The Day After

For weeks, everyone has been rushing about in anticipation of Christmas. Today, it is only a memory. A collective sigh can be heard throughout the land! We love this beautuful holiday, but in far too many ways, it has become the most hectic time of the year. Even those who long to focus on the spiritual meaning find it difficult or impossible to avoid the commercial influences. Yet, this year, I've begun seeing this whirlwind of consumption in a new way. This year, I've been moved by the motive behind all the buying and bustle. The motive is giving. In recent weeks, most people have not been walking the malls, selfishly in search of things for themselves. Rather, they've been hunting for things to give others. The attitude of generosity actually seems to have grow with the season, expressing itself in everything from the purchase of gifts to charitable donations. One might say that we've been consumed with the desire to give! In spite of the stress, in spite of the poor economy, in spite of all the negativity the world scene offers, at Christmas time, we've given more to others than at any other time of the year. Small gifts, large gifts... cheap gifts expensive gifts...cookies, candy, sausage, fruit, flowers, music, cards and acts of kindness...all given because of Christmas. Let's give human goodness credit where it is due. And what happens now...this day after Christmas and on the ones that follow? Without Christmas to motivate our generosity, can we find ways to extend that same spirit of giving into our daily lives? Like the Child, whose birth we've celebrated, grew from infancy to maturity, can our spirit of thoughtfulness grow from its Christmas expression, to a fulltime attitude of kindness? What a different world it would be if we all carried our Christmas spirit into the day after...and the day after that. Peace, Sandra

And Now the Eve Has Come

Look to the quiet sky...

To the lights that dance

And sing with joy

Above your head

This night

Like angels

Over Bethlehem...

Like Hope

That comes,

Like Light,

No matter what the darkness,

Born once more

For you

For me

A Truth

For all Eternity.

Love, blessings and peace to you, at Christmas and always.

Sandra

A Tme of Transition

Another October has melted into history, and a new November lies fresh and untouched before us. Isn't it exciting to think of a whole month of days awaiting our choices and decisions, our happiness and our challanges? The bright flames of autumn have now died down to fading embers. Leaves of deep gold and burgandy continue to let go of their mother trees and drift easily downward,without resistance. When they reach the ground, they join thousands of others in a virtual sea of leaves. Then, after dancing a few more rounds with the wind, they'll settle together and be dampened down by coming rain and snow. In time, they will again become one with the earth, creating rich soil that will nurture another season of new life. It is the time of transition. All things are changing into something new. I'm facing taransition as we prepare to "fold up the tent" of our current home and move to a new location. It is an exciting and challanging time. The labor of moving and the expected adjustments to a new home will, no doubt, offer mixed blessings. As with all transitions, the most important thing will be my ability to relax into the flow of change. Transition is, in fact, is an ongoing Truth. Like the ever changing seasons, few things stay the same forever. The more we accept this as the natural way, the more at peace we can be with whatever comes. Are you resisting any examples of transition in your life? If so, consider yeilding to the circumstances and trusting Life to see you through. Look for the potential joy present in all experiences, even in those that seem, at the moment, to be breaking your heart or disrupting your life. All will change. Change can be positive. Let it be so. Blessings, Sandra

October Knowing

LATE WISDOM

WHEN YOU’RE A LEAF, AND YOU’VE KNOWN THE STRENGTH OF SPRING SUN TO PULL YOU TOWARD ITSELF, AND WHEN YOU’VE KNOWN THE JOY OF RAIN DROPS SLITHERING DOWN YOUR SPINE, AND WHEN YOU’VE HELD ON WITH EVERY FIBER IN YOUR STOCK WHILE RIDING ON THE BRONCO BACK OF WIND; WHEN YOU RECALL THE ENDLESS HOURS OF THE LONGEST DAY AND YOUR SUPPLE FLUTTER IN IT’S PERFECT LIGHT; WHEN NOW, YOU FEEL THE DAYS GROW SHORT AND CHILL AROUND YOUR CHANGING HUES AND BRITTLE VEINS; WHEN YOU’RE A LEAF AND YOU’VE KNOWN THESE THINGS OF LIFE… YOU DON’T RESIST WHEN THE HOUR COMES... FOR A SLOW FREE FALL TO THE UNKNOWN EARTH BELOW. SANDRA PEASLEY BUSH 2006

September Songs

Through the open window,

Cricket- played music

Fills the living room

With night.

This symphony

Gives concerts on the green

But once a year

Sandra

AS SUMMER WANES

My showy pink petunias, so bright with color during the summer months, are now fading into paler hues. Summer rain and heat took a toll on the foliage as well, and many of the leafy branches now hang dry and lifeless in the pots. Soon, they will all finish their service on this earth as flowers and will be folded into the compost where they will blend with other finished things, no longer to be called by name- grass and hedge clippings, wilted flowers, tomato plants, tree branches and fallen leaves. Broken and indistinguishable as what they once were, they will contribute to a new and valuable purpose- the creation of rich soil. In turn, that soil will serve to nurture other generations of flowers and grasses- the cycle of life never being truly broken- the time spent as petunias, short, compared to the time that will now be spent as rich earth. We tend to forget how short our stay really is, as individuals, on this earth. We run hither and yon through our days, gathering possessions, worrying about everything and often frittering away our precious hours on meaningless things. Perhaps, this is a good day to take stock of the way we want to spend the remainder of our time…before our own season in the sun is over. Perhaps, this is a good day to relax and truly enjoy the precious and unique life we have been given. Blessings, Sandra

A Year of Days

Here it is again,

The first day

Of my personal new year;

Another chapter

Of three- hundred- sixty- five

Blank pages

Upon which

Dear Time,

And I

Shall write

Once more

Another year

Of Life.

The Lightening Tree

"HE ALSO SERVES WHO ONLY STANDS AND WAITS." John Milton For many years, an old sycamore tree stood at the foot of our back hill. One year, during a severe storm, a white bolt of lightening ripped through the boughs leaving the tree burned and torn. We hauled away a multitude of broken branches and watched as the sycamore clung to life. Sprigs of green leaves remained on several of the upper boughs. The brittle bark peeling away from the trunk reminded us of the tree's once majestic beauty. I didn't have the heart to see it cut down. Amid the healthy flowers and shrubs in the garden, it kept its place, seeming to be no more than a harmless eyesore. The following spring, unexpected events began to occur at the site of the stricken tree. Woodpeckers came to dine on the juicy insects living in the battered bark. Virginia Creeper wound it's lovely vines around the trunk, dressing it in shades of rusty green. Tiny brown birds nested in the holes created by the woodpeckers. When another year passed, leaves failed to blossom on the frail tree. Still, there were signs of life everywhere on its form. In the crooks of old limbs, pancakes of graceful fungi formed, and a busy family of squirrels took up residence in the protective trunk. To everyone's amazement, age and deterioration had made the lightening struck sycamore the most interesting and useful tree in the garden. We can become discouraged as we age, face illness, or experience life events that alters the way we see ourselves and our place in the world. We can feel less attractive and think we are no longer useful. At those times, we can take heart in the words of Milton, and know that purpose and meaning are not only for the young and healthy. In our frailest condition or advanced years, we have value. We can still touch the lives of others in positive, useful ways. Blessings, Sandra

MY GOOD INTENTIONS

More than a month has passed since my last entry. Spring has gently unfolded into summer, and new responsibilities call to us all from the now warm, green world. Planting, weeding, walking in the cool sun of morning, traveling, entertaining, painting...all these things have taken me away from fulfilling my good intention to write regularly. My first entry, made in the deep cold of January, seems so long ago. Now, I am much like the hummingbird outside my window, flitting from flower to flower, living my days, rather than writing about them, from early sunrise to late sunset. Forgive me, Dear Readers, if any of you are still checking in to read this blog. I have been kidnapped and taken away by Life, and for the moment, cannot be depended upon to write on a regular basis. There. I've confessed. If you are wise, you, too, will go out and fill each summer day to the brim with as many wonderful experiences as possible. We walk with summer for such a brief time. Then, as the days grow short, and a chill returns to the air....when it is once again possible to sit down at the computer without longing to be doing something else, on the blue sky side of the wall, I'll resume my weekly writings, and we'll share our days in words and ideas. Until we meet again, may you be blessed with a beautiful, restful, wonderous summer. But, should my muse beckon me before the leaves fall, you'll be the first to know! Yours for all seasons, Sandra

MAYAPPLE FRIENDS

Down the trail and under the trees

Mayapples march

In the soft morning breeze.

Suddenly, crowds of mayapples are marching along the forest floor.

Each one has seven broad leaves that come together to form a green umbrella.

Out from beneath each green umbrella peaks a shy, little cup-shaped white flower.

The flower often goes unnoticed by people passing by but is such a delight to those who take the time to find it.

Mayapples remind me how easily some of us can be lost in a crowd.

Those who are not outgoing or who consider themselves ordinary, are all too often passed by unnoticed.

Several times in my life, I've found a good friend by getting to know better, a quiet person who didn't stand out in the crowd.

What a joy it has been to unexpectedly find an interesting person whose qualities I soon grew to treasure.

Probably, not far from where you are, right now, there is a new friend waiting to be found.

It's that person you've so often overlooked.

Tip up that person's green umbrella, and start a conversation. You'll be glad you did!

Blessings, Sandra

MOTHERS, MOTHERS EVERYWHERE!

Can you imagine a world without mothers? Everywhere we go, motherhood reigns! Not only on this special day set aside to honor human mothers, but on each and every day in the entire world of nature. This morning, as I walked over the hill at the edge of the woods, mothers were everywhere! A robin mother hopped across the green, tilting her head to capture the vibration of a juicy worm she could pull from the soil and take back to her nest of young. Soon, her fledglings will begin to tumble from the nest, stretch their new wings and make that first uncertain flights. Mother Robin will be right there with each one, her worried twitters cautioning and instructing them until they have the confidence and capabilities to go it on their own. As I rounded the bend of the path, I noticed a pair of soft brown ears twitch on the other side of a berry thicket. Had they not moved, I would have thought I was seeing nothing more than last autumn's faded leaves. In fact, a doe was lying there. I could not see it but was certain that beside her, was a new spotted fawn, wobbly- legged and eager to see the world. But, only Mother Doe would know when it was safe for her child to venture out alone. Until then, she would protect and nurture the little one close by her side. As I walked, I imagined many, many mothers and their young. Down on the pond, Mother Goose with her gawky, down covered goslings, and their neighbors, Mother Duck and her fuzzy yellow ducklings were all gliding across the water, little ones lined up behind their mothers, eager for the swim. Mother Muskrat and her kits in their cozy den of sticks and mud; Mother Heron and her delicate egg, about to hatch... all the mothers and their young, ready for a new day. Chipmnks, squirrels, woodpeckers, rabbits and walleye....all of nature is at the season of motherhood. Even Mother Earth, herself, should be hailed for the bounty of life she brings forth this spring, and every spring. Let us all give thanks for mothers....human and others....the source of life and love. Blessings, Sandra

THE POWER OF SPRING

‘Funny, isn’t it, that man, with all the technology at his finger tips, cannot will Spring to come. Yes, we can engineer daffodils in new shapes and shades, but we can’t make April’s profusion of colorful blossoms and heady scents parade down the hillsides, across the fields and through the gardens a day earlier or a week later than Nature intends. You can hold a tulip bulb in your hand, warm it, coddle it….carry it with you, but it isn’t until you set it into the earth and trust the Power greater than your own, that it will grow. April humbles us. It ushered in spring before we were here on earth, and it will continue to usher it in long after we’ve left the earth. Unlike us, it’s a constant. To play our small, but important, role in the breathtaking drama called Spring, we need only open our eyes and enjoy the beauty. This is one of those times when being an observer can bring the deepest pleasure.

GOOD FRIDAY

WOOD WORK

Someone

Used a skilled eye

Searching for the ideal height

And thickness of the tree;

Detatched...

Indifferent...

Cut it down,

His brow sweat dripping

On the wounded pulp.

Someone

Dragged it back to town,

Behind a team,

To where another

Split the beams

Right for support...

Not flimsy

Or too short...

And free of cracks

That might give way too soon.

Someone

Laid two pieces on the ground

Then wound them

At the junctions...

Tight with heavy rope

To sure their hold.

It was a job for three or four

To hoist it upright...

Finished, and in place.

Someone

Gave the final word

To call it

What it had become,

A cross...

Fit for a king.

Sandra Peasley Bush

APRIL BLESSINGS

STIRRINGS

There is a restlessness to Spring.

There is impatience-

A pacing of the floor

A tapping of the fingers

A watching of the clock

As days grow long.

There is a blinking of the eyes

At the sight of giddy green

A drive to sweep clean

Every crack and crevice

Holding signs of

Winter gray.

The stomach churns;

The skin itches.

There is a longing

To remember what

Seemed long ago

Forgotten;

An urge to touch

Soft pussy willow fur.

A moving of priorities

From inside,

Now to out.

A folding up

Of wollen grays and browns;

A trading

For crisp cotton pinks and blues.

There is a warmer side

To my house now

Where hope and hyacinth

bask side by side

In butter yellow rays.

Where purple finch and sparrow nest

In rolled up awnings,

And shell armored hatchlings peck,

Impatient on this day

To make their way

Toward April sun.

Sandra Peasley Bush

Presque Isle, Naturally: Welcome to Presque Isle, Naturally

Presque Isle, Naturally: Welcome to Presque Isle, Naturally

Vernal Equinox

March 20, 2009 Balance reigns today All things in Nature Even- Day And night Perfected- Set.

Balance Reigns today Within My mind And body Calm And stable- Equal To what comes. . Sandra Peasley Bush

THIS IS THE DAY

This is the day…the day that always comes when we need it most. It’s the day when cool turns to warm, and wind turns to breeze, and something nameless in us, something intuitive, knows that winter is finally over. Yes, we may get some more cold weather. Yes, there may yet be another snow, but something has happened to begin the unfoldment of a new season, a season of light and life. By the hour, the sun beckons us to strip off another layer of jackets and sweaters. We put on our sunglasses and roll down our car windows. Strangers and friends alike look at one another, smile a knowing smile, and share the unspoken thought, “Yes, it’s really true….Spring is here!” Evidence is everywhere. Down in the hollow behind our home, peepers began to sing, today. At noon, it was only a faint little song sung by the newly born. By evening, the song had grown to a vesper chorus. For this brief time of courting , pairs of wild geese break away from their flock to fly as sweethearts. Yesterday morning, I heard a persistent honking and expected to see them appear overhead. To my surprise, one silent goose, followed by her honking suitor, came flying, not overhead, but through the woodland trees, only a few feet off the ground. Oblivious to the human standing transfixed at the sight of their zany chase, they made their way toward the pond, then boomeranged back, still near ground level, in my direction. I darted quickly out of their path to avoid a collision that would have sent feathers flying. Pear trees and multiflora rose, only a week ago, lifeless and dull, now wear pearls of green buds on their branches and boughs. Everywhere, seen and unseen, on this day, change is taking place. A transformation is coming. Everywhere, the Natural World whispers to us, “ Wake up! Be aware! Be alive!”

Blessings, Sandra

MARCH: GETTING READY FOR CHANGE

March is the month of expectations. Emily Dickenson March has come with a windy broom in hand and serious work to do. It is she who must prepare the way for Spring, and she will go about the task with determination.

She’ll sweep up and wash away the gloomy, winter grime and shake out useless dead branches from the trees. She’ll warm the buds and coax up from the soil, the green arms of bright crocus and butter yellow daffodils. The human spirit will lift and fall at her will. One day, she may cause us to happily throw off our winter coats and tilt our heads toward the heavens, as she bathes us in sunshine. The next, she may set us shivering under a sudden blanket of wet snow. We accept the unpredictable nature of March's days, knowing that she will always bring us boughs of soft pussy willows and bright forsythia to appease our winter weary senses. We love spunky, no nonsense March, not because she is beautiful or charming, but because she breaks the hold of winter and leads us confidently toward the joys of coming Spring. Peace, Sandra

THE HEALING SOUTH

Each day, as we made our way through the Southern States toward Florida, we felt the sun grow warmer and watched the signs of spring appear. It had been a hard winter in many ways. The loss, at Christmas, of a beloved child and the recent assignments of two military grandsons, one to Iraq and the other to Korea, had left us bearing weights on both our hearts and minds. The frigid, below normal, temperatures and endless ice and snow seemed to reinforce our sad and somber state of mind . It was time for relief. We accepted the thoughtful invitation of a friend to visit her St. Augustine, Florida home. We drove down, avoiding the stress of tourist filled airports. As the countryside of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and finally, Florida unfolded warmly before us, we felt our spirits lift. We became aware of Life’s many truths taking place at any one time. We were beckoned to tap into the world of beauty and day to day joys that existed on the other side of our heavy-hearted experience. And, as we rested our minds and regained our perspective by focusing, for a few special days, on the warm, positive qualities of Life being lived, we were renewed in mind and spirit.

THE SEEDS OF DREAMS

February is the month when people often long to escape the vice grip of winter. Some of us go south to get an early dose of warmth and sun, yet most people stay at home biding their time and dreaming of green and sunfilled days to come. Apartment dwellers see, with their mind's eye, terra cotta pots brimming with tomato plants, plump green peppers, and juicy strawberries. Others envision window boxes spilling over with colorful, cascading petunias, and flashy geraniums. Homeowners, put pen to paper and sketch images of their garden plots, considering all the possibilities for annuals, perennials, grasses and vegetables. Seed catalogs come in February, tempting us with pictures we'd like to lift from the pages, of every conceivible flower and mouthwatering fruits and veggies. Our color starved eyes, having endured the monotones of winter, long for the bright shades of a garden in bloom. Our daydreams transported us into another relm where bees buzz, leaves dance in the breeze and roses turn their heads toward a warm sun. I run my fingers over the Burpee's Seed Catalog saying to myself, 'I'll take that..and that and that!' By the time I've finished my dream order, I have enough seeds, bulbs and saplings coming my way to start my own greenhouse! Of course, my final order will reflect a more realistic plan. I'll go back over the pages choosing only those plants that fit my small garden needs. But, oh, the enjoyment my spring focused thoughts have brought! I look down and find that a little patch of snow has melted near my feet. Could it have been warmed by my February dreaming? If you are winter weary, treat yourself to a warm daydream or two. Don't be sensible about it; let your thoughts transport you to a special place. It could be a garden, or a waterfall , a forest or a mountaintop. You decide. Close your eyes and engage your senses. When you return to the present, you will feel refreshed and ready to make it through the final weeks of winter. I'll be back in two weeks after following my own dream south. Blessings, Sandra

A SITUATION FOR THE BIRDS

I spread a layer of crunchy peanut butter (the mocking bird’s favorite) on a slice of stale bread, slip a string through the center, and tie it to the birdfeeder pole. I add new seed and a fresh piece of orange on a string beside the woodpecker suet. Suet, fruit, peanut butter and seed… everything in place Now, I can enjoy my own breakfast, while watching, through the dining room window, as my feathered friends do the same. Once at the table, with my toast and tea, I look out and see, not the mocking birds or woodpeckers, but a wing -flapping gang of starlings, busily tearing at the peanut butter bread and flinging seeds hither and yon. The other birds, who have had their breakfast hour interrupted, perch in nearby bushes watching with a look of disgust that matches my own. I have a distinct prejudice against starlings. They are piggish, uncouth birds that always bring their equally piggish, uncouth relatives and friends to polish off the feeder fare. If they behaved with anything akin to manners, I might feel differently, but its hard to find anything likeable about these “Joe Six-packs “of the bird world. I decide to create another feeding area where the starlings can eat without disrupting the smaller, more passive birds at the feeders. This time, I slap peanut butter onto several slices of stale bread and hurl them out into the middle of the yard… where they promptly sink into the snow. Two starlings fly down and peck at the peanut butter, but the snow is cold, and the pole feeders, much more tempting than the snow covered bread. In no time, they, and their relatives, are once again monopolizing the feeders. Indignant and out of patience, I rap loudly on the window pane to frighten them away. My finger prints dot the window. My tea and toast are cold. My breakfast hour has been spent. Suddenly, I realize that more has been lost here than my battle with starlings. My peace of mind has been overshadowed by my desire to control a situation quite beyond my control. If I cannot love starlings in the same way I love the more appealing, less troublesome birds, can I find a way to accept the fact that, like all living things, they have a God given place in this world? Nature, after all, does not judge its creatures good or bad. Only man does that. Surely, I would find more peace if I suspended judgment of these birds. Surely, I would I be happier if I tried to see their good points, like their comical little yellow, clown smiles and their cheerful speckled feathers. This week, I think I’ll try to be more accepting…of birds…of people, of all the things that aren‘t exactly the way I would like them to be. This week, I will value my peace of mind over my desire to change. Peace to you. Sandra

THE RIVER'S WAY

When you put your hand in a flowing stream, you touch the last that has gone before and the first of what is still to come. Leonardo daVinci

On this clear-skied, January morning, I drove through the protective flood wall out to the bank of the Ohio River. It had been some time since I’d gone to visit my ancient friend, and I was eager to know again, the quiet wisdom it always spoke to my spirit.

Along the muddy bank, pieces of driftwood rested, like washed up bones, after traveling for days or weeks, in a dizzying ride atop the frigid current. Now, the waters ran slowly, their deep gray cobalt reflecting the cloudy blue of the winter sky. At the center of the river, tiny, wind blown waves sparkled and danced, while closer to the shore, thin sheets of fragile ice drifted, like shards of broken window pane. Around the ice, cold pools of perfectly calm water lay mirror-like, moving ever so slowly onward toward their southern destination.

I watched, in fascination, the river’s constant movement and change. Not for a moment did it remain in the same place. Always, it found a way around anything that would obstruct its onward flow. From one place it passed to the next, it was never the same river.

So, too, our life conditions, good or ill, are always changing. The awareness of this constant flow of circumstances can both help us appreciate the positive and joyful times, and give us the assurance that even the worst of times will not last forever.

What is good is passing. Appreciate it. What is not good is passing. Don’t fear it.

Peace to you, my friend. Sandra

Why Quiet Waters?

Thoughts on the Title in January The problem is A lack of pause, Caught as we often are In jaws of Speed and doing. Seldom taking Time to see The snowy tufts That rest upon each tree… . We need but only one Or two Stilled moments For the heart to calm, To feel the inner pressures Melt like warming ice Into a peaceful pond Of Quiet Waters.

A PINE WITH PURPOSE

For many years, a tree with an interesting history stood in our front yard. One Christmas, in the late 1960’s, my father brought it home, its root ball wrapped in burlap, its short branches sturdy and even. It was our first living Christmas tree following many years of precut needle droppers that never seemed to get quite enough water to last through the holidays.

In January, Father planted it in the front yard, near the road, where it grew with the seasons, into a handsome, well formed tree. On future holidays, it was decorated with carefully strung lines of white lights that made it shine like a beacon, for all the night travelers going up and down our hill.

I don't remember the first year a step ladder was required to string the lights through the top boughs. And, its hard to recall when a longer, extension ladder became necessary to hang the star at the top. Yet, growing as it did each year, one could almost imagine a time when the North Star would be called upon to light its highest bough.

In the early 1990’s, January brought a paralyzing ice storm to the MidOhio Valley. Throughout the eerie silence of that night, we heard ice laden wood creak and snap under the gathering cold weight.

In the morning, we found that all of the branches on the north side of the pine had broken off under the icy glaze. Now, jagged stubs protruded like boney fingers, from the places where full green boughs had been the day before.

The following winter, a neighbor, driving down the snow-slick road in front of our house, lost control and skidded squarely into the hapless pine tree, knocking it to the ground. Not easily discouraged, Mother hired men to tie it with ropes, stand it up and place it securely in a freshly dug hole where, she was confident, it would take root again. Though leaning like the Tower of Pisa, it surprised everyone but Mother, and recovered from the trauma.

Over the years, the bare side of the tree proved useful as a sheltered feeding station for birds and wildlife; and, although it grew too frail to be trimmed with lights, its "good side" remained the main source of graceful boughs used to trim the living room mantle at Christmas time.

For those of us who knew its history of unfortunate events, the pine tree served as a symbol of determination and renewed purpose.

Few of us make it through life without being scarred or challenged by trials and storms of one kind or another. What we do, in spite of the damage, is what matters. Like the pine tree, we can go on. We can enjoy life and find new purpose. We can set our roots back into the soil of life and greet each new day with hope and meaning.

Blessings, Sandra Publish Post Saving... Save as Draft

Winter Trees

I don my bright red scarf for a morning walk in the January woods, adding my own flash of color to the monochrome world around me. Icy pellets, neither snow nor rain, fall sporadically from the aluminum clouds overhead . Each one makes a little “plunk“ as it hit’s the damp mat of autumn leaves, now woven across the forest floor. All around me is evidence of what natives call the West Virginia gray days. Should a person from a barren desert land, visit these woods in winter, she might see these trees and exclaim, “How sad! The trees here have all died!” Indeed, on this bleak January morning, the dark trunks and naked limbs of oak, maple and sycamore appear to be nothing more than boney fingered skeletons shivering in the wind. Yet, deep within each tree lies a not- so- obvious truth: Life is present…ever pulsing Life! This image of death is no more than an illusion. As these trees have acclimated to colder weather and shorter days, their life blood (sap) has retreated to the root areas as protection against winter’s freezing temperatures. Their activity has slowed, and they now experience a tree’s version of winter rest. Slowly and steadily a gentle awakening will occur as days grow longer until, finally, spring will bring them once more to their fullest expressions of Life. We need to respect those times when our own Life energy is at a winter low. We need to listen to our bodies …to the lethargy…to the aches and pains….to the dwindling creative spark. Rather than become alarmed or filled with self loathing for our ineffectiveness, we’ll benefit most when we scale back our level of activity for awhile, and wait. Lets keep our fuzzy slippers by the front door, and get comfortable as quickly as possible when we arrive home. Let’s take more naps and fewer phone calls. Let’s plan simpler meals. Let’s think like the trees! In due time, our internal gray days will pass, and we will, like all living things, feel the energy of pure Life surge within us again. We will be renewed . Blessings, Sandra

THE FIRST DAY OF A NEW YEAR

New Years Day 2009 Welcome to Quiet Waters. WHERE EVER YOU ARE IS THE ENTRY POINT. KABIR LIKE A BLANKET OF FRESH SNOW, THE NEW YEAR LIES BEFORE US AWAITING OUR FOOTPRINTS. THE FIRST DAY OF THIS NEW YEAR DAWNS CLEAR AND CRISP HERE IN THE MID-OHIO VALLEY. i STAND AT THE EDGE OF THE WOODS AND WATCH AS WHITE SUN RISES FROM ITS COZY BED OF CORAL AND BLUE SKY, ILLUMINATING THE WINTER WORLD AROUND ME. ANOTHER NEW BEGINNING! WHAT, i WONDER, WILL THE DAYS OF 2009 BRING? QUICKLY, THE ANSWER SPRINGS TO MIND "YOU CANNOT KNOW". LIKE A FRESH BLANKET OF CLEAN, WHITE SNOW, THE YEAR STRETCHES BEFORE EACH OF US, UNTOUCHED, AWAITING OUR FOOT PRINTS, ONE BY ONE. NEVER WILL IT PROVIDE US WITH MORE THAN CAN BE CONTAINED WITHIN THE CONFINES OF TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. EVEN THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS MUST BE TAKEN, ONE BY ONE. SHOULD WE SPEND TOO MUCH TIME PLOTTING THE TOMORROWS OR FRETTING OVER WHAT MIGHT BE, WE RUIN THE EXPERIENCE OF LIVING IN THE NOW OF OUR LIFE. IF OUR THOUGHTS ARE ALWAYS PROJECTING AHEAD, WE LOOSE THE REALITY OF THIS PRECIOUS MOMENT, THIS PRECIOUS HOUR AND THIS PRECIOUS DAY. HIGH OVERHEAD, A MAJESTIC PALLIATED WOODPECKER CLINGS COMFORTABLY TO THE TRUNK OF A BARE SYCAMORE TREE. HE FOCUSES HIS ATTENTION ON DIGGING OUT TASTY GRUBS FROM DEEP BENEATH THE COLD BARK, THE SOUND OF HIS HAMMERING BEAK RINGING THROUGH THE TREETOPS LIKE A TOM-TOM. HE IS NOT THINKING ABOUT TOMORROW'S MEAL OR HOW HE WILL GO ABOUT GETTING IT. THIS PRESENT ACT IS HIS ONLY CONCERN. LIKE ALL THE CREATURES OF THE FOREST, THE WOODPECKER DOESN'T WORRY OR PLAN. IT IS ENOUGH JUST TO BE. WE WOULD DO WELL IN THE NEW YEAR, TO REIN IN OUR THOUGHTS OF A COMING TIME IN THE NOT- YET- BORN FUTURE, AND APPRECIATE MORE MOMENTS, ONE BY ONE. PEACE TO YOU EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR AHEAD. SANDRA