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