Connecting to Nature

The colors of the leaves here have become muted, yet there's still so much color, strong yellows and burnt oranges now. The sky has become grayer and whiter too. There are more overcast days and rain and wind, leaves falling like snow. The interim of vibrant autumn color and blinding white snow, this in-between season between seasons still brings blue sky on some days, but far fewer than the middle months of the year. Before the landscape becomes bright with snow, it'll become darker with empty trees. Despite this in-between, there is so much beauty, so much opportunity to see and listen and connect with nature. It's in the yearly change of recurrence, the evening sunsets and early darkness, the smells of wet trees and dying leaves, the light in the morning becomes familiar again, as we enter a state of change we've seen and known before.

Images of September

September 2015 in New Hampshire and Vermont. 

Looking Beyond the Differences and Transition

When I think of the experiences had in college versus the working world, there are so many differences that come to mind, but I think particularly for women and men of my generation and perhaps generations past and generations to follow, it's the transition from inspiration, involvement, and a learning environment where importance is placed on the value of every person. I've loved my role in the workplace the past year-plus and don't see myself returning to university, but I remember those moments of unity, and the feeling of accomplishment and belief in one another and oneself that manifest so naturally in college.

I would think as different generations of varying values accustomed to different forms of media and interaction come together today in workplaces and elsewhere, there are sure to be natural adjustments. Workplaces bring structure, accomplishment, positivity and leadership, but I've found the experience of being a young woman in college and in the workplace today to be a stark transition. It's not quite a step back, but it's a step in a different direction. This Washington Post article from last week really spoke to me. It's something I see both in the workplace and society. I don't remember noticing it much during college among others or myself when speaking up in class to another student or to a professor. The empowerment was already there.

Thinking of these differences reminded me of the strong social justice culture and optimism present on college campuses today. Certainly those with the privilege of education are swept into these movements, and I want to believe activism and social justice are not accessible only to those able to attend and afford university. I was reminded today when re-reading one of Maya Angelou's poems on graduation how far away that activism and attention to social justice feels once out of college. Bits of Angelou's poem Commencement Address brought back those original goals and thoughts upon leaving college, along with the reminder of continuing to follow and seek the differences we can make for our world.

Selections from Commencement Address by Maya Angelou

And now the work begins
And now the joy begins
Now the years of preparation
Of tedious study and
Exciting learning are explained

Look beyond your tasseled caps
And you will see injustice.
At the end of your fingertips
You will find cruelties,
Irrational hate, bedrock sorrow
And terrifying loneliness.
There is your work.

Visions of Summer

When I sort through  images and see the ones taken this summer, I remember stories behind each one, behind the day, the ideas and thoughts and people that were present. There were good books read, a little bit of poetry too, hours and days spent outdoors and relief in late May in finishing the first full school year. There were moments of reflection when the breezes were warm and the sunlight remained late into the evening.

When I see these cemetery images taken after we gathered to say goodbye to my grandmother in early August, I remember the love there, the prayers spoken, hugs and tears followed by laughter and happiness. I remember how we spoke as grandchildren and ran after the great-grandchildren and in the heat and humidity of that summer morning, the day I turned 23, there was so much peace. 

State Capital Lawn, Concord, NH

Atlantic Ocean

I read Letters to my Daughter by Maya Angelou in late August and many of the poems came alive in some way, but I particularly liked this gospel song Angelou wrote in describing her relationship with her grandmother. It feels applicable and comforting to so many relationships. 

You said to lean on your arm and I am leaning

You said to trust in your love and I am trusting

You said to call on your name and I am calling

I'm stepping out on your word.

October Morning Light

There have been moments in the mornings recently, a short while after the sun rises, when the bright light shines through the pulled shades, light that's nearly blinding, but welcome. It arrives through the hinges of a locked door. In these moments, in the indoor chill of the unheated mornings of early October in central New Hampshire, when the floor and air feels so cold, the warmth of the light feels
nearest.

Sunset over Lake Waukewan, Meredith, NH

Writing Sadness

I don't write poetry too often, but when I do, I tend to focus on nature or individual objects and weave them together. Storytelling though poetry has always posed a challenge as I've tried to fit the model of not revealing too much in a poem and letting the reader connect the dots.

Recently, in the hopes to tell more stories through poetry, I began thinking of the types of memories where powerful, visual and sensory details stand out strongly. I thought of the broad term of sadness and memories associated with the feeling.

Exact moments of touch and scent and images frozen in time surrounding sad memories arose immediately. I thought of my grandmother passing away this past winter and when the time was near, leaving work mid-morning, stopping home quickly and packing an overnight bag just in case. It's such a clear memory, of gathering a toothbrush and an allergy pill, a change of clothes, opening drawers and cabinets to fill a bag, working quickly, running to my car when finished. I remember the 90 minute drive south and approaching a toll booth, waiting in line in the cash lane behind a driver who was speaking to the tollbooth worker for 3 or 4 minutes. When it was my turn to hand my dollar over, the worker, dressed in a plaid flannel shirt told me in a thick Boston accent he and the other driver were talking about "the storm." I couldn't think of any storm. But I remember his voice and accent and what he wore.

Much like joyous, happy memories, these moments of sadness feel frozen -- every visual detail, word spoken, and emotion felt is preserved. I'm not sure how they're best written, but we all experience sadness in so many different forms. Writing of it confirms that together we share the experience.

I haven't read too much Seamus Heaney, but Mid-Term Break is my favorite for telling a powerful, sad memory.

Mid-Term Break

BY SEAMUS HEANEY

I sat all morning in the college sick bay

Counting bells knelling classes to a close.

At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying—

He had always taken funerals in his stride—

And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram

When I came in, and I was embarrassed

By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble'.

Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,

Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.

At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived

With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops

And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him

For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,

He lay in the four-foot box as in his cot.

No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four-foot box, a foot for every year.

Evening Walks, June

I was in a play in late June. It was a new experience for me, but a fantastic and fun couple of months. Set in a Bronx hair salon, the play was a mixture of hilarity and sadness, life, death, love and commitment. Even more exciting is that it's returning later this summer. With the evening performances and a busy work week during the show's (initial) run, I found myself in a strange sleep schedule as the adrenaline took some time to wear off. One night after a performance I found myself reading about alien abductions in the early hours of the morning to scare myself enough to fall asleep. Thankfully, it worked. I also found deep happiness in being part of the performing arts and working together with others. In the few weeks before the performances, after evening rehearsals, I would often walk through Meredith, New Hampshire at sunset, on some of the longest days of the year.

Lake Waukewan

Lake Waukewan, Meredith

Sleeping foxes at the Squam Lakes Natural Science Center, Holderness

Coco and Lucy from "The Salon" in costume and character

Land of Lakes

Lake Waukewan, Meredith, New Hampshire

There's been so much peace lately. Beautiful sun and warmth and water and outdoor adventure. I've found myself incredibly happy in recent weeks, between community involvement and work, meeting others and enjoying the outdoors with friends and family.

Squam Lake, Holderness, New Hampshire

The happiness has came not only from the season and surroundings but from realizing the opportunity in each moment. There is so much good in every moment and in realizing what life is providing and what goals can be achieved. 

Lake Waukewan, Meredith

Remembering

It really is extraordinary when scents trigger memories. Over the weekend, along with family, I was fortunate to gather several of my Nana's pins and scarves (and a 1950s era Santa!) after she passed away earlier this year. The scent of her trademark perfume seemed to float through the air while I packed up the items in her home, along with memories of her wearing each pin or scarf. The scent and memories returned even stronger today in my own home, as I found a box, and along with letters and cards she had sent for birthdays and holidays, packed the items together once again.

Bull Frogs and Highland Cows

It's been awhile. Too long. Moving, work, traveling, life, people, fun, and no real desire to write cropped up instead. I think the desire to write is returning though. Summer's arrived too. Right now and for the past several nights, I've heard a chorus of bullfrogs. A very robust chorus. Turning off the last light at night and burying myself into my sheets and leaving the windows open to let in some overnight chill...I've wondered how I could possibly sleep through the frog conversations, louder than any summer night sounds I can remember. But somehow, sleep arrives.

I recently spotted a Highland Cow in New Hampshire on a drive to a used book store called "the Book Farm." I remembered the Highland Cows sprinkled all throughout Scotland and was reminiscing when a friend mentioned the striking resemblance between this Highland Cow and a furry unicorn.