Morning Dream

In the silence, just before first light comes 

Through the moving curtain, touched by early air,

I dream a waking dream.

I am a girl, young again, standing 

Thigh deep in water, facing the sunrise.

A long shirt of thin white cloth, 

Covers me loosely.

I close my eyes and know water as it is.

Fish nibble my toes and brush my legs.

Smiling, I say words in a strange language. 

Sensing day break, through my eyelids,  

I look out to the brightening trees

On the mountain, and the birds come.

The rosy sky is filled with layers of singing.

Surrounded by feathers, wings encircle me.

I feel the energy of flight in my body.

Turning, I walk, each footstep makes a path.

A few large stones call me to sit among them.

I feel the warmth of morning against my legs,

A  gentle reminder of the heat to come. 

First listening to whispers, then laughter, 

The earth shares poems and tells stories

Without words, but her voice is clear.

I understand. I nod. I pray.

Blessings are given to an old woman who dreams.

Late September Fog

Esplendora coming to the barn

You may need to remember the curve of road

When driving over the mountain at night, 

As all is lost in the low beam of searching headlights.

Sometimes, fog is what is left over from an Indian summer shower,

Holding fast to desire for moisture on a warm afternoon.

I know the science of cooling air, longer nights, humidity, and dew point.

But seeing from high above, the thick sea of fog with its island hills

Down below in these misty Appalachian valleys, there is a conjuring

Of ancestral spells, something ancient, just beyond remembering.

I hear a distant tune, a song in a minor key.

Early morning, I find the sun still behind the slowly lifting veil,

A muted white circle, existing in that certain stillness of “fog quiet”.

Even birdsong is suspended within it.

Walking under the shadowless forest canopy, 

Leaves, just beginning to turn, release a steady, muffled drip,

Mosses and ferns by the creek, so green, 

Shine against the surrounding rock and grey air.

October shows off, and distracted by the dazzle

We don’t mourn the coming loss of color against the sky.

But today, I whistle and watch the horses appear

Out of a silvery shroud, nickering, ready for grain.

Feeling the familiar bittersweetness of Autumn as they join me,  

Rubbing their soft, furry coats, heavier now, 

I take a long deep breath and exhale slowly.

Two tears meet the smile below them.

I am grateful for the slow revelation nature offers —  

The ephemeral curtain, this seasonal pause between what was, 

And what is to come. A secret shared, a memory recalled.

A longing lived, once again.

The Honesty of Animals

Yolandi and Maria

In the golden sunlight of September I sit, doing one of the things I most enjoy in life...watching animals. Whether it be farm animals, pets, or wildlife, whether they be furred, feathered, amphibious or reptilian, I find them fascinating. They surely teach me how to “see” and to have deep patience. Back in the day, had I not been so afeared of science, and pursued it, I think I would have been a damn good field biologist.

Most evenings you’ll find me watching my flock of chickens ages 3 mos to 5 yrs. Even then, there’s the interplay of cats and dogs, herds of deer in the pasture. No matter who I’m watching, it is about their relationship with others, with the environment, and their sense of self. Yes, their sense of self. That’s pretty much the way it is in the human world too, except for the ego part. That instinctual wisdom really is light years beyond ego, (in my humble opinion). Animals bring me peace. The human world not nearly so much. With the animals in my care it is about my relationship with them, but now that I think about it, it’s also about the deer who know me, my routine of chores, and our relationship, the birds that know I fill the feeders, talk to them, and who trust me after all these years.

Mazzy playing on a walk w/ me and the dogs

One thing I love so much about animals is their complete lack of self consciousness. They honestly represent themselves, with no care about anything but direct encounter, sustaining themselves, and finding a place of comfort in their flock, herd, pack. Sometimes it may seem brutal or unfair, but the order of things comes first. Once the order is found, peace exists. I shy away from anthropomorphizing animal behavior, but sometimes what I see, over time, and occasionally in an instant, is out of what we two leggeds consider “the norm”, creating new awareness about creatures and what is even possibile. Animals are surprising, too.

There is so much learned on any given day about need, tolerance, intelligence, resourcefulness, and honesty from a simple flock of chickens, trio of barn cats, herd of horses or deer, gang of turkeys, family dog pack, murder of crows. My life is blessed by observations and interactions. Like many indigenous peoples, that looked to animals for lessons and stories, I too, find truth in animals.

Back deck w/ my friends

September Reflections

My oldest son turned 40 this month, he is working close to 70 hrs a week as essential personnel (postal worker) in Oregon. My younger son lost his job because of the pandemic and was getting by until the feds pulled the plug on their help for unemployed folks, but he’s found temporary work in the cannabis industry. Both of them are in a dangerous situation because of Fire. They are inundated w/ smoke and ash, and a wildfire was less then 30 miles away last night. My husband turned 70 a few days ago and works everyday to continue to do all he’s ever done and not change a single thing.

I remember on Jan 1, saying to myself and a few people, 2020 was going to be a crucial year of change for everyone... personally I had an idea about that. My WisdomWays business would pick up momentum and I’d travel for that, teach and learn, and I would travel for pleasure. On my birthday assessment at the end of August, it was clear I was right and wrong. My business fell off to nothing, yet I’m paying rent to keep a beautiful little office downtown. I did not travel for business or pleasure. All was cancelled. I have done some online learning, loved my animals, the spring and summer in WV, but as autumn approaches, I see the changes did come, and continue to, just not in ways I might have imagined. I would never have imagined the ways people would respond to the “big issues”of the day, covid-19, BLM, natural disasters, and the continued mess and dishonesty within government.

I try to zoom out every so often and see the bigger picture. The person of spirit that I am is aware that evolutionary and revolutionary change is taking place. And I am working to have faith in humankind as a whole... that we will mend ourselves and together heal the bigger diseases of fear and hate. So many inspiring folks, sheroes and heroes stepping forward. I know some of them. In all the suffering and chaos there is opportunity. We can not do everything ourselves.Sometimes I am overwhelmed because I feel I need and want to do it all, yet that just creates anxiety, and then I’m more likely to get stuck, not accomplish any real thing. All I can do is what I can in my own way, at this time and place in my life. And I can trust myself to know the life changes I need to make that will benefit me and others the most while being fully true to myself.

For now I am in this moment writing... but sometimes it is prayer, sometimes drumming and singing, sometimes sharing poetry, sometimes sending letters, sometimes helping one person in some small way, sometimes walking in the woods, sometimes listening to music and dancing, sometimes showing up to a political event, sometimes finding the depth of my optimism and being grateful for all I have. There are many pleasures offered in life. The bigger part is change that happens within. So much of that hinges on letting go, feeling the pain of sadness, grieving for who/what is lost, and remembering love is the first, last, and only way through any of it. I love my children, my grandchildren, my husband, family, friends, and all my critters. I love nature, this small blue and green planet. I often do not have answers, and I’m more free accepting that. I do know love wins the day, we just have to live it.

Water Wish

Tilly swimming in a nearby pond

All winter we rehearsed it in our minds,

And like fish to water we long to enter the summer element.

Now we dream of cool still water within the pond’s calm center.

We see the surface shimmer that slows down time.

The whole sun, butter like, melts down on us

With its certain summer light, hanging heavy,

Poised to watch our water wish come true.

Beneath the glare, welcoming currents

Wait to revive us, with their miracle tonic.

This iridescent elixer, friend to every skimming bug,

Flick tailed fish and bird, opens wide

Cleansing us with its life giving medicine.

Water Creatures

Nearby pond

We are creatures of the water.

Our summer survival sends us to it.

You will find us where salt air moves through pine and palmetto.

Amidst the splash and churn, we ride the shoulders of the waves.

You will find us among blackberry vines on banks of secret ponds.

Like the Great Blue, we are lulled to listen and know stillness.

Yet, we dance and leap with gleaming trout and crafty bass.

We swoop and dive, free as the swift eyed pelican.

We float and frisk, plunge and play.

Seekers of swimming hole creeks, woodland rivers and runs,

We rise early, before the heat makes us lazy,

And stay late for the pleasures found in lengthening shadows,

Always taking shelter beneath the trees and clouds,

And refuge in the water.

The Greenbrier River near Hillsboro late summer

Midsummer

Photo taken Midsummer on the South Island of New Zealand 2019

Midsummer balances in the trees

And I feel trusting of that joy.

Existing in the happy chaos of discovery,

A singing fish, I search out this element.

Long hidden beneath the surface calm,

Forgotten, the playful thrill

of swift current, the dance of rock and rapid.

Lost for a moment in some back eddy.

Now I swirl forward, splashing, leaping.

I am the silver flash of change,

seen within the inner eye.

Things of the earth mingle with me,

and I, with them.

The membrane breaks, all rushes out.

Stretching to this intention like a seed

And straining to come to form,

I sink down deep to rise up high

Like the river that carries me on.

Appalachian Beachcombing

Bottles and pans found nearby

Living in these mountains, near old homesteads, and sadly where folks dumped their trash for generations, in the hollers or limestone caverns, I have found a pastime I call Appalachian beachcombing. It is a skill honed, from just noticing how many odd treasures could be found where and when. Especially after hard rains near the creeks, and around the areas water comes pouring off the mountain, across backroads, and down steep places, they are waiting. I learned where the best spots were for bottles, old pots, and odd metal parts, ( I admit to especially loving the sun/star burst shaped gears). Sometimes you need to dig a bit, but there very well may be something that wasn’t visible, or even there a month before. 

Sadly, there are still those that think nothing about throwing trash from their cars windows. Bud light cans just go in a horse feed bags for recycling and other un-recyclable stuff ends up in my own trash. It is older items that pique my interest. The cobalt blue bottle barely surfacing from the ground, or an old bent enamel pot upside down in the water are the treasures I seek. The pans find a new life, filled w/ succulents, the bottles rest with others in my kitchen window. On these walks, I also appreciate how nature has made beauty and art with the juxtaposition of rusty old mattress coils, or sculpturesque car fenders. They almost seem to enjoy their new life away from the hands of man, with greenbriers and grapevine creating interest around them.

Winter hunting is best, as a glint, or odd shape is easier to spot without the green cover of warmer seasons. Often I find a jar that has made its own lovely terrarium of mosses, leaves, and grasses. I leave them behind now. I learned they do not flourish at home, but are happier in the woodsy environment. Sometimes I go check on them, to see what is new in their little ecosystem. Perhaps my greatest find years ago was an old bent washtub, now placed in front of the house. Each May I fill that repurposed container with flowers, so it always sits there to greet us beside the stone path as we walk to the door. I wonder about its history, who used it, how was it purposed? And, even more —what are the stories of the mountain folks that touched all the pieces I have collected over the last 20 years. 

A salt shaker

The rock batter on the property boundary and the creek behind us offer many stones for use on the farm. This is also part of beach combing—finding just the right stones for what is needed. The borders to flowerbeds, paths, and gravestones where the beloved pets rest up on the hill— all come from these places, adding their natural beauty anywhere they rest. I remember the gathering of the rocks we used to build the fire pit every time we sit there, and enjoy the process all over again. More recently the patio off the front porch was a project. I am no stone mason, but feeling the weight, shape, and energy of the stones, and working with them was meaningful. When sitting in the porch swing most mornings, I look across those stones placed lovingly in the ground. We worked with those we chose — their shape, size, and the mosaic like pattern, but it was those mountain rocks that decided how it would be. Now they are settled into their new space beneath the pussy willow tree. 

Old washtub looking at the patio beneath the pussy willow

That tree, and the trumpet vine beside the shed, were two of the first plantings I made here on the farm. The grandmother of a student, my first year in West Virginia brought in pussy willow for my classroom. I rooted and planted it that summer. Now it provides shade over the patio stones.Today is another perfect summer day. The dogs sleeping at my feet will be more than happy to go Appalachian beachcombing with me this afternoon. One never knows where the trail leads, though I have a few places in mind. But being a wanderer/stalker means you go where you are called. There are secret spots that seem to often ask for my presence. Gifts await. I will pay attention, noticing the details with mouse-like vision among the grand whole of this big world. 

An old roller skate and a part of a coffee percolator

Creatures and Critters 1) Birds

Heron on the pond in February

It started when I was little. Like most of humanity, I was inspired by the effortless flight of birds, their habits, and beauty. I marveled at stories of their migration. How did they know when to leave, when to return? How could they travel all that distance, as small as they were? My fascination and respect grew the more I learned.

Mama fed the songbirds, keeping binoculars by the large den windows. She taught me the names of those she knew, and an identification book was nearby on the bookshelf. Though better now, even then I could match some nest constructions and songs to particular birds. Much of my childhood was lived in a large tree filled backyard, bounded on all sides by mixed pine forest. A rope hammock hung beneath the biggest oak tree, becoming a perfect space on a summer day for observing birdlife up above. Many twilights were spent listening to the whip-poor-wills call. Whistling the bobwhite quail refrain brought them from the woods up close to me, though I felt guilty for fooling them. Seduced into deeper woods, pasturelands, as I grew older, I walked with my dogs or rode my horse to cover ground all around and through the rural community. There were blackberry thickets, pond banks and creeksides to visit that brought different flyers and waders in. Secret, special places called me to come, sit, observe, and listen to life there. I felt “free as a bird” out living under the sky. That has always been a great attraction for me.

Through time, humans have assigned many qualities to the winged ones — the bluebird of happiness, the white dove of peace, wise as an owl, to name just a few common phrases. Hummingbirds in the Aztec culture were believed to be the messengers between the living and their ancestors, and their gods. They also have been our native peoples symbol for good fortune, joy, and love. In Incan culture both the condor from the south and eagle of the north fly together in the same blue sky, integral in their spiritual cosmovision. Our native peoples also revere the eagle, of course, and did long before our young nation took it as as their symbol. The eagle’s image is found on the United States seal, our money, and other places as a vital symbol of strength and freedom. In the celtic and norse spiritual traditions, the eagle, is seen as the visionary. Other birds are also powerful totems. The god Odin was always accompanied by two ravens, Hugin and Mugin. Each offered him their unique guidance. There are many bird references in the Bible. Horus is a falcon headed god of ancient Egypt. These are but a few examples, showing all cultures hold birds in high esteem for their flight, qualities, and specialized skills. We have absorbed these ideas unconciously, had our own observations and interactions. We are drawn to birds.

Hawk feather

Birds are teachers. Who doesn’t feel that catch inside while watching the perfection of a hawk spiralling above, or stopped to listen with a rush of feeling their “kee  kee-ing” across the sky? They amaze and teach the big view. I am blessed to listen to the barred owls communicate “who- cooks- for- you” across the woods on so many evenings and to hear the crows chortle during mating and nesting each spring. On the farm there have always the crow brothers walking around the horse pastures. There were four, now in recent years, three. I know it is the same birds. I talk. They talk. We have conversations.They know my habits, are keenly observant, and they are unafraid of me. They teach me to pay attention and use my voice. When gathered in a large group (a murder) in the treetops, crows teach the importance of hashing out disagreements. I call it a murder meeting.These days, when I change the suet cake, the downy and red bellied woodpeckers, nuthatches and flickers just hop over to a branch, wait for me to refill the cage, then come right back to feed when I am still present. It is meaningful not to be perceived as a threat, but a provider. They teach patience and trust. The barn swallows raise their young in the rafters each year, building a new nest just out of reach of the cats. Here they raise two or three clutches. The fledged adolescents stay around and assist their parents in feeding and raising the others. The second hatch continues the tradition if a third comes along. They teach commitment to life and each other. The many doves that nest in the huge firs along the driveway teach the value of community. The mockingbird waits all winter alone for his mate to come back from down south. He teaches the importance of holding space for family when they are away, and then to sing 100 songs about it every morning after their return. The great blue heron stands unmoving near the cattails, sun sparkling on the water. She teaches the value of stillness. The gangs of turkey up on the mountain teach us to look closely at the world, and be adaptable.The ducks flying overhead between ponds each morning and evening, teach me to honor the transitions of each day. I think of the wren that nests in the box on the fence post, the shy bluebirds, the singular towhee that appears occasionally, the flash of indigo as buntings fly up from the roadside brambles. They all part of life. They are our relations with wings.

To have rescued a few hummers from their accidental entry into the house, to feel their tiny heartbeat so fast, then watch them fly away from my open hand, following their confusing struggle, brings me fully into the presence of bird energy. I close my eyes and can recall the moment, feeling it all over again. The summer I worked as a back country ranger in Wyoming, ruby throats would come often to my campsite, hover around my head and face, then disappear, as if greeting and welcoming me to their world in the wilderness.

female ruby-throated hummingbird

Last week, sitting right here, several doves flew up suddenly from the ground, and one hit the bedroom window and fell into the tangle of flowerbed beneath. Immediately I remembered the times I carefully took the stunned birds that found my parent’s windows, placed them in a shoebox of grass, and tried to nurse them back to life and flight. Seldom was I successful. But I tried. Those that recovered from their trauma to fly again brought such happiness to my young heart.This dove died, but I held her, acknowledged her life, admired her tan and grey iridescent feathers, her tiny feet, and broad breast. I stroked her warm body and said words, just as I did as a child. 

downy woodpecker

This spring, different birds showed up for a few weeks in a flash of excitement before departing. Among the goldfinches, cardinals, chickadees, bluejays and the other usuals came orioles, grosbeaks, to the feeders and scarlet tanagers in the woods. I noticed their interactions w/the home birds, their unique energy, and felt thrill and wonder. New relations, new teachers. I save feathers and fallen nests. Sometimes I find nests designed with the mane and tail hair of our horses. Of course I love them best. When I brush the horses, those long strands are put outside the barn for foraging birds. They use it to wrap and cushion their eggs in that circle of life creation called a nest. The found nest and feather offerings become part of my home decor, gifts to others, and are present in my spiritual practice and work. It is a way of honoring the blessings of the birds.

With the sunrise, meditating on the element air, the feel and action of wind, and the wisdom shared by the eastern direction, I find birds appear, sometimes alone, sometimes in a flock. Always, the two that I “know” to be my totem bird allies are nearby to offer guidance —- the nocturnal owl and the rowdy kingfisher. I feel “chosen” by them. Experiences brought this awareness. My eldest son likely remembers camping as a child, and following an owl for quite a ways, flying and showing us the path through the woods. Such things happen consistently. I feel something dormant activated within when I hear or see the kingfisher patrolling, These two are such feathered opposites in every way. That may well be part of their teaching, and my learning. Once I read an article describing a study that discovered although birds have calls to alert others to danger, to communicate to chicks or a potential mate, or other purposes, their song, be it a warble or a trill, is an expression of joy. That is a lesson of tremendous value. I ask myself, “What is my joy?”and “How do I express happiness out in the world?”. Birds are angels here on earth, come to restore our spirits, reminding us when we forget that we two leggeds can also feel free, soar, and sing. I am grateful for the teachings. I carry that joy inside. I love birds.

small ceremonial fan

a few found nests

A rich and reverent harvest

A thought for these times

Kahlil Gibran

Stephanie Marshall

Adding wings to caterpillars does not create butterflies, it creates awkward and dysfunctional caterpillars. Butterflies are created through transformation.

- Stephanie Marshall -