Owl Inspiration...

Tonight we took ourselves off to the movies, a treat, considering its a school night..., we've been wanting to see the film version of this book http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guardians_of_Ga'Hoole  since we saw the trailers for it months ago...  And oh my..., it was wonderful... The animation is so incredibly breathtaking.. A must see for adults as well as children...

Owls are such beautiful creatures, sometimes at night I can hear a pair calling to each other - (though not sure what species...) And unfortunately, I do not have any owl photo's myself, but I was able to find a photo online of what I consider my favorite owl -  Barn Owl (tyto alba)

Photographer ~ Liz Noffsinger

I have another reason for wanting to post about owls, last night I came upon a new (to me) poem by Mary Oliver, in which she describes what I believe to be a barn owl as "pale angel..."  I love her poems, but this one really called to me...

The Poet Goes To Indiana ~ by Mary Oliver

I'll tell you a half-dozen things

that happened to me

in Indiana

when I went that far west to teach.

You tell me if it was worth it.

I lived in the country

with my dog ---

part of the bargain of coming.

and there was a pond

with fish from, I think, China.

I felt them sometimes against my feet.

Also, they crept out of the pond, along its edges,

to eat the grass.

I'm not lying.

And I saw coyotes,

two of them, at dawn, running over the seemingly

unenclosed fields.

And once a deer, but a buck, thick-necked, leaped

into the road just ---oh, I mean just, in front of my car ---

and we both made it home safe.

And once the blacksmith came to care for the four horses,

or the three horses that belonged to the owner of the house,

and I bargained with him, if I could catch the forth,

he, too, would have hooves trimmed

for the Indiana winter,

and apples did it,

and a rope over the neck did it,

so I won something wonderful;

and there was, one morning,

an owl

flying, oh pale angel, into

the hay loft of a barn,

I see it still;

and there was once, oh wonderful,

a new horse in the pasture,

a tall, slim being --- a neighbor was keeping him there ---

and she put her face against my face,

put her muzzle, her nostrils, soft as violets,

against my mouth and my nose, and breathed me,

to see who I was,

a long quiet minute --- minutes---

then she stamped feet and whisked tail

and danced deliciously into the grass away, and came back.

She was saying, so plainly, that I was good, or good enough.

Such a fine time I had teaching in Indiana.

Knitting Brings Quiet...

This weekend finds me at our local race track, watching as CG races in the rain...  My usual home on Wheels AKA "Petunia" sits at home, unable to start, (we think she needs a new battery)...  So I sit in  the cab of our truck and try to feel the quiet and peace like I enjoy when we travel with Petunia...

I pulled out some rich Kiwi green yarn that I'd brought with me and began to knit a toasty shawl for the cooler weather.   Once again I discover what profound and therapeutic effects working (creating) with colors can have on my temperament.  The repetition of the gently clicking needles and the beautiful colored  yarn passing in, over, through, off, puts me in a state of quiet relaxation, almost meditation... whilst in the background I hear the sound of cars careering  around corners and screeching their tires in an effort to stay on the track in the deluge of rain.  Its good to be warm, its good to be dry...

I discovered this poem I'd like to share by Pablo Neruda.  I love how his words sweetly describe the specialness of being given a pair of hand knitted socks, that are "as soft as two rabbits..."

Ode To My Socks ~ by Pablo Neruda

(Translated by Robert Bly)

Mara Mori brought me

a pair of socks

which she knitted herself

with her sheepherder's hands,

two socks as soft as rabbits.

I slipped my feet into them

as though into two cases

knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin.

Violent socks,

my feet were two fish made of wool

two long sharks

sea blue, shot through

by one golden thread,

two immense blackbirds,

two cannons,

my feet were honored in this way

by these heavenly socks.

They were so handsome for the first time

my feet seemed to me unacceptable

like two decrepit fireman,

firemen unworthy of that woven fire,

of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation

to save them somewhere as schoolboys

keep fireflies,

as learned men collect

sacred texts,

I resisted the mad impulse to put them

in a golden cage and each day give them

birdseed and pieces of pink melon.

Like explorers in the jungle

who hand over the very rare green deer

to the spit and eat it with remorse,

I stretched out my feet and pulled on

the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:

beauty is twice beauty,

and what is good is doubly good

when it is a matter of two socks

made of wool in winter.

Red Leaves..., Fall Song...

Red Maple Leaves in September

Look at these leaves.., already turned to their blood-red Autumn hue, look at the sky, cold, white as a starched linen sheet, like it could snow.  Early this year, but beautiful all the same.

Fall Song ~ by Mary Oliver

Another year gone, leaving everywhere

its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply

in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island

of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

Except underfoot, moldering

in the black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries ---roots and sealed seeds

and the wanderings of water.  

This I try to remember when time's measure

painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing

to stay ---how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever

in these momentary pastures.

I have been watching the birds..

We worried so much about missing the birds at our old house..., but there was no need, I have been watching birds for the last week come in droves...  We now have six feeders up and I am having to fill them up everyday.

Norther Flicker

Downy Woodpecker

Busy little Nuthatch

I realize that I could quite easily, stop, do nothing but watch these little feathered wonders all day long..., what a blissful day that would be!

I have been slowing down for the last week, is it my age?  I ask myself..., but I think more than anything its the change in the seasons.  Today is Fall equinox..., so its official no more summer... With the recent changes in temperature, and general feel of all things outdoors,  I find myself wanting to go to bed sooner, get up later, and I feel hesitant to start the day...  

If I was a bear, I would be getting ready to hibernate...  

Friendship...

Dazzling September Flowers

I recently came upon this quote, "Friends are God's way of apologizing for our families," written by "unknown,".... Whoever this unknown person is/was, clearly knew what a true gem a good friend can be..

I have been truly blessed in my lifetime to have a few very special, close friends, and I wouldn't be where I am today without them.  Their love, support and honesty have bolstered me through the good, the bad and the ugly, and thankfully continue to do so.

Today I had the pleasure of spending some time with an old neighbor friend of mine whom I'd met when we moved into our first house, we'd both just had our second babies,( both girls) and instantly became good friends to each other.   Over the years, we saw one another go through struggles and joys, spent easter in the company of each others families, ate meals together, experience family loss,  book groups, illness and  each others divorce...

We lost touch when they sold their house and she moved away to a nearby town...,  over the years I would occasionally bump into her at a local restaurant or the grocery store.., standing with shopping carts straddling the isles trying to catch up on each others news - very unsatisfactory, but it was what we had in the moment...

Today however she came to lunch and got to see our new home... She pulled up in the driveway, grinning from ear to ear...here she was,  the same sweet person I'd known, counted on as confidante, friend and sister... just like all those years ago...  the years had not changed a thing. I believe that when we are with real friends, there is a great opportunity for deep healing and self kindness, as they reflect to us the love of who we truly are.

Life is good.

Mmmm..The Sweet Smell of Blackberries...

Having revived my love of Jam making a few weeks ago when I made raspberry jam, http://neinahavelin.blogspot.com/2010/08/capturing-taste-of-summer.html (sorry I haven't figured out how to subtly link back to previous posts..., however I put it in in order to create context if you haven't read that specific post on which I'm blethering about...!!!)  anyway... SOOOO....,,,

 I became inspired by  the last of the season blackberries and decided to make seedless blackberry jam, (or jelly as some folks call it.)  In England "Jelly" is something that we make for a child's birthday party, or use in a trifle..., usually very brightly colored, containing gelatin or "Jello" as its known in this part of the world. Anyway, I digress...  Making jam is very satisfying..., and as most of the jars of raspberry jam have already  been eaten or given away as gifts... I set to and made some dark and delicious blackberry jelly...    I had to take some photo's, because I love the color combination of Black and Green, and its not one I see very often...

I love the faded green of the squash, the velvet blackness of the viola's (Viola Sorbet - Black Delight,) and of course the little jars of lustrous purply black jelly.....  its so...., rich...

Do you have favorite color combinations that just make you light up inside when you see them???

Season's Of Mist...

This morning I woke to the muffled, mournful sound of the ferryboat horn,  sending out its warning moans into the hazy fog of the Puget Sound...  I love these early fall mornings... heavy dew dripping from the shrubs and trees..., the fog seems to soften and mellow all the sounds of the morning... outside,  everything seems more accessible in a way, more exposed..., as if all the leaves and fruits know that this is their last hurrah, and want to say something before they fall, and surrender to the coldness...

Little by little, I am being coaxed by this natural world around me, to let go of the "idea" of summer and allow Autumn to be gently ushered in...  If I'm honest with myself, when I fully pay attention and see the beauty that is all around me..., I actually love this time of year, as John Keats wrote in his poem "To Autumn," now is the "season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness."... and its beautiful...

To Autumn

~ By John Keats

Season of Mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, an plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store:

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hill bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

For those of you who like to have their poetry read to them, check out this link  to the BBC's recording of some of John Keats poems... - lovely...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/romantics/poems3.shtml