Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Nature

January 8, 2018

silence settles

silence settles
fills cracks in evening darkness
ticking clock whispers

It’s my favorite time of day. Quiet and dark, nothing making a sound except the hum of our refrigerator, water gurgling through the radiator, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, and the calm, super-quiet tick of my now-ancient desktop clock. I bought it in Germany in the 1970s. It sits on our kitchen table, faithful and timely for nearly four decades.

Last night I was bemoaning (only slightly, mind you) my housebound captivity during our early winter cold spell. I’ve always enjoyed this time of day. I get to read a little, write a little, eat a little snack on behalf of my blood sugar, and often listen to evening hymns—singing along if I’m so inclined.

So last night I decided to write a haiku about my evening surroundings. Writing it was more than enough to calm and lift my spirits. If I can’t walk in the woods, I can wander through my house of memories. Surrounded by reminders of where I’ve been, how many amazing people and places I’ve known along the way, and the beauty of late evening silence.

Happy Monday!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 January 2018
Photo found at pixabay.com

3 Comments
January 5, 2018

winter wonderland

winter wonderland
set to blazing music —
brilliant sun’s playground

OK folks. It’s fun and games time! As you see, our area got snow yesterday, but very little compared to others along the Northeast corridor. That’s D doing his faithful duty before it all turns hard, icy and ugly with dirt and grit.

The temperature outside is brutal, and will be for the next few days.  But from the inside, the view is spectacular. Since we live in the Northeast, we own plenty of layers–as you can see on my tall and quite fit D. He’s had that down jacket for years–the Scotsman in him just can’t give it up.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 5 January 2018
Video taken by me with my iPad, 5 January 2018

4 Comments
January 4, 2018

powdered snow

powdered snow
pirouettes on storm-tossed wind
iced firs sparkle

A winter wonderland set to silent music blowing here and there – rising and falling – whirling, twirling and sweeping rooftops at will. This morning’s glory—enjoying it while it lasts.

The naked snow pairs nicely with a poem I read this morning. It’s from a gathering of larks: letters to Saint Francis from a modern-day pilgrim, by Abigail Carroll.

Here’s the poem.

Dear Son of Pietro Bernardone,

Nicodemus had nothing on you:

When he heard, You must be born again,
he wondered how on earth
to climb back inside his mother’s womb,

but you knew precisely what to do: remove
your clothes in the public
square, by your nakedness loudly, irrevocably

declare whose you were, whose you chose
to be. It was a start, and though
the bishop tried to spare you shame, protect

your rich father’s name with his holy golden
robe, hide your tender
olive frame, you refused. Instead, walked

shoeless toward the winter woods wearing
nothing but a hair-shirt
and a song (in French, no less). Priest

to beggars and sparrows, hills, and the lilies
of the field, it wasn’t long
before the lepers took you for their own.

Francis, what was it like to finally belong?

With admiration,

© Abigail Carroll, 2017, a gathering of larks, p. 14
William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company 2017

What does it mean to go ‘all out’ in order to live a life of openness and truth? Nature shows me how, without the agony of having to decide what to wear or which dance it will be today or what to eat or not eat. Even closer to home, with whom will I stand when push comes to shove?

There’s something about the nakedness of a wild snow storm that’s terrifying. The little sparrow being hurled by my kitchen window this morning comes to mind. He was able to land in a shrub, but barely.

Unpredictable winds of war and change are here, whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. I pray for  grace to let the Spirit’s wind carry me where it will, depositing me where I belong, with my voice and spirit intact.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 4 January 2018
Photo found at shutterstock.com

8 Comments
January 3, 2018

majestic wings

I.

majestic wings
hang in winter air
descend slowly

II.

bird of prey
touches down in old oak tree
folds majestic wings

I can’t decide which haiku I like better, so you’re getting both versions! I wish I had a video of what I saw out my kitchen window this morning. I don’t know what kind of raptor it was, but it was gorgeous. Especially its wings–much like the osprey in the photo above, but probably not an osprey. I watched for a few minutes before it took off. It was surveying our yard and a neighbor’s yard. Looking for breakfast, no doubt.

We had a little ‘heat wave’ today. That means we got up into the high 20s (Fahrenheit). Tomorrow promises a shock to the East Coast, especially in New England. We may wake up here in the Philadelphia area to wind chill in the range of minus zero degrees Fahrenheit. And snow, of course, along with strong winds. So today included a nice walk with D outdoors in the winter sun, and a trip to the grocery store.

Hoping this finds you enjoying the outdoors as much as possible.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 January 2018
Photo found at audubon.org

17 Comments
January 1, 2018

sun rises

sun rises
climbs cloudless sky –
fiery hot

***

fierce brilliance of this morning’s sun
meets frigid breathless air of
harsh unyielding stony resistance –
stand-ins for rising discontent of the many
exploited in permutations unlimited
thinly veiled interests of the few
packaged in chocolate-covered poison

I believe
there is a Sun/Son of Righteousness
already rising with healing wings
invading this world with Truth, Justice and Courage
freeing as many Uppity Women, Men and Children as it takes
to bring healing in Real Time and Real Places
with Real Solutions that work from and in our hearts
not from greed or lust for power
or the misplaced desire to be what we humans will never be –
The Greatest and Most Beautiful of All

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 January 2018
Photo found at wayofsunshine.com

7 Comments
December 31, 2017

facing east

facing east
the red cardinal shines
in sun-kissed feathers

No, this isn’t the cardinal I saw this morning outside my kitchen window. But it’s close enough. One of the most beautiful sights ever on a cold winter day in the Northeast. Though not a discreet disguise for the faint of heart. Nonetheless, looking ahead to the New Year, I want to be counted in the red cardinal category. Bold, beautiful and facing into the rising sun.

Here’s wishing you a Happy New Year of unexpected joy and peace.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 December 2017
Photo taken by Mary Anne Borge, found at thenaturalweb.org

5 Comments
December 29, 2017

next spring’s gold

next spring’s gold
stuffed in brown trash bags
waits curbside

This morning I was out and about doing stuff that needed to be done. On the way home I couldn’t help noticing all the leaf-bags lined up curbside, waiting for a ride to the dump. Just before entering the dump, there’s a place to deposit dead leaves or other acceptable yard waste. Then, next spring, anyone living in the township can drive over and get a truck or van load of the stuff. Free.

So there’s my haiku for today, along with my short if not spectacular take on it. Plus one other thought. What’s true in nature is also true in our lives. What you or I most want to get rid of might be one of the greatest gifts we’ve ever received. Especially if it looks like dead or rotting leaves.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 29 December 2017
Photo found at palhwy.com

7 Comments
December 28, 2017

my icicle

winter chill
creeps through sunlit air –
icicle sparkles

There’s only one icicle. It hangs outside my bathroom window. Lonely? Maybe. Definitely an outlier, since we haven’t had a decent ice storm yet, and our gutters are almost clean.

So there it hangs, too cold to melt, though it shrinks a bit every day. Yesterday we had another deep freeze day—with more on the way.

So what’s a lone icicle to do? Nothing. Just hang there and let the sun do its work—casting rainbow colors, glistening, showing off flaws that look like the work of a master sculptor. No dripping. Just hanging there, shrinking a bit every day. Disappearing.

I don’t often emote over icicles hanging from our gutters. They’re usually growing longer by the day, sometimes too heavy to let nature take its course. So D grabs an old ax handle we keep by the front door, throws open the windows, and whacks them to the ground.

But not this little baby. It’s there just for me. A mirror of sorts. I’m too cold to melt quickly. I’m shrinking a bit every day. And it seems I’m going nowhere for now. So there’s nothing to do but hang there in all my glory, catching and reflecting every little gleam of light that comes my way.

I had a small epiphany this week. I’ve heard a lot in the last years about just ‘being’ instead of ‘doing.’ A wonderfully freeing concept–until you can’t ‘do’ so much anymore. Yet God wants me to show up every day. Just as I am. No more and no less.

So what does it mean for me to show up right now? Sometimes the most obvious things escape me. But this week I finally got it. I show up by writing! It’s so simple. I don’t have to write something in particular, but whatever comes to mind as I hang there just under the gutter. Cold, shiny, changing every day, ready to reflect rainbow colors or nothing more than the morning sky and clouds.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 December 2017
Photo taken by me with my iPad – sunrise, 26 December 2017

8 Comments
December 27, 2017

ripe seed pods

ripe seed pods hang clumped
soak in early winter sun —
shadows creep

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 December 2017
Photo by DAFraser, Longwood Gardens, December 2017

2 Comments
December 15, 2017

sitting alone

sitting alone
in her outdoor living room
lost in memories

Is she resting? Waiting for someone? The sun looks warm, and the park grounds are inviting. She seems lost in thought, sitting there in the sun. What stories might she tell me? Or we could just sit there silently, basking in memories and resting. Perhaps smiling at each other  from time to time. Listening to the birds and watching passersby. There’s room for one at least one more person on that park bench. Two are better than one, aren’t they?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 December 2017
Painting found at pinterest.com
Painting by Morteza Katozian, Iranian Artist

13 Comments