Two crows canoodling On a fence Sound the mindfulness bell, Calling me back to presence. I snuggle into sister soul Canoodling with the divine, While warmed by gracious grace. c. Rita Hemmer Kowats August 29, 2021
After the onslaught of wolves and worries hurled at me on the news channel. After dealing with a sick cat and a sick me. I cuddled around my re-membered blankie and settled in for a reassuring lullaby. “Silver Birch” restored me, as I hope it does you as well.
“Silver Birch a lullaby” …Round and round the dangers prowl -wolves and monsters, worries, witches- but the birches stand like churches as the dark around them surges, Circles, crouches, clutches, lunges- but breaks its power on birches’ branches, Held at bay until at last the sun emerges, warms the pines, the larches, lights your yawns, your stretches, there among the silver birches. from the lost spells by Robert Macfarlane and Jackie Morris https://www.thelostwords.org/lostspellsbook/
In William Faulkner’s Light in August, Reverend Hightower marvels at “how that fading copper light would seem almost audible, like a dying yellow fall of trumpets dying into an interval of silence and waiting”*
In the embers of an August day I stroll through rows of magnificent dahlias, waning sun casting muted light on a kaleidoscope of unexpected patterns of crimson, yellow, orange and pink. In the last hurrah of summer this rich contrast of muted light on dazzling dahlias is an unexpected harbinger of hibernation, A time of soulseeing by fresh angles of light, waiting for outside sun to rise and warm again. Summer still. Yet I stroll through this “interval of silence and waiting”* expecting the gift of harvest and the calm of the cave. c. Rita H Kowats 8/9/2021