the refuge just a few days ago. The purple martins were also gone. The songbirds had long moved on. Summer was winding down. The green marshes had been showing a hint of fall color for a few weeks, but suddenly there was a riot of color exploding in bursts across the landscape.
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December 5, 2015
Last night I just discovered a Carolina Wren sleeping under the eaves on my front porch. My first reaction was what the heck is that little brown thing up there in the corner? I have red squirrels, chipmunks and field mice around the yard. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a little rodent or some other strange creature. Finally after peering out the door at it for a time, I opened the front door, went out and walked up underneath it. As I slowly, quietly walked up below it, I realized it was a little bird. It didn’t flinch a feather as I stood there a couple of feet beneath it, peering up at in the light of the porch lamp. After observing it from different angles and being certain I was not disturbing it in any way, I went inside and grabbed my camera to take some photos, because it looked so strange all puffed up there, roosting in the corner as it was.
I knew it was not a Sparrow and given the coloring, I thought it must be Wren of some sort. Checking my bird book, I determined it must be a Carolina Wren. My first instinct, once I realized it was a Wee Little Wren, a favorite bird of mine, was to take it down from the corner and hold the poor little creature in my hands to warm it up. It made me cold to see it up there roosting in the corner instead of in a warm nest or bird house somewhere. I myself was shivering from the chill in the air.
“Why was it not roosting in a bird house,” I questioned myself? “There are plenty of bird houses about in the yard,” I told myself. “Perhaps it is new to the neighborhood, as I am,” I thought. Perhaps it is lost and sought shelter here on my front porch. (more…)
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November 24, 2015
Letting Go and Holding On is a four-part short memoir essay, which is part of a larger creative non-fiction project that I am working on…
Part Four:
“What was it,” I asked myself, “that kept me hanging on to a faint hope that barely had a glimmer of light on the surface?” Was it the darkness in his soul that reminded me of my own darkness? He was a complex man, and I a complex woman. The danger signs had always been there. But it was never intentional. Like two schooners passing in the bay, we each tossed out a lifeline and we became entangled. Entangled and then trapped in some all-encompassing soul drama of unfulfilled emotion and passion.
It wrenched at my sensibilities with all of the weight of the dozens of boxes of books I carried with me each time I moved. There were words in those boxes of books. Words I could not express, but someone else did. There were words in those boxes. Words of love, words of wisdom, words of pain, words of self-discovery, words of social significance. Those were all the words I struggled to share and I clung to them like a lover waiting for her romance to blossom and grow as a rose grows in warm sun.
How does one find the strength to let go of something that one does not possess but holds dear? How does one stop memories that flood the mind like a tidal wave each day, rolling in and out of the heart like thunder across the plain? This existence seems barren and cold without the desired one… Yet there is no basis, is there, for the desire? Is it love or is it the illusion of love that is so attractive? Is it the man or the illusion of the man that is so attractive? These are the questions I ask myself daily and I have as yet to find an answer for them.
And still, I hold on, clinging to the vine of desire as though it were a lifeline tossed over the edge of the precipice while I dangle like a fish on a hook, waiting, waiting, waiting for he who may never return. I covet that which I cannot have and I covet that which I do not need. It is a paradox is it not. The paradox of holding on to things that one may no longer need or want. The paradox of life at any age in which you realize you have unfilled connections, desires and emotions. These are the things that haunt me.
These are the things that I pack in my boxes and haul about with me. They are not my baggage, they are my stuff and they are my dreams. These are the things I allow myself to wallow in, wishing for something more than I have. Understanding that connections made on the map of the universe, must be played out, despite the pain. From these things, I learn every day. And so, I keep them close. All the stuffs and the man. For now. Because I am learning from them. “When the learning stops, I will let them go,” I say to myself. Until then I hold on; I pack them up again in boxes again and again, hauling the weight of boxes of books and rocks and unrequited love with me wherever I go.
The End… Maybe.
- Letting Go or Holding On: Part One
- Letting Go or Holding On: Part Two
- Letting Go or Holding On: Part Three
Stay tuned for Nesting on the River.
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