silence descends
silence descends
over dismal swamp –
a child weeps
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 December 2017
Photo of a Montana swamp found at wpnature.com
Telling the Truth
connecting the dots of my life
Tag: Nature
November 28, 2017
clouds of dust
clouds of dust
drift through cracks
in thirsty soil
distant thunder
rumbles
above savannas
a world wearied
by winds of war
hopes against hope
We humans aren’t the only species watching and waiting. We are, however, the only species charged with care of this planet. Much of the natural beauty and diversity we’ve taken for granted is endangered. From within and without.
Do we have the courage and stamina to change our ways? Do our politicians have the courage and stamina to do what’s right when it comes to funding environmental studies? The outlook so far is bleak. Not surprising, given our addiction to the present moment.
But could we not learn to look up, the way we look strangers in the eye, and greet these environments with more than apathy or callous disregard?
I don’t pretend to know all about it. Yet I witness what’s happening in our national politics. Or better, what’s not happening. That is, what is now being (or has already been) defunded, under-supported and written off in favor of grandiose indulgences of the present moment and ‘important’ people.
For every wealthy person who supports and funds climate change research and solutions for the future, I am deeply grateful. They do us the courtesy and favor of demonstrating solutions that can be put into practice.
In the meantime, too many of our politicians are intent on saving their own skin or turf without regard for the larger picture.
Here’s my personal take on our situation today:
Neglect and violence heaped on our planet’s ecosystems
reflects and is connected to
neglect and violence heaped on the most vulnerable among us–
citizens, immigrants, countries, religions, and those we most fear.
The shape of our national tax structure
reflects and is connected to the way we treat
our planet’s ecosystems and the most vulnerable among us.
I want to have more than memories to pass on to the next generation. Don’t you?
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 November 2017
Photo found at ThoughtCo.com – Savanna in the Masai Mara, Kenya, Africa
November 20, 2017
morning’s first sunlight
A particular slant
of morning’s first sunlight
bathes the towering oak
setting fall leaves on fire
beneath a deep blue sky
Most mornings I look out our bedroom window to see what’s going on in the sky. The largest tree on our backyard horizon is an old, magnificent oak. The leaves are lovely; they don’t, however, produce the best fall foliage unless the light is just right.
For the past few weeks, early morning sun has transformed brownish oak leaves into a stunning display that lasts for a few minutes and is gone. This morning the sky cooperated with a crystal-clear, almost cobalt blue background. A great beginning to a special day, which happens to be my 74th birthday!
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 November 2017
Photo found at shutterstock.com
Daily Prompt: Particular
November 16, 2017
Fleeting reminders | Photos
God our Savior,
hope of all the ends of the earth
and of the farthest seas,
You formed the mountains by your power,
having armed yourself with strength;
You stilled the roaring of the seas,
the roaring of their waves,
and the turmoil of the nations.
The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;
Where morning dawns, where evening fades,
You call forth songs of joy.Psalm 65: 5b – 8 (New International Version)
Psalm 65 lifted my weary eyes and spirit this morning. Below are photos that remind me of the seasonal wonders our Creator has woven into the fabric of this earth. Which includes each one of us, precious and vulnerable. D took the photos at Longwood Gardens in late October.
Where morning dawns, where evening fades,
You call forth songs of joy.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 November 2017
Photos taken by DAFraser on 27 October 2017 at Longwood Gardens
November 14, 2017
the long walk home
I wonder—
Do breathless trees
dusky skies
and lengthening shadows
remember what they see
beneath fading twilight
swathed in heavy garments
unsure of her destination
Is this a woman? I think so. She seems to be taking the long walk home. Which may or may not be that dark cottage hovering in the background, watching as she makes her way.
Is she alone? I think not. The trees, skies and passing shadows reveal more than what’s happening on the ground or in the background. If this world is God’s poem (thank you, Mary Oliver), we have reason to hope. Not because of the play of light in the trees, on the ground or in the background, but because of the Light that shines even in our darkest hours.
Sometimes, perhaps always, we must leave home to find our true home. Or better, to be found by God’s everyday angels in this world that belongs not to us, but to God.
©Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 November 2017
Autumn Landscape at Dusk, 1885, by Vincent van Gogh found at Wikiart.com
Daily Prompt: Dubious
November 9, 2017
early morning
A flock of small birds
speeds south
high above tree tops
Early morning sun shivers
behind gray clouds
creeping across the sky
Next to the radiator
my cat huddles
soaking in precious warmth
Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were a bird or clouds or a kept cat. Then again, I don’t think that would be nearly as adventuresome as getting up each day wondering what it will become by nightfall.
I don’t know why I’m the woman I am, why I was born into this skin, or why I had no say about the family or country into which I was born.
I used to fret about this, as though things would be better if I were someone else. Born to different parents, at another time and in another place.
Today I love who I am as one of God’s creatures. Small, yet as precious as the smallest hummingbird making its annual migration from North to South. Flying, not tiptoeing my way into the next season of my life. Held in God’s large hand.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 November 2017
Photo found at pinterest.com
Daily Prompt: Gingerly
November 8, 2017
shades of dusk
cleansing water sweeps
sands of time with burning gold
dust dropped from heaven
***
I was just looking through some photos, getting ready to shut down for the night, and this haiku happened. I love dusk, when everything holds its breath, and the sky comes close to earth with no sound but waves washing onto the beach. The photo reminds me of my childhood and teenage years in Savannah, Georgia, and the old wooden pier at the Tybee Island Beach–though this one is a bit more substantial.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 November 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com
November 6, 2017
ready for harvest
Ripe and ready for harvest
The meadow lies before me
Still standing yet stripped
Of all but essentials
The sum of my present life
Waits for release into new life
Seeds dropped here and there
With no guarantees
There is no cure for death
The goal toward which
Every heartbeat has driven me
The home for which I long
I feel only loneliness and sorrow
At leaving behind loved ones
And this beautiful threatened world
D took this photo on our last visit to Longwood Gardens. No more stunning meadow flowers, and not so many joyous birds and butterflies. Instead, it’s full of late term life, ready to give its well-aged beauty to anyone willing to spend time looking and listening.
It isn’t as perky as it was just a month ago. Still, it isn’t ugly, or a sign that all is lost. Rather, it’s a sign that life is brief and fragile, and that it’s important to love it while we have it. One way or another, death comes to each of us sooner or later. With or without time for last goodbyes or heartfelt conversations.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 6 November 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser, 28 October 2017
Daily Prompt: Panacea
November 4, 2017
Ikebana and Bonsai at Longwood | Photos
Last Saturday D and I visited Longwood Gardens for a late summer/early fall walk. The flower beds had been put to bed for winter, and the meadow was a seedy expanse of dying yet still graceful grasses. We took a meadow walk, stopped by the children’s railroad display, ate lunch in the café, and then headed over to the conservatory to see the annual Chrysanthemum Festival.
This year the Conservatory went all out with an Ikebana display, a Bonsai display, and Longwood style Japanese Lanterns. Plus thousands of chrysanthemums.
Below are my favorites from the Ikebana display. First, a few things about Ikebana, the art of Japanese flower arranging.
- Ikebana goes back to Japanese Shinto worship of nature, and the Chinese Buddhist tradition of placing flowers on the altar to Buddha.
- Today it’s more about flower arranging, following ancient rules and forms. Usually the arrangements are in the form of an asymmetrical triangle.
The exhibit hall is normally set up for musical concerts. This time it’s an Ikebana display of various kinds of Ikebana arrangements. All arrangements are by qualified members of the Ikebana Philadelphia Chapter, which includes Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland. Ikebana International has over 10,000 members in more than 50 countries.
Here’s a look just outside the exhibit hall, back toward the entrance to the Conservatory. You can see Chrysanthemum ‘mushrooms’ popping up, lots of water flowing, and behind all the foliage, lots of visitors!
Turning around from this view, we walked into a large area lined with Bonsai arrangements. Again, this wasn’t a competition, but a display by members of the local Brandywine Bonsai Society. Here are some favorites. I was especially intrigued by the combination displays of ‘large’ and miniature arrangements. The miniatures are shown enlarged; you can also see them beside their exhibit ‘partners.’
Well, friends, I’ve barely touched the Chrysanthemum Festival, and haven’t even begun to show you Japanese Lanterns Longwood style! Stay tuned, but don’t hold your breath. It’s bad for your blood pressure.
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 4 November 2017
All photos taken by DAFraser, 28 October 2017
October 30, 2017
my small world
Living in a well-kept cave
Hunched over my desk
A mere speck of dust
On the head of a pin
I labor earnestly
To make all right within
And without my small world
Ducking my head
I make my way cautiously
Down narrow stairsteps
Into an underground cellar
Retrieving small bits and pieces
Of frozen life-support
Watching lest I bang my head
On a forgotten metal pipe
Or hefty wooden beam
Sitting at my kitchen table
Shades drawn to shut out the gloom
And chill of approaching winter
I drink to yet another day
Of life within this small abode
Lined with objects of a past
Now haunting my present as I
Dig deep searching for lost pieces
Of a life I once lived now frozen
Within ghostlike reminders
This poem captures a truth about my life. Is it overstated? I hope so. But then again….
Sometimes I use John Baillie’s Diary of Private Prayer for my morning and evening prayers. The language is a bit outdated for my ears, but this line grabbed my attention this morning, leading to the poem above.
Creator Spirit….Forbid that under the low roof of workshop or office of study I should ever forget Thy great overarching sky….
John Baillie, A Diary of Private Prayer, p. 30 (Fireside, 1996 edition)
Thankfully the sun is out today, with fluffy clouds sprinkled here and there. I want to walk this day beneath and within the roof of our Creator’s glorious, overarching sky. Indoors or out, though I’m hoping for outdoors!
Elouise♥
©Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 October 2017
Photo found at carlwozniak.com
Daily Prompt: Fluff; Gratitude
Telling the Truth 