Oh SNOW!! Oh POCO!!

In the morning, 

a few patches of icy snow

remained in the yard, 

some shaped

like white eyebrows 

speckled black.

By afternoon, though,

when she was out with the dog, 

the yard was completely

free and clear

of winter.

She found herself yelling

across the meadow

"ONLY TWELVE DAYS

TILL SPRING! YES!"

The dog wagged her tail

and the wind lifted the

black hair on her head,

and she just stood there

and listened steadily.

Now comes the next day

and the white stuff

roars down at a hard angle

and falls as intense fluff

and mixes with sleet 

to spit new piles

on the ground.

Today, she is

indoors,

looking outdoors

and telling herself

she can't tolerate

one more snowy day.

She is about to

shout "I HATE IT 
I'M SO DAMN SICK OF IT!"

when she

glances at the 

dog stretched out

in her easy chair:

her black head

wedged between

the arm and the cushion,

her little white body

gently rising and falling

with her steady breath.

Ever so softly she

snores the

afternoon away.

It hits her then.

Why is she 

labeling the snow 

black or white?

Maybe

the "YES!/NO!"

"snow/no snow"

"good day/bad day"

dichotomy is

silly and

unnecessary.

Instead, do as 

Poco does,

just be with 

it, however 

it is right now,

no matter,

the snow

like so much else

is just part of all 

the glory there is to live

and love.

We Said Goodbye Two Years Ago

By Harold Hastings

Remembering my Dearest on her second yahrzeit

We said goodbye two years ago
But in a way we didn’t
A large part of me joined you on your final journey
But you gave me your spark
And it remained a part of me
We are together when I see the world through your eyes
We said goodbye two years ago
But in a way we didn’t

This is a photo which shows my wife as an active partner as we built a
kayak in 2013. It was one of the many things we shared, and it was part
of a "memory board" in our last spring together.

Harold Hastings is a research scientist, college teacher and writer, and

is thrilled to be a member of what might be termed the Hevreh art salon.

He has lived in the Berkshires since 2012. Harold credits family,

friends and faith for sustaining him after losing his wife of more than

50 wonderful years.

Trust Your Crazy Ideas!

Leah is standing in the meadow in her heavy rubber-soled boots and her emerald green jacket. The sky is brand new, a blue like she's never seen before. Wherever she turns, there is brown stubble sticking up out of the crusty snow. Poco sticks her nose in one tuft or another and Leah keeps telling her "do not eat the grass!"

Leah sighs. She's been taking a new medication and it has the effect of dampening her emotions. The doctor says she doesn't want Leah going "manic."

"What you went through while you were writing last spring was a dangerous high, a high that's always followed by a deep depression!"

When Leah tells the doctor that she misses feeling her creative spirit, that she misses writing, the doctor says: "I don't care if you don't write for six months! I just want you to stay calm."

Leah kicks at the icy crystals. She's not so certain she likes what the doctor says. What she didn't say to the doctor was: "You may not care if I write for six months but I care, I care a lot!"

Still, as much as she doesn't like what the doctor said, she is still a bit nervous about writing. Last fall, Leah crashed; the low got so bad that she couldn't drive. She couldn't call friends. She couldn't even muster the energy to go to the grocery store!

Poco scampers across the meadow and heads toward the wetland.. The pine trees -- the same color as Leah's jacket -- tower over the house. Last week, during the ice storm, a gigantic branch crashed into the yard while she was meditating. She jumped as she saw the tree split in half. The branch lay just a few feet from her door!

After that she looked up at the other towering trees and said a quiet prayer: "Please, pines, please stay in place."

Leah wants to write again. She wants the feeling that she can sail away on her words. She wants the feeling that her heart is steering the narrative toward the place it's supposed to go. Toward healing. Toward telling the stories of her ancestors. Especially the stories that have carried negative messages down through the generations.

Leah calls to Poco. "Let's go sweetie!"

Maybe because the ice is melting. Or the wind has a certain scent, that smell of earth coming alive. She feels an upsurge. She feels sentences, or at least words, starting to flutter up in the back of her mind.

An hour later, she sits with pen and paper. Beside her is the large green notebook where she stores all the chapters she's done for the book she calls "Angels Keep Whispering in My Ears." There are three or four inches of manuscript paper in the notebooks.

She's not sure how to begin revision. So she decides to open the notebook to a random page.

She opens to the page where there's a photo of a sign that her dear friend Kellie gave her years ago:

"Trust Your Crazy Ideas," it reads. And in Italian, "Fidati Delle Tue Idee Folli!"

Folly. Yes. Writing books is certainly folly. It can be such a long arduous process. You can write thousands of pages (as she did for her first novel, Dreaming Maples) to produce a book of 425 pages.

But Leah can't help herself. The mania be damned. She wants to feel swept up in the spirit of this book again. 

"I'm not writing to be famous, or to be published, or to be on Oprah," she says. "I'm writing to heal myself."

She looks out the window. Sunlight makes the wetland grasses and the willow trees glow. Questions occur to her now: what does it mean to be healed?  And once you're healed, are you healed for good?

She smiles. She opens her laptop and begins to write.

Sky Blue Washing Through

When I sat down in meditation this morning 

and looked up at the sky, it felt brand new to me!

The blue was flawless.

I knew I had to do a painting to celebrate this blue

and of course, the sun and snow too.

Sometimes I worry that I am going 

to ruin a painting -- but that's never true.

As long as I keep pouring my heart and soul into 

the motion and let the paint flow wherever it will go

then everything turns out whole.

I peel my sky blue yoga shirt over my shoulders

and take off my coffee-colored yoga pants and 

slip on my painting clothes. Who knows

what will happen?

Forest Prayers, a Haiku

Being in the woods

is like being in a church.

Each tree, a prayer.

NOW IS THE HOW

Today is Wednesday January 12th

2022.

It is 3:02 p.m.

I have just returned from a four-mile walk

in the milky light of the sun.

Patches of ice on the black road 

looked shiny to me.

The trees were dark,

stark winter statues

that will come

alive in spring.

Now I am back

from my walk

and I am 

having

something

of 

an 

EPIPHANY.

I am feeling the NOW in the way I often do

these days

when I just stop.  And sit and breathe deeply.

And keep feeling the air filling me up

and then emptying.

I am hungry so I go to the kitchen.

I treat myself to a salad:

goat cheese crumbles, purple radishes, chunks of apple,

pumpkin and sunflower seeds.

ALL DAY LONG I HAVE BEEN 

stopping.

And stopping.

To feel my body. My breath.

It started with morning yoga,

and in particular,

Breath of Fire.

Breath of Fire is well named:

You start by 

chanting the mantra

“Om namo guru dev namo.”

It means: 

“I bow to the Divine wisdom within.”

You sing it slowly three times

before doing any Kundalini yoga practice.

Then you start the breathing by

sitting up straight and 

sucking your abdomen in against your spine. 

You keep your mouth closed, and so

air explodes out your nose. 

Afterward, the belly automatically fills up with air.

You keep repeating this in and out breathing over and over again

as rapidly as you can.

I did Breath of Fire for several minutes this morning. 

It energizes my whole body!

After Breath of Fire, I did what yoga teachers say you must do: 

lay down in corpse pose and rest for a few minutes.

******* 

Here it is now 4:15 p.m.  The sun will set in about half an hour.

I made myself a cup of turmeric tea a few minutes ago and added milk and

a teaspoon of golden honey.

I am savoring every sip.

I sit here and feel the empty time.

No thoughts.  Just breathing and observing 

the snowy view out the window

as it slowly gets darker and darker.

The emptiness is full of silence and peace. 

I breathe slowly. I close my eyes and go inside 

and I feel my breath as it fills my lungs and abdomen. 

I sit and sit and sit.

I feel the sacredness in the stillness. 

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."