Of Oranges and Orchids

One day 

when my son was much younger, 

he was eating a sliced orange

and out of nowhere he said,

“Seeing an orange like this 

convinces me there is a God.”

I was rather shocked, 

in a pleasant way, 

by his observation. 

I told him I agreed, 

but we didn’t go on 

to have a deep 

philosophical or religious 

discussion. 

There was no need to. 

He had captured 

one of life’s little miracles 

and that was that.

I thought about that comment

this morning as I stared into 

the heart of my purple orchid, 

which finally bloomed a day ago. 

I love the very center of the flower. 

I marvel at its mysterious structure. 

To me, it looks as though the orchid 

has two curved “arms” 

reaching right out of the blossom, 

offering up the flower’s 

exotic beauty and architecture.

So here  I have written 88 words 

trying to capture the flower’s miracle 

whereas my son 

did the same thing with the orange 

in eleven. 

CHRISTMAS BLESSINGS CAME EARLY and all year long!

I got the most amazing Christmas gift from the Universe this morning, on this, the Winter Solstice.

Walking with our dear friends Leslie and Karl in the town where we used to live, Spencertown, New York, we saw three!!! mature bald eagles circling overhead, their white heads and tails glistening in the sun. 

My heart rose up to greet them and I felt so incredibly joyful.  I was head to toe in goosebumps and filled with gratitude.

Later, when we got back to our own house, I realized that I have been getting gifts from the Universe all year long.

Like yesterday, when I was meditating, and the red-tailed hawk that so often visits me landed on the tree branch that I can see through the window. Plumped up feathers, and a proud head! I watched steadily through the binoculars admiring the dark grey bars marking the tail.

A couple of weeks ago, a series of four red foxes paraded through the meadow, coming right up to our back lawn! (We think their den is in the woods next to the house.) 

A couple of the foxes displayed their prancing hunting style, jumping up and down to capture small prey in the tufts of brown grass in the meadow.

Earlier this year, I twice spotted a tawny-colored bobcat

at the far end of the meadow. It took my breath away. So did the giant blue heron that flapped its six-foot wingspread overhead. And the tiny brown minks, their coats soft and shiny, slinking through the lawn.

And then there was the hulking black bear

lazily crossing our driveway one afternoon this summer as I prepared to go to town. I sat, open-mouthed in the car, watching as it lumbered into our neighbor's yard.

Perhaps the most amazing animal event that happened this year took place during the early part of the summer, when I helped save a tiny fawn from the likes of a large coyote.

It was evening and the light in the sky was turning purplish grey. 

I had seen a bushy-tailed coyote

lurking in the meadow earlier in the day. Coyotes scare me, probably because I know how dangerous it would be for our darling little dog Poco to encounter one. 

Rich and I had seen the mother deer and fawn in previous days.

We were just about to go into the house one evening when we heard a loud bleating noise. We looked down the meadow and there was the tiny fawn, running back and forth along the fence. Beyond the fence was the mother deer. Apparently, the little one couldn't get through or over the fence.

Suddenly, I saw the coyote at the right edge of the meadow starting to approach the fawn!

I gasped. Without thinking, I went running into the meadow screaming at the top of my lungs. "GET OUT OF HERE!!! GET OUT OF HERE!!" I kept screaming over and over again as I waved my arms wildly over my head. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!!"

The coyote turned and scampered away. And the next thing I knew the mother deer had hopped back over the fence where her precious fawn was still bleating.

Out of breath, and shaking, I retreated to the lawn and watched while the mother led her fawn slowly up the meadow not far from the lawn. She stood there and just stared at me, her baby safely beside her.

I stood up and walked toward the meadow and spoke to her. "I'm so glad she is safe," I called out to the deer. "And please feel free to come back here anytime." We three stood there for a while, and finally A the mother led the fawn into the wetland and disappeared.

So looking back, it's been quite a year for animal sightings around here. 

We try never to take them for granted -- well, except maybe sightings of squirrels and chipmunks.

But the birds -- cardinals and bluebirds and hummingbirds and Baltimore orioles and dazzling yellow goldfinches and purple house finches and

red-bellied woodpeckers and downy woodpeckers and even a rose-breasted grosbeak

(Rich saw while meditating) -- we manage to maintain awe for all of them.

This afternoon, I walked across the meadow to greet our neighbors: three beautiful horses that graze in the field and occasionally go galloping up the hills to the barn.'

We are truly blessed. And as grateful as we can be.

Birches and Blue Sky

We found a new hike not far from our house last month.

It's hard to describe how magnificent this walk is. It offers a chance to be mindful

of mountain beauty every step of the way.

Located in Alford, MA, the wide grassy trail draws you up at a steady incline.

Before long, a gigantic cluster of young birch trees beckons.

The birches sit on both sides of the trail and when they come into view,

glowing in the sun, the grove of slender trees takes my breath away.

Close your eyes, and picture the crisp white bark against a deep blue sky.

Now imagine that dazzling image everywhere you turn.

It's one of those experiences that brings the Creator right here, right into my chest, 

as I stand and breathe in and out, slowly drinking up the trees' spiritual energy.

Then there are the birches' charcoal-colored eyes.

I realize I have an overactive imagination, but when I see these eyes, I feel the 

trees looking out at me. Are they happy? Somber? No matter, I am filled to the

brim with love for them all.

After you tear yourself away from the birches, and keep hiking, the walk offers 

marvelous views of the Berkshire hills and vast meadows stretching to the horizon.

Moreover, a clear view of Mount Greylock sits right in the middle of the panorama.

In the photo above, maybe you can make out our little Havanese named Poco.

Another amazing thing about this hike, called the Father Loop, is that our dog,

who often refuses to walk more than half a mile at most in the neighborhood, 

happily hikes all 4.3 miles of this walk. We've done it now four times and her 

enthusiasm hasn't waned a bit.

Nor, of course, has ours!

BIRTHDAY BATHROBE, THE COLOR OF A ROBIN'S EGG, and a Mindful Walking Poem

 Leah walks into her meditation room on her birthday, November 29th, and there is a big brightly-wrapped box sitting on her meditation bench.

What could her husband have bought her?

Smiling, she observes the curious way he has wrapped the box, with a combination of brown paper and clear green plastic.

She rips all the wrapping and scotch tape off the box and pulls open the top and inside is the softest, most beautiful bathrobe she’s ever seen. It has a hood, lined in cozy fabric that looks like sheep’s wool. And the bathrobe is pale blue, just like the old one, which is ready for the rag pile.

Later, she will say that it is this new bathrobe that pulls her back into writing her book, “Angels Keep Whispering in my Ears.”

But this morning, she takes off her old bathrobe and slips into the new one. She lopes down the hallway to the living room where her husband is meditating.

“I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” she cries out, hugging and kissing him. “This is so so much what I needed.” He smiles and they embrace.

And then she walks quietly back to the meditation room, and begins slowing down her breathing, and lets her body go limp, readying herself to sit for as many minutes as feels right, facing emptiness.

*******

After doing this painting a few days ago, Leah realizes that her book is a collage, a memoir, a work of fiction, a timeline, and a forever incomplete portrait of her beloved ancestors.

*******

It's Thursday, and I turn on the dictation feature in my iphone 

as I am walking up long Baldwin Hill. I begin talking:

"My big rubber boots clod

one after another

one after another

making a slight hollow

sound on the asphalt.

On the side of the road are

wet matted leaves in various

shades of brown 

and pockets of snow that 

look like week old frosting

on a birthday cake.

Each step I take with my left leg

sends a sharp slice of pain down

my thigh but I wont let that stop

me nor will I give in to the throb

in the big toe on my left foot 

exactly where it hinges.

Globs of wind roll up my nose

and into my mouth -- I can

swallow them. My face

feels so pleasantly chilled. And now

the sun shows through the clouds like a milky

lemon drop and now too,

raindrops begin

in a scatter."