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wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella.
Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed.

pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk
the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being
funny, how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and pick up the mopped, fluffy head
full of wispy seeds of would-be, it held a fundamental artistry lying i…
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pieces of me

We went away for the weekend; a quick getaway stolen to breathe. Stolen to rest. Stolen to connect, with each other, maybe with random encounters.

The sea was stormy, but we could walk on the beach without being soaked or blown away. Experiencing the power of the waves, noticing stones and debris, some quite large, tossed like one would toss Pick-up Stix. Sunny beach days are glorious, but for me, there’s a special appeal in the moodiness of a storm.

Our paths crossed with vendors and servers and other visitors such as ourselves. Two encounters were different, no actually three.

The initial encounter was with the servers at our first breakfast joint. The guy behind the counter was polite and refined in his jeans, t-shirt and Vans. The restaurant only accepts cash. Who carries much of that anymore? We had some, but needed to pay attention to what we ordered since we weren’t prepared. The gal said, “No worries, it happens all the time. Just stop back and pay us later.” Who says that now…

wild world: facing the wind

The page furled in the wind, several, actually as I struggled to control my notebook. The wind was crisp; it blew hair out of my face. A cerulean sky hung over head; the sun casting low.

I watered my potted plants, perhaps for the last time until spring. Snow’s in the 10 day forecast, which seems odd since only a few days ago it was 70 degrees.

Birds were chirping, squirrels doing their thing. They know the season is changing to the dormant time where food will be scarce and only the flimsy bare branches will shelter.

It’s November. We’re on the cusp of winter. Temperatures will be harsh. My thoughts turn to the outside folks; those who live in tents or boxes, occasionally scoring a room at the local shelter. It’s easier…when the weather is fair, but never easy.

Cat Stevens’ “Wild World” blares rather loudly from my Sonos. Two lines rattle for attention:

a lot of nice things turn bad out there you know I’ve seen a lot of what the world can do

Things are wild out there – the wind messi…

waking

waking: aware, conscious, alert 
Morning musings as I meander not so meticulously. This particular day was one of those stellar days. It was cold and ice clung to the just-watered grass. It was crunchy and slippery. I needed to pay attention, at least in part, to my steps.
Noticing my steps makes for a mindful walk. I see things. Experience what's going on. Breath could be seen, not just taken in. Air movement felt, causing hands to be pushed further into jacket pockets. My steps made prints in the icy grass. So did Bella's and every other dog roaming around.
I would not begin to equate my park walks with my labyrinth walks. 
However, I do notice that I walk quickly to get to the park. Slowly while in the park; leisurely on the way out of the park. This rhythm sets a good tone for my day.

day is waking up                 assorted birds say it’s so with their voices the sun is much lower; to the south
shadow play is on a different slant, it streams through sparse leaves, flecked by a…

she lived an abstract life

she lived an abstract life,
         one painted, but lacking elements of realism
existence was too harsh
whereas the color-washed reality was delightful and delicate, full of impulse
                 open to possibility        children live an abstract life                     she had chosen to join them

Existing in thought or idea, but nothing concrete and tangible - abstract. Paintings, feelings, the wind, these are intangibles. I often feel like I live in and relate more to things, people, places that are abstract. There's a certain mystery, something to uncover.

Abstract is experienced, felt. It's not quantitative. It can't be defined or put in a box with a pretty little bow.

I often wonder why we want to define everything. 
Think about it. Your job has a description, an ailment is named or given an acronym and heaven forbid we leave the house without our phone which contains our defined, concrete life.

I have a job description, a few named ailments and kinda freak out if my…

ticking away a dull day

Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” has been rumbling around in my car for the past several weeks. Ethereal, out-there, reverb melodies echo. Lyrics seem odd to the casual ear turned only to the instrumental depiction of helicopters and clock alarms sounding.

The song, “Time” says, “ticking away the moments that make up a dull day.” That phrase has been stuck in my head. Maybe it’s because we view much of life’s routine as dull.

dull: not sharp, blunt, causing boredom, tedious, uninteresting, not intense or lively, passionless, flat, stagnant, routine, usual

What makes up a dull day? The answer to that question is as broad as the people you ask. For me, a dull day is a day without creative stimulus; for others it might mean having to do the same repetitious routine they did the day before and the day before that and so on ad finem.

When I looked dull up in The Thesaurus, words like common, usual, routine and ordinary came up, along with a slew of others. Some caught my attention becau…

i didn't slow down

I didn't get it written down because I didn't slow down.

I was mindful of needing to physically slow down my walking pace. Your voice was clear; a tangible choice to make, mirroring what my soul needed to do. So, I did ... momentarily.

I was mindful of life to be seen in the desert. It had been hot and dry, but tiny wildflowers sprinkled the rocky, barren ground with dots of pink and purple with grey-sage leaves. Dragons darted in the parching air. Killdeer bobbed the earth while unseen birds crooned.

I was mindful of stepping onto the dock; the bleached boards reflecting the sun. Small, almost see-through fish schooled away from under the landing. I'd known if I watched long enough, searched enough times, they should be there; and they were, they are.

I'm mindful of how quickly these observations vanish like a mirage when my pace returns to frantic.

Missy

If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, co…

silencing the stranger

There’s icky stuff happening.

Everywhere you turn there’s strife, displacement, floods and fires. My heart goes out to those affected by hurricane Harvey, as well as all of the wildland firefighters here in Oregon, as we watch our forests be consumed by the flames.

Taking it a step broader, our culture, our world can’t agree on anything. Everybody’s right and nobody is wrong; or is it vice versa? We live in a gritty world of real needs and hurts. The stranger crawls in, abusing, demeaning and using. How will we emerge?

I trust you see the optimism in the last lines, for there is always hope, no matter how desperate situations appear. It takes a resolute effort on our part to see the woven crosses and to stand strong, not silent.

“Hush, be silent,” crouched in quiet              words of warning heard all too often
“Plug your ears, don’t listen,” put it out of your mind                 still, the sound of slamming doors and objects crashing … or people                                 seeps…