Isabella Bird Miscellany

The park was empty this morning. I was humming California Dreamin'.  I like seeing people and exchanging a few words, but there's something extraordinary and peaceful about being there - alone.  Isabella freely sniffed.  I could weave my way in and out of the trees without wondering if people thought I was a crazy lady for not walking a straight path. trees are gray-brown silhouettes  set against an ashen sky, ready to drop crafted snowflakes streets are iced houses bright with twinkling lights beckon us indoors winter is descending with darkness and dormancy and cold each breath exhaled creates fog an innate splendor  air crystallizes and suspends for a moment all is calm all is quiet in the season of rest and sleep I could hear the birds and see my breath.  I was mindful of winter's imminent arrival. The sky had that "snow sky" look. It's time to think about hibernating, where all is stilled and quiet for a time. Plants and ...

Walking past the hedge, on the edge of the broken pavement, the path constricts as branches brush past my cheek. The way is narrow and thin; a reflective pace unavoidable. There's life in the hedge - birds and bugs, spiders and the sort. Life seems well designed for creatures of nature. They exist in the hedge and dine on what comes their way; a small interactive society. In some way or another, we all live in a hedge - our town, our community, neighborhood and home. How much we participate in the movement of our hedge depends on us. Take the spider for example. She spins a lively tatted web and then waits, luring in her food. On the other hand, birds flit and flicker, seizing what have you's here and there, and then  return to their nest. Other living things fill additional elements of the hedge. All have a useful fragment of the being. I walk by this hedge most days. And, most days the phrase, "walking past the hedge on the edge" goes through my mi...

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.  - Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets She sat Mesmerized by bird netting Dropped over the garden and fruit trees It glistened in the sun and moved gracefully in the breeze So did the leaves on the pear tree Morning gentleness as birds made known the day Along with the quaking sound of Aspen Her coffee cup empty With a stained ring and splash down the side Notebook and pen left untouched She stood to tend pots of pink geraniums A train horn sounded from somewhere The neighbor's dog barked Her brown dog lay quietly by the purple table  Brushing hair out of her face Worn hands on her hips, she took stock of her ward and smiled Morning is my time for prayer, meditation and basically waking myself up to the day. I like it quiet and undisturbed. No voices. No talking. No answering. Simply quiet and undisturbed. In the summer, I find one of our Adirondack chairs to...

even city birds know they can find food and a place to rest “ Look at the birds ” – it’s a phrase I often hear in my being. These words are a reminder for me to take my eyes off myself, to notice the attitude and conduct of my feathered friends. Have you noticed how birds never seem to have bad days? I do, but they don’t. I was thinking back on a walk with some of our grands last spring. The leaves hadn’t engulfed the trees quite yet. When things are bare, things are visible. One of our granddaughters noticed a bird nest in the bare branches. She said, very matter of factly, “When I’m a baby bird I can live there.” These are the simple words of an imaginative little girl. She went on to find different sized nests for her big brother and baby sister; each with the same explanation: “When brother is a baby bird he can live there. When sister is a baby bird she can live there.” when I’m a baby bird, will I choose to fly? it’s the nature of baby bird, y...

look at the birds, free and unfettered Earlier this week, after walking around the lake and stopping on the dock to watch the water, I was mindful of the rippled surface. It was still water, there was still a sandy bottom scattered with stones. It was the surface, not the substance that was different. Peace, be still – Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

I chose a seat by the window. There weren’t too many available... The glass went all the way to the floor. A wood bar was mounted at counter height with wobbly swivel stools. The view was urban; sidewalk, cars and shops. An older couple walked by leisurely, holding hands, while a couple of twenty somethings smiling and talking had a fast pace. I like watching from my fish bowl. A small bird pecked at what I can only assume were crumbs from someone’s leftover muffin. It’s quite content with scraps. The day itself was rainy and really blowing. Mid-fall leaves trying to cling to nearly bare branches, knowing that soon they too will join the others spread on the sidewalk. It’s pretty. I’m sort of oblivious to the goings on around me in the coffee house, instead giving my attention to what’s outside. While there’s activity inside, much is happening outside the window. Choosing where I sit – Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or insp...