Isabella Bird Miscellany

It's a snow day, and boy I'm having a hard time focusing. Darn Ground Hog. He didn't see his shadow. That should mean spring's coming early. Heck, in January we had spring. The end of February however, has brought old man winter back.  I use the hashtag " #doilikesnow ." That's a tricky question, one that appears simple at face value; yes or no. The ruse occurs in the answer, since I'm more gray than black and white. I dig a powder-sugar dusting of snow and pendants of icicles lining the roof edge.  Silhouetted trees with snow clinging to bare branches, catching where limbs meets trunk are simply grand. And, I relish the solace and silence that a snow day creates. All winter dreamy stuff, right?  very small, insignificant snowflakes drifted down swirling casually before obscuring the dirt, pavement, the people it was quiet and subdued all you could see was white no definition between sky meeting earth everyone, everything ...

Leaving Las Vegas, a line made famous in movies, song lyrics and billboard slogans. For me, it’s more than a catch-phrase. It pierces my heart, now more than ever. You see, previously, people were there drawing me back, but as pages are torn from the book entitled “Life,” I’m more aware of how fleeting and transient things are. Change is a given. My heart feels - each word expressed - come back, don’t be a stranger. I know they’re wondering if they’re losing all contact with the family of ones deeply loved. I wonder, too. And while I also know that’s how things happen, I don’t have to like it. So, I stare out the window of the plane, the sun bringing light and heat to the day in shades of pink and pale orange which burst against the blue sky. My thoughts are pensive, questioning, seeing only the rugged ranges with striations of soil and color veining them. As the plane climbs we soar above the clouds stacked on each other like mounds of whipped sweet cream. Contemplat...

I think in fragments. There's something curious and engaging about partial thoughts that have no punctuation or delineation. The oddments leave me wondering what's next, what's beyond the obvious. This unknown is like peering through a hole in the fence to see what’s there or opening a box of junk found in a cranny of the garage. I like to write what I call “Found Poems.” The basic idea is to take a handful of words, fragments if you will, and use them to write a poem.   The words I chose to incorporate into this Found Poem made it difficult,  but it's a good exercise for my mind to pull together disparate words to form something. Poetry should flow, yet the flow is often in fragments. words used: tower, viable, conversation, reservation, treat looking from the tower, perched on the edge beyond visible in every direction conversation viable in the great expanse no distraction, nothing obscured at the vantage above it all hesitation, ...

It was 14 degrees when I went for a walk the other morning. Three layers under my puffy, wool socks, fur lined boots, checked scarf and a knitted beanie. Oh, and omni-heat gloves, but my hands were still cold. The morning fog was clearing and tiny ice particles drifted from the frosted air, dusting everything in delicate white. Faint sunshine was marginally warmer than the shadows. Interesting, at that temperature, to experience a meager difference. Belle was oblivious, romping and sniffing in the cold, while I wandered, observing. Observing iced trees hung with pinecone ornaments and glistening leftover crab apples. They looked like candied apples to pluck. Diminutive birds fluttered from branches overhead, joyous, as one would expect. And a squirrel or two ventured out, fleet of foot. I found myself humming " Walking in a Winter Wonderland ." It's one of my favorite Christmas songs, always reminding me of my Granddaddy. Later on, we'll conspire, ...

The lights just clicked on. The ones we hung outside last Friday when the day was bright and fair. Today it’s cloudy and cold. It’s dark earlier. So, the lights just clicked on. It’s pretty. If I squint, the white fairy lights look like tiny gleaming stars. Bordering on gazing at an inky sky, dotted and specked with minute bursts of light. Two Moravian stars with multi-faceted points hang. They sway with the breeze. Moving to the wind’s breathed music. They reflect in the open window; mirror images, star duets. Santa arrives in a helicopter descent at the Old Mill. He sets up shop, elves and reindeer to join later. High fives, and shy giggles, the kids approach. Innocent, bright eyes wide open and hopeful. It’s a magical and expectant season. It’s Advent. Advent – the arrival of the awaited One – is more than my lights clicking on, the Moravian stars dancing and my grandkids’ wonder at the arrival of Santa. I love each of these experiences and the ...

death valley, california - may 2017 During my journey in the desert, I had the comfort of writing.  I wrote of activities and sites. I wrote descriptive phrases for photos. I wrote pieces of poetry that express more than pages and pages in my journals. These words, I think I’ll keep close as they teach me a way to live in awareness and mindfulness. I hope  you, too will find some inspiration in the silent sounds of the desert. chartreuse desert bloom encircled with thorns I hear the silent sounds of the desert crickets, a few birds, my breath it’s a quiet more quiet than switching off everyday sounds At times I must strain to hear my own heartbeat or eyes blink listening with intention, I begin to hear a beetle in the sand; shuffling like old feet a bee’s wings as it pauses for nectar on a cactus blossom I hear the words of the one who created the zephyr that kicks at the sand; drying my very soul ...

doodles on the side of a wall, graffiti or art? little hands scrawl squiggly, wiggles on a page free, creative marks with no rhyme or reason this is a pony, this is a cloud no resemblance can be seen, but it’s there “aren’t lines supposed to be straight?” comments the adult mind, stuck in a box of rules We’ve lost the ability to just think, to watch clouds and scribble. Doodling away time – what a waste, not productive to jot and color, and heaven forbid, outside the lines. Aren’t lines supposed to be straight? Predictable? What about crossing the proverbial line, bending it or careful, wobbling on it? Walk the line, draw the line, but don’t cross the line. Peek, if you dare to take the chance, at the Alice in Wonderland possibilities on the squiggly side of the line. nothing straight here, except the lines in the corrugated tin These thoughts speak strongly to my keen sense of sensibility. By nature I am organized and productive. I find taki...

only a shadow I’m out. I’m free. I drove. I’m capable. My sweet zombie apocalypse Mini Cooper is awesome! It tears up the snow and ice like the Wulfe that it is, however, the beauty and the curse of my ride is the low ground clearance. It’s brilliant for stability in a myriad of road conditions, except for deep snow, and deep snow has happened in my city. Roads are plowed in town and actually in my neighborhood. The issue has arrived in the alley which leads to my garage. It is only passable if you happen to drive a 4 x 4 that’s jacked 10 feet up. Well, maybe I am exaggerating a tiny bit, but needless to say, Wulfe has stayed in the garage for almost a week. my sweet wulfe before the snow continued and continued and continued Wulfe and I’d been out four-wheeling in the grocery store parking lot on Saturday. I can’t believe I didn’t go anywhere in a vehicle until late Wednesday morning. I’d walked and shoveled snow and cooked and did some work from home;...

red twigs emerge with beauty through the drifts of snow Ode to the winter wonderland that I find myself in, where all is white with shades of gray, except for the kids dressed in snow pants and bright hats and scarves. To venture out into the frigid temps, a daring feat of layer upon layer; moving like molasses. Still, the beauty is stark, serene and surreal. Gone are the days of sunshine and bare feet Tree branches are bare and dark across the snow laden landscape, motionless in the biting air Brittle twigs from last year’s flowers edge through the ice, a poignant reminder of what was Gone are lazy afternoons laying in the grass as puffy clouds drift overhead The frozen lake now dons the footprints of would-be skaters leaving a path of figure-eights And children laugh as they slide down the hill on sleds and red flying saucers Gone are the summertime adventures in shorts with bodies slathered in sunscreen Put away by a winter wonderland of crystalline w...

frozen drips waiting for release Sitting in silence. It’s still dark outside. White lights on the Christmas tree reflect off the dangling colored ornaments. Stock simmers on the stove. Drips can be heard outside; it’s the first day in a week above freezing. Yesterday, I posted a graphic I’d saved. It simply read, “Silence calms my soul.” Silence is a gift. Silence is golden. Silence is often missed; not even an operative word. We live with so much noise, chatter continually happening, externally, yes, but internally. Sitting in silence , I listen for sound; the stockpot lid starting to rattle, more melting and splashing, the coffee pot’s gurgling, my dog stretching and changing position. In silence I hear these things that might otherwise be missed. Thousands of years ago, shepherds sat in the silence of the night. I imagine there was a warm, crackling fire and stories of the day being shared among friends.  Their silence was broken with a great anno...

winter seeds, all is not dormant Soft season of quiet anticipation, blankets with mist and snow Preparing for the dormant time   Sweet solitude balms the weary, all is in calm repose Patient and silent in winter’s rest   Come gentle season of peace and stillness, envelope in candlelight and flickering fire Welcome Counselor, welcome Advent   Solus Christus Sunday was the beginning of Advent, a time marked with anticipation of something, someone to come. It’s a time of expectant waiting; things coming into being. I am quiet. I am anticipating. I am waiting for things to come into being. 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