Fortune Teller’s Bones

So fellow travelers, I used this imagery twice in recent posts so I took some time to listen closely until a haiku emerged.

Cruel winds rattle leaves
Hollow fortune telling bones
Winter lingers long

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and now we return to the trail at Sterling ….

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

Photo Note:  the image is  one I played around with in an editing ap I have on my phone.  The original was not all that interesting until I tried some effects. I’ve had it sitting in my files knowing it would find it’s poetic expression one day.

Return to Sterling

So fellow travelers, a few weeks ago the Vernal Equinox dawned on a Sunday morning with a cold, unforgiving forecast.

It would have been easy to hunker down in the warmth of my favorite reading chair and finish the compelling book I was reading about bees.

Yet some persistent need sent me rummaging for my hiking boots and daypack. The simple fact that I could even consider hiking on the first day of spring was an extraordinary opportunity not to be missed. Trails are usually still buried in snow well into the early weeks of spring.

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A brief  glimpse of sun through the kitchen windows sparked my resolve to head Northward to a favorite trail along Lake Ontario.

I left a disappointed dog sitting in the hallway.”Next time,” I promised her each time she wagged her tail hopefully while I laced up my hiking boots.

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I am never quite sure how I manage to leave this face behind.

This trip would be a scouting expedition. There were reports of owls nesting  in the midst of a Great Blue Heron Rookery as well as an eagle nest in the same area. With the trees still barren of leaves, the opportunity to spot returning migrants darting through branches is at its best right now.  All too soon, the forest canopy will fill in making it more challenging to spot those elusive songbirds and the hungry birds of prey who follow their migrating meals.

Lake Ontario is less than an hour’s drive north, provided of course I am not distracted by say a flock of wild turkeys dashing across the road requiring me to pull over and snap some photos.

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or stop to check if the trumpeter swans have returned to their nest in a small swamp along the way

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No one at the nesting site but a lone red wing blackbird

and I took a few wrong turns because I forgot to grab the GPS when I left. Sterling Nature Center is at the end of an elusive dirt road reached by a maze of several smaller country roads which may or may not still have their signs intact after a season of snowplow passes. Once I pulled into the parking area, this glimpse of brilliant blue water under a crisp blue sky encouraged me to brave the brisk winds blowing off the lake.

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As I’ve mentioned,  hiking in high winds is something I avoid whenever possible.  So the distant cry of hawks over Dragon Fly pond encouraged me to pull on a wool headband and head for the trails to the heron rookery

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But first a little photo op  with this happy fellow, who was so busy at the feeder he didn’t mind my quiet approach and shutter clicks as he ate.

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Chickadees may not be a rare sighting yet I am always thrilled to see them anytime, anywhere. They are loyal little spirits who keep my connection to nature alive through winter’s fiercest weather and remind me warmer days and greener views will come.

For now mosses are the only green showing in these woods

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although there were some splashes of color to be found here and there

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Perfectly framed by a rugged yet graceful arch

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Winter Aconite by the feeder gardens

The wind whistled through the barren tree tops and rattled dried leaves still clinging to bushes along the trail.

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Long dead leaves rattling in the wind like fortune telling bones.

Even before reaching the water, the haunting echo of geese and herons calling created an eerie atmosphere. Standing alone on the observation deck it was hard not to get spooked by the weird sounds and ghostly image of the twisted trees.  I regretted leaving my dog at home.

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Still, it was good to have my hands free to switch between my camera and big birding binoculars as I scanned the nests in search for the one being occupied by owls. There is a helpful photo posted on site with the owls nest marked which guided me to the right spot.  I could just make out two ear tufts flicking now and then in the blustery winds. Time will tell if the owls will still be here when Favorite Youngest Daughter and I set out for the annual Birdathon event in six weeks. Last year a mid April storm caused the nest to fail and recent bad weather may have the same outcome this year.

Meanwhile I had another section of the trails I wanted to explore, a path which would take me along the lake, an area I come to often when trying to settle an uneasiness in my spirit.

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to be continued

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

 

 

 

 

Weather or not: The art of hiking from home

So fellow travelers, I woke this morning to howling winds and white out conditions.

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SOC shot of the view from my bedroom this morning blurry from blowing snow.

 

Looks like Ma Nature’s big April Fool’s joke this year was to send us snow in a bit more abundance than the “scattered snow showers,” originally forecast. I scurried downstairs to check the bird feeders which I topped off yesterday in anticipation of our spring migrants needs for extra fuel to stay warm through this cold snap.

A mound of snow blew in the back door telling me I would need to retrieve the shovels from the garage where I had foolishly stashed them a few days ago. I should know better than to put them away before Memorial Day Weekend, after all its not unheard of for Lake Ontario to send me snow for Mother’s Day.

Delilah declined to leave the back deck until a path was cleared, then promptly dashed around the yard sticking her head into snow drifts in search of critter trails.

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The crowd around the feeder scattered only as far as the nearby pin cherry tree by the pond, chattering urgently as I refilled the feeder and seed trays.  They barely waited for me to retreat more than a few steps away before descending to feast voraciously.  I could see I would need to refill the feeder again well before days end.

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Patient little Junco waiting to dart down into the crows and redwing blackbirds  feasting below

It was the blustery winds which put an end to my plans for another Sunday hike. I don’t mind hiking in snow; I have sturdy boots, warm socks and liners, plenty of layers to pile on and a light weight walking stick with depth markings along the side. Unlike my over confident stashing of snow shovels, I don’t put away my flannel lined hiking pants and fleece sweatshirts because even in the dead of summer they might be called into service on a chilly night camping by Lake Ontario or in the Adirondacks. Wind however is a deal breaker and I will avoid hiking in it if I have that choice. My ears were frostbitten when I was very young and remain sensitive to wind. They ache even in warm summer breezes; I have quite the collection of earmuffs, headbands and colorful bandannas to keep them covered.

After coming to terms with the weather induced change of plans, I realized I could still visit a favorite trail by working on a post I started about my Spring Equinox hiking trip. So right after this next round of shoveling and refilling feeders, I will download photos from my DSLR, fire up the photo editor on my laptop and get to work with a nice mug of steaming hot chocolate.

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sneak preview of this year Spring Equinox hike…..Stay tuned !

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

April Fools

So fellow travelers,  a few days of sudden warmth has all kinds of early spring surprises popping up. Just a few days ago there was still frost on the hardier garden herbs.

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Isn’t it about thyme for Spring?

 

My forsythia bush has not bloomed yet so I was almost startled to find little clusters of violets tucked around the base of our elm trees showing their colors already.

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They must not have heard the weekend forecast for an arctic cold front and snow showers!

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So I wrote the brave little purple hearts this haiku:

Violet pioneers
Braving a forecast of snow
Bloomin’ April Fools

I’ll probably pick a bunch to brighten up one of my window sill altars. They’ll be much warmer inside and will remind me winter weather will soon be just a dream.

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

A Blessing

So fellow travelers,  I’m on a quick road trip to visit family.
The early light created some simple words this morning

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Easter morning Light
Peace and blessings fill all hearts
Let Love grace your days.

I hope you celebrate Spring and new life in the ways which bring you joy.

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

Hope Lost and Found

So fellow travelers, our high school community is facing a tough loss and tougher questions. Today, on a walk through a new trail many miles from home I came across sacred spot

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where I found this

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It brought a revelation about a feeling I’ve been processing.  This sensation of running out of time isn’t about me or my dreams. It’s about running out of time to make a difference for others in personal and even more global matters.

This sacred encounter felt like an answer to words which I had written earlier this week when my heart ached for the young life ended too soon and I wondered if we could help these young souls know just how far into the shadows we are willing to journey to keep them safe.

 

There are no words to bridge this gaping chasm of grief

Had we known you were falling so far, so fast

We would have reached out to weave our hands and arms into a net to catch you

The breaking of our hearts cracks the code of silence

Too late for one

Now that you have your wings, please

Help us reach others

 

Although I have journeyed many miles from home to stumble on this spot, I am certain of it’s message.  Hope transcends space and time and Love never dies.

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

 

Sunday’s at the Rescue: Scarlet

So fellow travelers, I was at the rescue one afternoon a few weeks ago when it happened again.

That magical experience of watching a “gotcha” moment unfold.

With several new dogs transferred in from local shelters and the St Patrick’s Parade committee putting the final touches on the float for Saturday’s Parade, Friday afternoon was busy, even though this is not a transport weekend. I went to help with the afternoon feeding walks and chores. While I was there, several dogs went home with their new families, including adorable little pittie Jackson

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Jackson is a local pup who came to HHDR  through our transfer program with the city’s shelter. He was found tied up in a garage with his harness embedded in his skin. *sigh*  human beings can be idiots. Jackson is a spunky fellow, fully recovered, just as sweet and loving as can be. I am not surprised he was adopted so quickly.

Jackson is the kind of dog who reminds me to focus on compassion, so willing to forgive and trust us humans again inspite of the cruelty they’ve endured. You cannot be involved in any kind of rescue work for long without a strong set of coping skills or you burn out faster than a match in a snowstorm. This holds true for “rescue” work with humans too as I’ve learned from my job at the local high school. Anger is a draining emotion to hold and it does nothing to stop the cycle of abuse. It’s a challenge to feel compassion for abusers and I admit most of the time the best I can do is a benign shroud of sadness for those who are in so much pain they are driven to inflict it on others. When I hold a trembling, terrified dog I often think if someone, maybe just one person had done the same for an abuser it would have made a difference.

Pretty little Scarlet was one of those frightened souls.  She arrived two weeks ago on a transport from Alabama and she took a while to stop shaking and come out of her shell. Her profile said she had been “found one day at a shelter,” which likely means she had simply been abandoned. Her foster family said she was very shy yet responded to calm quiet interaction. The experience of the long transport trip can set a shy dog back a bit too, so it takes a special adopter to see the potential in these dogs.

Scarlet’s special people came in yesterday afternoon, a soft spoken young couple looking for a quiet dog they could have in their apartment.  The young woman spoke earnestly with me while her husband was finalizing their application at the front desk. She explained, almost apologetically that they had to be careful of the breed mix not from personal preference but because their landlord had a list of prohibited breeds (*sigh again*  BSL : Breed Specific Legislation and its ignorant offspring of breed specific policies is flawed and misguided concept. However, that’s a topic for another post.)

 “We would take a pit mix if we could. We know so many of them need homes,” she told me. I assured her we understood and that was why the staff always speaks with landlords before giving a green light to an application.

As we talked, one of the volunteers walked by with Scarlet in her arms.  The young woman had seen Scarlet in her crate, but said she was curled up on her bed in the back and didn’t come towards the door.  Now, held gently in the arms of a volunteer she knew, Scarlet didn’t cringe when this young woman spoke to her.  In fact, I noticed her adorable ears perked right up.  I held my breath when, after asking for permission the young woman slowly and gradually reached over to gently touch Scarlet.

Scarlet did not shake or turn away. The woman’s husband joined us to happily inform his wife their application had been processed and they could start the process of selecting a dog.

“Oh, honey this is Scarlet.” she told him.  There was no mistaking the longing and love in her voice. She had not stopped gently petting the little dog, still resting in the arms of our volunteer. “She’s very shy but she’s so sweet!”

He leaned in ever so slightly, without reaching for her and spoke calmly “Hello, Scarlet.” Again, our shy girl did not flinch.  In fact she turned her head towards the young man and looked right at him, so he extended his hand, let her sniff.  My heart skipped a beat.

I asked if they would like to take her outside for a little walk. Usually prospective adopters take the dogs outside with some help from a volunteer to get to know the dogs a bit better.

“Wont she be too cold outside?”

It was as if the young woman instinctively knew Scarlet was not a fan of the vast cold outdoors. “Can we hold her for a bit?”  I held my breath again as the volunteer gently bundled our shy girl into the young man’s arms.

Scarlet sighed and settled right in. For a few minutes time stood still, the noise of dogs coming and going faded, the clatter of bowls being washed sounded like chimes marking the moment, that moment when three souls wound themselves together into one family.

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Scarlet’s arrival photo on transport day.  Happy life sweet girl.

 

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

Editorial Note: Sunday’s at the Rescue is a series of posts about my experiences working with rescue dogs.  It is named for Sunday, a sweet young dog who came through the rescue where I volunteer, stole a piece of my heart (as so many of them do) and got herself adopted into a great home. If you like this piece, you can search the blog for other posts with that title.

Ghosts in the Wood

So fellow travelers,  after a heart breaking day of helping students and staff work through grief that cast a somber silence through the halls of our high school, I returned home in a restless, unsettled state of mind.

My soul was asking me to journey someplace both familiar yet unknown. It took a few minutes of flipping through the many trail maps in my mind to know where I was being called to walk. This is uncharted territory, this ability to hike deep woods trails free from snow so early in the season. It has afforded me a new experience of some previously familiar paths.

While I sought the solitude of the woods, I also needed the simple comfort of an unassuming companion. Delilah was thrilled to see me bring out her walking harness.

Oh, the unconditional love of a dog, asking no more than to be with us where we are in each moment whatever state of being that is.  If there is a more powerful  balm for broken hearts I have yet to find it.

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The woods show me strange images in this portal between seasons. The light is harsh without a filtering canopy. I can see far deeper into the forest than I am accustomed to. Trees stand in skeletal clusters, wind rattling residual leaves like a fortune teller casting marked bones. Deer paths beckon off the main trails only to disappear like false promises. Early leaf buds have wisely held fast after unseasonable warmth gave way to waves of arctic chill. Everything is a dry, grayish brown. Only ancient mosses clinging to logs hint of the green still to come.

Even before the tragic news of this week, my recent hikes on these trails have felt haunted by an unsettling Presence. The spectre of life’s end has hung in my thoughts since an elder family member’s medical team gave us sobering news. No, I am not one given to morbid obsessions even as an increasing number of those I know reach advanced ages.  Death, as our community has experienced several times recently, can come at any time in unexpected ways. It has taken quite a few long, ponderous walks through these new to me forest trails to finally recognize the Presence shadowing my steps.

Time,  I thought,  I am running out of time.

I have no specific concern which would indicate my time to depart this life draws near. I am in relatively good health and take decent care of myself. Oh sure there’s things I could do, eat a few less desserts, engage in more weight bearing exercise to slow the loss of muscle strength, all things I am working on. Being one to fully engage whenever possible in the opportunities life presents, this sensation of running out of time  is a strange state of mind. It stopped me in my tracks for a moment.

And then Delilah stopped and sat still. She looked at me, then ahead on the trail and then back at me.

This is what I have trained her to do to let me know something approaching has caught her attention. It is a vast improvement over the lunging and explosive barking she used to exhibit when anything, other dogs, bicycles, strollers, runners, squirrels, anything came moving towards us. She is rewarded with praise and often a treat as well.

It took me a few seconds to see the two black eyes staring at us from far ahead on the trail. The slightest flick of a brown ear and glint of bone branching up revealed our observer was a young buck. The three of us stood frozen in an eternal moment.  Delilah did not stir a muscle even with the intensity of her olfactory exploration of the air.

You must not pass this way.”

The directive was as clear in my mind as if someone had spoken directly to me. This was no ordinary woodland encounter. I stood still for a few more seconds, gathering my balance making sure of my footing and then whispered to Delilah.

“Leave it girl, come.”

I turned slowly in a seamless T’ai Chi pivot and walked down the path.  Delilah followed without a single glance back.

I do not know what transpired at that trail crossing. I only know it felt right as if Something had been Resolved.  My steps on the walk back felt lighter, not so much in joy as in the relief of simple acceptance.

Just before we turned onto the main path leading back to the parking lot the haunting laughter of a pileated woodpecker reverberated through the woods. Delilah and I stood still once more, listening to the echoes bounce through the trees.

“Ghosts”  I said looking down at her.  “Let’s go home girl.”

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Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

 

 

 

Mourning Comes

So fellow travelers,  I am up and on the road a good half hour earlier than my usual 6:30 am drive into work.

I arrive and enter a dark and silent building, dreading the news which will come, because early morning emergency staff meetings never bring good news.

So far all I know is somewhere in our little village a family wakes to unspeakable grief.

On the way in I watched the moon sink through layers of clouds. It had an odd tinge and no, this was not just imagination. I would have welcomed the serene peaceful Light of the familiar Face in the Sky. Instead a haunting image of a gaping wound squeezed between dark cruel fingers hung ominously over the horizon.

The sun was rising by the time we exited our somber meeting.

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Time to dig deep for words of comfort and healing. Time to hold onto hope, hope somehow we might reach through pain and sorrow to catch other young souls before they too lose heart.

Walk gently on the path my friends , hug those you love a little tighter and longer today.

Abandon hope

Recent events on a global, local and personal level, including some hard news about an elder family’s member declining health had left me with an uncharacteristic feeling I could not identify. This piece from writer Jennifer Bowman unraveled the darkness and gave it a name. Now I have a reference point for moving forward. On this morning of the Vernal Equinox I am ready to stop postponing life; I intend to start living joy every single day.