Suddenly Spring.

April 24, 2014

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ltr spring

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spring leaf 2
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Suddenly it’s spring and you’re busy and no matter that the days are longer, there still aren’t enough hours in every day, or energy in the body to do all you want to, need to, should do…

Tired, a little sore, and somewhat sunburned, and yet it feels good.  Just a little longer out there, one more thing, and do you really have to go in just yet? Paper work begins to pile.. Bare hands, wool cap stuffed in the pocket of your unzipped jacket. Only to pull that cap out five minutes later as the next snowstorm blows on through. Yeah, welcome to Colorado. Chapped lips, eyes parched from the wind, mud and snow banks, and geese in potholes on pasture.  It’s Spring

Outdoors work is great, but sometimes I need to go beyond, to see and feel her in silence. Out there, alone together. Be a part of this progression of the season.

Walking with the dog for the first time on semi-solid ground out there in a passing storm miles from my house which is miles and miles from any other around here now. And suddenly the roar of what sounds like a jet engine across river. Rotten snow descends the mountain in a violent rush.
I’m glad I’m here, not there.
~

avi

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brewster park
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A raw wound
You’re left bleeding
by the side of
the road that leads out of town

To a place you’ve never been
and you remember
Anything’s better
than here

an open mouth of
Fish underwater Breathing
through muddy waters Gushing
down brown slopes

Did you think
it would be harder?
Did you know maybe you are

right where you belong

~

pole mountain

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spring leaf

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over the res
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Moon rises later now. I walk the dog with flashlight in blackness as clouds cover even the tiny sparkles up above that usually light our way.   With melted snow, even the ground is dark. Finding significance in the insignificance when I look up at the stars. Or is it the release of significance that brings us peace?

A pair of miller moths gently bang against my window as I sit at the table back in by the light. It’s mid April. Funny the things we are seeing.

In the early morning hours, moonlight floods the cabin. In the quiet and still, here on the sofa with the wood stove hissing and crackling behind me and the sky turning a dusty blue, I could sleep. I could close my eyes and let go and listen to the familiar sounds and be comfortable and warm and drift off. I know I should be writing…

Wake up! It’s spring. Plenty to do. Get up, get out, get to work…

The guys are still asleep. Life with family. My life is not just about me. It’s We. My decisions affect us all. And although I may not have the freedoms I once had, I have so much more. I’ll pass on what I had and am grateful for what I have.  Yes, and still want so much more. Thank god it’s only “mid life” I’m in.
~

forrest 1 (2)

 

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justin 6

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forrest 3

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gunnar (2)
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Continuing work on The Art of the Portrait. Because there is beauty within every one. Looking through a focused lens helps us filter what may be otherwise blurred by our own tangled minds.

These things are not found in the fast and easy nor with instant gratification.  A metaphor for society.
~

gin
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I leave you with this. The Art of the Selfie?
Go ahead. Laugh. No one should take themselves too seriously. When really, what I’m working on is the Art of the Portrait.  Since I don’t have a lot of willing victims around here, I have to run in front of my own camera from time to time. Okay, keep in mind a few things here. First, I’m almost fifty. Second, I don’t wear a stitch of make up or dye my hair. Third, I spend a lot of time outdoors… Yes, yes, I know. Excuses, excuses. But what we’re looking for the light, the composition, the essence if you will.  Capturing a mood.  Not a pretty face.
Is it self gratification or seeking understanding?  A reflection within.   A sense of who and where we are in the bigger picture.  Only more often than not, we rush it and compromise results and are too quick to move on to what’s next.  What is your place?  What is mine?  Ever changing.  How do we define our place of in between? It is our nature to need to know.
At “almost fifty” I am not the wild young woman I once was. I don’t care to go back there. It was fun, I survived, now I’m done. Yet still so far the wise old crone so quick to offer advice or silent in her seemingly eternal wisdom.

Who’s next?
~

gg
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Letting loose.

April 14, 2014

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rose hips

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cinquefoil

 

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flag seeds

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A time of contradictions.  Harsh and raw. Revealing, emerging, exposing. An open wound.  Healing from the year before.

She has lost her hiding places.  And suddenly, she dances.

I wrote this describing spring.  But somehow it feels personal.  Maybe it is.  Interconnected as one becomes, our selves and our land. Changing with the seasons.

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spring aspen up lost

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spring snow 2

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One day she melts, then next she is covered again as a furious spring storm blows in, lets lose its load and leaves, only to return an hour later.

Up here, we expect it.  Heavy, wet spring snow and the choice to remain indoors comes as a relief, maybe, just for one day, part of a day, and already I’m itching to get back out there.

I see now the innocence, perhaps ignorance, of my intentions.  The intimate view of my first book, exposing an open wound. What was I thinking in sharing this?  Two more of a similar vein completed, and now I find myself bled out.  I’m starting a novel now.  Nothing about me.  I’m making the damn thing up.

~

gunnar and forrest

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bob after face plant

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fg5

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forrest going into snow

~

Trying to keep my head above water when some days I think it would be easier to just let go.  In my dreams I can breathe beneath the surface. 

Yesterday the mountain lets loose in a wild rage of passion and fury and brown waters, melting snow, exposed earth like pale flesh, and the first fertile signs of sprouting green.

The great big wash that is the great big melting of the mountain began gushing down pasture between the top layer of slushy pink snow and a bottom still of ice, a fine line from cutting deep trenches through our fragile sub alpine soils and stealing it down river.

Sun burn and sore muscles as you can’t call it quits when the air finally feels so good and the long days are hard to leave when the sun still shines.

Morning muses as the mountain thaws and soft pink spreads from the top down as the sun light emerges in the mornings. Geese on the reservoir flats, though there is little open ground.  The air is alive with birds and their songs as I feed the horses in the morning, and hear though never see those owls in the evening as I go out with the dog under brilliant stars and growing moon.

We press spring and push back her snows with Bob’s Cat and there we have mud and we’re not sure it is better or worse but it is spring and the change is always exciting.  Preparing to break ground.  Forgive me, Earth, for cutting into you as we do our best to live with you, lightly beside you. May we not take but give to each other in no other way than letting each other be.

Out on pasture with a couple of curry combs, one in each hand.  I’m going for quantity, not quality here.  Get off some of the dang mud.  Their winter coats are just beginning to shed.  Out in the wind, it becomes an inevitable pig-pen dust storm around each broad back blowing into my squinting eyes.

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tresjur

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tres

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lb and crew

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What’s coming.

April 7, 2014

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leaves in thaw

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A request for readers and reviewers!  Of special interest to writers and avid readers of non-fiction.  This request is on behalf of my publisher and friend, Sammie Justesen.   Wouldn’t you know?  She’s also a writer…

A select group of pre-readers willing and able to share reviews is a great help for the writer and the publisher, as well as for other readers considering this book in the future.  Ever notice how much time you take to read reviews and how much it helps you?  Your help on this one would be most appreciated by others.

I was honored to have the opportunity to read a pre-published copy, and this is what I had to say about it:

“Sammie may have set out to write about dialogue – and that she does – yet her conversation with the reader goes far beyond.  Dialogue Mastery for Writers is about writing, for writers, written by an author, editor and publisher.

I was hesitant to read another ‘how to’ book on writing.  This is not that.  Nor is it strictly about dialogue.   As a memoir and nature writer, I was attracted to Dialogue Mastery for inspiration in developing further depth in my work through the use of dialogue.  What I left with after reading Sammie’s book is a brain swimming with ideas she has generously shared based on her years of experience in all aspects of ‘the industry.’  She shows us, not just tells us, with style, humor and an easy, comfortable voice.   Her examples bring the points to life.  Sammie indeed practices what she preaches, and shares with us as reader and writer a fun to read and handy compilation based on experience and insight.”

This is a great opportunity for those of you who’d like a chance to read this book on writing, and begin a conversation with fellow writer , former agent, editor and experienced publisher, Sammie Justesen.

If you are interested, would like some more information, or just want to introduce yourself to this great woman, please write her an e-mail at: sammie@norlightspress.com .  Thanks in advance for helping out!

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last years flag

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A dozen winters we have watched fade from the mountain as spring slowly creeps up the thawing land.  I can’t say it really feels like it’s here yet, but if you know what you’re looking for, you see it coming.

It’s coming.

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emerging aspen

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Not a day goes by without the magnificence touching me.  Some days, it is overwhelming.  Stops you in your tracks and your breath is held, eyes wide, and you want to cry for the sheer splendor of it all.  Other times, softly, lightly, a little bit magical and mysterious, as this morning when the I’m out there feeding the horses in the single digits after a dusting of fresh snow came last night and clouds are still clearing , and each branch of the aspen and surface of tired snow covering the ground is twinkling as if with a thousand stars around me as the sun inches over Finger Mesa and spreads long stripes of grey shadows nearly a quarter mile long across pure white from the tall trees that stand alone across river.

Not a day goes by without appreciation.  And now, astonishment.

Interesting indeed the things we are seeing.

The swollen buds on a group of Aspen at the bottom of Elk Trail have burst open, pushing out the first of that fluff that looks like snow in June.  Only it’s April. And there is still real snow on the ground.

On an open patch of dirt a little further up the trail, the first cluster of flag poke up through the exposed damp ground covered only now with last years rot.

We snowshoe to Snowmobile Point.  That’s a lot of dead trees, I say to Bob as we stand there, leaning on our ski poles and staring.  Crazy, he replies.  There is nothing else to say.

You forget what a live one looks like and start to assume they all might be.  For if you look close enough, even the green ones don’t look so good. I would guess that this mild winter has been good for the beetles.  It will be fascinating what happens next.  Something.  Nothing stays the same.

Maybe it will look like Patagonia here some day. We agree that won’t be too bad.  We like Patagonia.

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blue spruce 2

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Time with my horses is still limited. For a few days there was a little mud that gave me a lot of hope for working with them soon.  That’s been since covered back up with snow.

At least I’m out there, day in, day out, every day, with them, for them.  A part for me, a part of them.  I don’t resort to automated horse handling, feed and water that the horse think just appears and I’m just some human somewhere in the distance that comes to get them when I need them.  We’re in this, on the mountain, together.  Waiting for the spring.  Waiting for shedding coats and brushing and afternoons out there together on dry ground.

What do you do with them when you have to go somewhere?  A friend asks.  I don’t, I reply.    I haven’t left the mountain in five months and that’s okay by me.  And them.  Only now we’re both ready for more.  Not leaving.  Just more up here.

They run up when I appear and kick up their heels and seem to tell me they’re angry at another snow storm and I don’t blame them. They are getting stir crazy.  They need more now than snow and steady feeding.  They want dry ground upon which to run and work to focus their energies and tire their minds, and sunshine and green grass on which to relax in the morning before hand.

Maybe it’s the longer days.  They know spring is slowly approaching.  And by the time it finally comes, will I be too busy building then to be with them?

~

willow leaves from last year

~

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