Archive for the ‘a moment of beautiful’ Category
spirit guide
As a biologist, I believe that human beings are fundamentally connected to the natural world. We are part of that world. To live, we need to eat and drink and breathe. We respond to the cycles of climate and weather.
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I believe, to be whole, we need to experience nature on a daily basis. In winter it is so easy to hide within our warm houses and pretend we are immune. But when I have hibernated for a few days, I start to long for a snowflake on my tongue, the glimpse of a bird, the sound of ice cracking on the lake. I need fresh air, a moment spent counting the sides on a flake of snow, the dripping of maple sap into a metal pail, the chortle of a black crow, flying overhead.
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Call me crazy, but sometimes I am certain our connection with nature is one of communication. I am stopped by the knowing look of my cat staring at me as if she cannot understand my lack of understanding. I ask for a prayer to be answered and hear the low tremolo of a loon from the lake. I am startled by the constant return of a yellow bird to the window in the months after my mother dies. I watch my hand painting detail in a landscape and am amazed at how a white line can capture the essence of a leaf.
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I also feel kinship with a particular animal. Some days it seems to express my disgruntlement with life. Other days, my joy. When I think of sound, the first sound I remember is the beat of wings on overhead air.
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spirit guide
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after the proper length of fast
after the proper exposure to fire
I open my eyes
but I see no animal spirit
only black
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I listen
silence
unless you count the compression
of a single beat of wing
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I stretch and feel the atmosphere
detached
partitioned by sharpened feather fingers
and the zigzag trail
of some multi-legged crawler
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my mouth is filled
with the down
of fallen angels
(also feathered black)
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the stink of burning quills
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where is a crow
when you need to experience
more than the characteristics of crow?
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Copyright Jane Tims 2018
renewal
Here we are in chill January. Days of snow and freezing rain, bitter cold and flooding and loss. Days when we don’t get enough sun to fill our requirement for Vitamin D. Days when summer seems so far away.
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As a retired person, my days are neither hectic nor sorrowful. My hours are filled with writing, painting, drawing, time on social media and an occasional meeting. I can go outside any time I want to get my dose of sunshine (if available). My stresses are few.
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Once life was not so easy. I worked long days and often came home tired and in a bad mood. But my husband and son made my days wonderful. I found this poem in my files, a testament to the way our families can inject hope into a slogging day! I wrote the poem in 2010, a couple of years before I retired.
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Renewal is possible
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I am entirely new today
some aspect of morning
has cast just-born skin
on me
the song sung by the kettle
the taste of the tea
the forecast of snow
the way you said goodbye
more like the promise of hello
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most days lately
have tears at all the edges
too much to do
too little time
late nights
mugs of coffee, half-gulped
clocks and messages despised
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through the day
I have waited for
old disappointments
to discover my face
but my noon coffee
has a hint of chocolate
and all my emails
are smile-embedded
and one of them from you
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my husband getting pussy willows for me …
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Copyright Jane Tims 2018
Tendrils
My cucumber vines are still thriving …
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And the tendrils are still so charming!
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This one wants to pull up a chair!
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On Friday, I had my first cucumber salad from my vines!
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Copyright 2017 Jane Tims
a moment of beautiful: tendrils
the place: a planting of cucumber vines on the deck
the beautiful: winding tendrils
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I have a small garden on our deck. This year I tried a new technique; I put a bag of soil on a table, cut a slit in the horizontal part of the bag, punctured the bottom for drainage and planted some cucumbers. Later, when the leaves were established, I ran a couple of lengths of string from the table to a nearby tree.
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Now the tendrils are searching for support. When the cells of the tendril encounter a surface, such as the edge of a string, the cells respond in such a way to twist the tendril. The resulting coils and spirals are so charming!
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a note of music
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Hang on little fellow!
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coils and curls
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Copyright Jane Tims 2017
A moment of beautiful – crocuses in bloom!
the place: our front lawn by the driveway
the time: April 27, 2017
the beautiful: three plantings of purple crocus
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A couple of days ago, as I left the driveway, I looked back and saw my blooming crocuses … purple and dark-purple-veined … shining in the sun.
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The sight reminds me to always plan for the future. I planted these a few years ago, thinking, one day these will give me and others lots of joy. Today was the pay-out!
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Flight paths
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Bees navigate airways,
scan for nectar, flowers
in April bloom.
Guidance olfactory and sight –
ultraviolet, blue and green –
landing platforms,
runways invisible
(to human eyes)
lead to nectar.
Workers gather
and leave
for the hive
to waggle stories
to their kin.
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Copyright Jane Tims 2017
a moment of beautiful – autumn leaves
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Like stained glass against the sky!
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Copyright Jane Tims 2016
after the ice storm
Our drive in the crystal world after the ice storm reminded me of a poem I wrote years ago.
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It is a rebellious poem (for me), written when I was entering the workforce and unwilling to be viewed from any traditional point of view. Part of the poem uses the metaphor of ‘breaking the glass ceiling’ (Marilyn Davidson and Cary Cooper. Shattering the Glass Ceiling: The Woman Manager. Paul Chapman, Pub., 1992). The poem is about an experience in 1979 of walking in a forest after an ice storm, on one of my earliest dates with my husband. Apparently I didn’t want him to think of me in any traditional role!
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Breaking the Glass Ceiling
we still see birch
bent in the forest
broken yet grown
fifteen years
since the ice storm
years translucent
as the curtain of fir
you held back for me
I ran ahead
wanted to walk with you
but hoped you knew
how alone I could be
above me branches
burdened
with ice
your hand on my arm
go softly ! (you said)
a touch
will shatter
twigs and tree-tops
chiselled from ice
breathe
and hear a million cymbals
tied to our wrists with ribbon
I wanted to listen with you
but hoped you knew
I would never be
coins in a wishing well
a ballerina bolted to a box of jewels
goblets clinking for a kiss
I will not let you
shelter me
I know only
shards of glass
from the ceiling
(some days I am fragile
only needing warmth
to keep from breaking)
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
apple orchard after the ice storm
On Saturday, we went for a drive to see the results of last week’s freezing rain storm. Every tree sparkled with its layer of frozen water. When we stopped by the roadside to take some photos, the sound of cracking ice made a continuous stippling noise in the forest.
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I was amazed at the odd miniaturized appearance of the ice-covered apple trees in an orchard not far from our cabin. The trees are normal sized but there is a lack of scale and weirdness of light in the photos that miniaturizes the entire scene. The third photo, including the ploughed side road, looks more normal.
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I think this will be our last winter storm of the season. We still have snow on the ground but next week’s warming should take it all away!
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
Lighting the tree
A week after bringing the tree inside, we have lights!
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I am taking my time with Christmas. I enjoyed the look of the undecorated green tree. Now I will spend at least one evening with lights alone for decorations. No hurry. No hurry at all!
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Copyright Jane Tims 2015
something orange
I love the colour orange. It must be so – it is one of the most used ‘tag’ words in my blog postings.
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This is a rather whimsical ‘side-view’ watercolour of an orange mushroom I saw recently in our cottage woods. I published the ‘top-view’ in an earlier post.
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November 22, 2015 ‘side-view of an orange mushroom’ Jane Tims
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November 5, 2015 ‘woodland floor’ Jane Tims
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Copyright 2105 Jane Tims
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