First snow

The promise of snow
appears in low grey clouds,
sharp tang in the air

Sunlit snowfall
Cold whispers drift on the wind
Silence in the woodlot

White flakes fall softly
gilding black branches upraised
to embrace the sky

The storm has passed
Heavy snow begins to melt,
leaving fine lace

A moment of quiet in the storm

Christine talks about the unsettling news from Pakistan, and about the need for a bit of calm in all the violence that the world seems intent on producing sometimes. I was deeply saddened by the news of the assassination as well, and decided to "light a candle" over at gratefulness.org. (And check out the rest of the site, including a virtual labyrinth and some thoughts on peace...)

Oh, and thanks to Don, over at Country Contemplative, for introducing me to the site in the first place.

Morning's cup of tea

I have a somewhat battered infuser - the kind that looks like a measuring cup. It's been camping with me and exactly fits my camping mug. This morning, I pull it out, and tip a scant teaspoon of Earl Grey in, then just smell the leaves, all brown and small at the bottom of the mesh cup. Mmmm. Citrus and tea...

And then, the magic of hot water from the coffeemaker, and slowly, those small brown leaves bloom, become soft and full, transforming and being transformed by the water. My scant teaspoon of dry leaves is now a plump tablespoon of glistening tea leaves, and there are more colors - various shades of reddish brown with hints of green, and even one leaf that is now a sort of celadon.

The light is returning, the new year coming, and I have a beautiful cup of tea. May the new year be filled with such pleasures for us all.

A gift

Snow between the trees,
a veil of ice cascades
over limestone cliffs.
Still I journey forward
carrying the gift within.

I'm back.

Caught up on my rest some after the grand train adventure. We wound up going sleeper car both ways, and it was lovely. While the "roomette" accomodations are indeed tiny (there was essentially no room for more than my husband's messenger bag, my small handwork bag, our coats and our two selves), they were plenty comfortable, with room to stretch out a little, a fold-out table, and a tiny closet. Meals were included, and while the selection was limited (it might be difficult to maintain a strict diet for more than a day on board), the service was prompt and the food reasonably tasty.

And they provided a space to go for quiet. While we enjoyed meeting many people over meals, it was also nice to be able to go to our own space and shut the door. In the dining car, we met train enthusiasts, a Katrina relief worker and his wife travelling to relatives, a professional dancer on vacation, a woman travelling to a school reunion and other interesting people.

I think if I were travelling with children, the train would have to be my first choice - on our way out, there were two infants on the same car with us, and a family with children. Unlike air travel, there were no major pressure adjustments, even as we travelled through the Appalachian mountains, since we mostly rode along the valleys. There was room to move about for the older children, and even my husband and I found ourselves practically glued to the windows, stopping only to sleep and eat.

The scenery was fabulous: from rolling hills and tumbling rivers to the vast open expanses of the Plains. At night, we found ourselves watching the Christmas decorations flow by. One house was plainly waiting for the train, because as we passed, they blinked the lights and waved to us. On the way back, we were able to tell when we passed the Eastern Great Divide, simply by watching the waters beside us - and watching the Potomac turn from a tiny mountain stream to the churning whitewater near Harper's Ferry was incredible.

Frequently, we found ourselves saying, "That town looks interesting. Can you tell where we are?" We were grateful for local businesses, because they often incorporate the name of the area, or prominant local features. Also, they were often nicer to look at.

As we left Chicago, we passed a large shipping yard and were simply blown away by the volume of freight containers - One part, we weren't sure - was that a warehouse made of freight containers, or simply a stack? We found ourselves thinking about the incredible wealth of a nation that produces those vast yards of food and goods. How can it be possible that we have created a system where so many lack basic heathcare? How could that happen?

Frequently, especially in some of those small towns, or along the rocky gorges of the Appalachians, we found ourselves wishing we could somehow both ride the train to see what comes next, and also that we could get out and explore the treasures that we passed...

I guess what I'm saying is... Wow, what a ride!

Headed for the Great Outdoors

The car is packed solid. Tent, sleeping bags, extra blankets and pillows, first aid kit, camping mattress, folding water carrier, cooler, extra tarp, extra tentpegs, metal dishes and heavy mugs, rain slickers and hiking sandals, camping chairs, and all the rest of the paraphenalia to set up a comfy campsite, go hiking and swimming, and just hang out at a state park.

The little pocket in the car where I keep music is stocked with campfire music to sing along to on the way there. I've read the weather outlook for the next few days and packed some extra warm clothes since we're likely to have an afternoon thundershower or two while we're out. The banjo is neatly packed away in the gig bag I made, ready for campfire service (though right now, not in the car.)

The water bottles are nestled next to the small bottle of camping suds for the dishes and the liquid castile soap for us. And I'm off soon.

Have a good weekend everybody!

Shadow trees make fine lace
For a dancing moon.

Crickets and frogs
Sing counterpoint.

How can I sleep
Through such a party?

*************

Drip......

Rustle
Drop

Shake

Morning dew filters
Through the summer forest
More loudly than you think.

Memories of green shade
Soft purple phox trembing in the breeze
That tiptoes between the trees
Tickling the hair on my neck

Moss-covered limestone bones
Hold the prints of ancient years,
Beside the ironwood tree
My resting, hiding, me-place

Deep clay in the valley,
Carved by long-ago glacier waters,
Still holds Johnny Crick,
Cool water for restless feet

Tangled berry brambles,
Long meadow grasses,
Cows gaze in bemusement
As I embrace the summer wind

A busy day

Went to the Smithsonian today and took in the Portuguese exhibit at the Freer and Sackler, and the National Museum of African Art (One of the neat things about the Smithsonian is that these three museums all connect underground, so you can start wandering in one of them and come up to the outside again in another. Technically, there wasn't any of the exhibit in the Freer, but that's where we came in, and they're always mentioned together anyway...)

The Freer and Sackler have long been favorite haunts of mine - they tend to be quieter than the Air and Space Museum, for instance, or even the main galleries of the Natural History Museum in summer. And space is divided in interesting ways, and there are plenty of nicely padded benches for sitting and contemplating on (or for resting feet that have carried you through a maze of marble hallways and stairs). And best of all, if you make it all the way down to the bottom of the Sackler, there is the pottery room. The pottery room has a lovely, quiet fountain in it, and a few, exquisite pieces of modern pottery.

Hushed footfalls pause
Listen to silent whispers
Feel a painted breeze

And, of course, once you are out of the galleries, there are truly beautiful gardens, walkways, and decorative pools to enjoy, behind the castle. Flowers everywhere, and benches scattered to catch the shades of different times of day. Marble walks give way to brick, and clever gardeners have sculpted a fantasia from hedge.

Under an arched hedge,
Afternoon shadows tiptoe
Toward bright water.

The National Mall is growing dry and dusty from the heat, and from the millions of visitors who stroll across the grass, but even here, the trees spread shade, and there are vendors selling ices. And if you know where to go, there are sunken sculpture gardens with some shade, and quiet walkways. Plus, of course, the tall marble porches of the museums seem to offer relief.

Robins flick dust,
Watching tourists come and go.
Maybe scraps will fall.

After all that walking, I was glad to catch a train back out of the city, and stop to pick up the last few items for tomorrow from the grocery.

The God of the Quiet Place

I found myself leaving this comment on a link in Christine Bakke's blog, and felt it was worth leaving here as well:

I can remember sitting in 5th grade religion class and hearing my teacher explain that just about everybody was going to go to Hell. And I remember thinking, "that just can't be right." and I started doodling in my notebook my idea of the "path to heaven" which looked like a star, radiating paths of light. That teacher and I never did really get along well.

But I had a quiet place to just go and listen, and it seemed to me that the God I found in the quiet place was a better God than the one that my school was trying to drum into me. So I wound up with a really wierd religious journey, but I also got the God of the quiet place and She's good enough for me.