Recognizing what is here
15/02/15 05:15
Yesterday was pretty much a black and white day. Heavy fog blanketed the hills for most of the day, coating the trees with ice and leaving a kind of magical, mystical appearance. It was a little cold to do much outdoors. I ran a few errands and did a little work in the garage, but found little energy for tackling anything big. I could have taken out my camera and gone on a photo adventure top capture the beauty of the light in the trees and the stark contrasts of the day, but sometimes I just look at the world and realize that even if I were to get a few really good photographs, I would be far from capturing the world. So I just looked at the world and today you get words with no pictures.
At Christmas, Susan gave me two books of poems by Mary Oliver. I hadn’t previously discovered her. Many of her poems are simple expressions of gratitude for the beauty of the world. There are a few about challenging relationships. There are a few about the passage of time. There are a lot about birds - she has a special place in her heart for mockingbirds.
One really resonates:
Mindful
by Mary Oliver
Every Day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for—
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world—
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant—
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
I think that yesterday was a day of discovering delight in the ordinary, the common, the very drab. It was a typical day. It was typical weather for February in the hills. The fog and ice and somewhat slippery roads are par for the course around here.
500 miles to our west, the Tetons were putting on a really unusual show yesterday. Strong wind, with plenty of moisture was blowing over the high peaks. The Grand, the tallest of the peaks is nearly 14,000 feet above sea level. Lenticular clouds - those shaped by the wind blowing over the uneven terrain - are common in the mountains, but on occasion the bottoms of the clouds and the tops of the mountains line up perfectly and the clouds look almost as if they are being painted in the sky by the mountains. Yesterday, it seems, there was a huge lenticular cloud right over the grand that looked almost like it mirrored the shape of the mountain. Clouds, of course, don’t hold still. Lenticular clouds are often formed by high winds. So the image undulated and shifted in shapes in a way that was mesmerizing. Teton Park officials said people were simply stopping their cars in the middle of the highway to look at the clouds.
I wasn’t there to see it, though I know the phenomena. I have trouble keeping my eyes on the road any time I drive by the Tetons. They are simply gorgeous mountains. The drive from the south entrance of Yellowstone to Jackson is a delight in any kind of weather. With the mountains to the west, there are some really dramatic sunsets in that stretch of the world.
It is possible that there were some lenticular clouds formed by the hills yesterday as well. After all, we are downwind from the Tetons and even with the high country of central Wyoming and the Big Horns between us and the Tetons, the winds aloft can move quickly and the airflow over the Tetons is high enough to clear the Big Horns and the Black Hills without any trouble.
We wouldn’t have noticed. We were down below, in the fog, looking at the ice crystals on the pine needles. It was pretty down here, but our world was one of muted colors and light filtered through moisture-filled air. You could get wet just walking across the yard. The clouds never found the energy to rise up off of the ground around here yesterday.
Mary Oliver’s question seemed to be apt for yesterday:
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
Our prayers yesterday were made out of fog and ice and grass. Each blade was coated with its own crystals. The normally drab mid-winter dormant grass of the yard isn’t particularly attractive. It is waiting for summer to come, and, most likely, for another layer of snow to over it up with a different kind of beauty as it waits for the warming of another season of growth.
I don’t mind winter. I’m grateful that I live in a place where i don’t have to mow the lawn year round. I am content doing little tasks in my garage as my mind wanders off to the coming sermon and the business of the church. I like the view out my window of fog and crystal.
But I wonder if I am really learning from the gifts of each day. I wonder if I am growing wiser or simply older.
Mary Oliver reminds me:
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
I have been given everything that I need to be a person of joy and acclimation. I am witness to an amazing world filled with amazing people doing amazing things. The beauty that surrounds me is literally beyond words.
And, all too often I don't stop to look at what is before my eyes - to learn - “to instruct myself over and over in joy and acclimation.”
May I go through today with my eyes wide open.
At Christmas, Susan gave me two books of poems by Mary Oliver. I hadn’t previously discovered her. Many of her poems are simple expressions of gratitude for the beauty of the world. There are a few about challenging relationships. There are a few about the passage of time. There are a lot about birds - she has a special place in her heart for mockingbirds.
One really resonates:
Mindful
by Mary Oliver
Every Day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for—
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world—
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant—
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
I think that yesterday was a day of discovering delight in the ordinary, the common, the very drab. It was a typical day. It was typical weather for February in the hills. The fog and ice and somewhat slippery roads are par for the course around here.
500 miles to our west, the Tetons were putting on a really unusual show yesterday. Strong wind, with plenty of moisture was blowing over the high peaks. The Grand, the tallest of the peaks is nearly 14,000 feet above sea level. Lenticular clouds - those shaped by the wind blowing over the uneven terrain - are common in the mountains, but on occasion the bottoms of the clouds and the tops of the mountains line up perfectly and the clouds look almost as if they are being painted in the sky by the mountains. Yesterday, it seems, there was a huge lenticular cloud right over the grand that looked almost like it mirrored the shape of the mountain. Clouds, of course, don’t hold still. Lenticular clouds are often formed by high winds. So the image undulated and shifted in shapes in a way that was mesmerizing. Teton Park officials said people were simply stopping their cars in the middle of the highway to look at the clouds.
I wasn’t there to see it, though I know the phenomena. I have trouble keeping my eyes on the road any time I drive by the Tetons. They are simply gorgeous mountains. The drive from the south entrance of Yellowstone to Jackson is a delight in any kind of weather. With the mountains to the west, there are some really dramatic sunsets in that stretch of the world.
It is possible that there were some lenticular clouds formed by the hills yesterday as well. After all, we are downwind from the Tetons and even with the high country of central Wyoming and the Big Horns between us and the Tetons, the winds aloft can move quickly and the airflow over the Tetons is high enough to clear the Big Horns and the Black Hills without any trouble.
We wouldn’t have noticed. We were down below, in the fog, looking at the ice crystals on the pine needles. It was pretty down here, but our world was one of muted colors and light filtered through moisture-filled air. You could get wet just walking across the yard. The clouds never found the energy to rise up off of the ground around here yesterday.
Mary Oliver’s question seemed to be apt for yesterday:
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
Our prayers yesterday were made out of fog and ice and grass. Each blade was coated with its own crystals. The normally drab mid-winter dormant grass of the yard isn’t particularly attractive. It is waiting for summer to come, and, most likely, for another layer of snow to over it up with a different kind of beauty as it waits for the warming of another season of growth.
I don’t mind winter. I’m grateful that I live in a place where i don’t have to mow the lawn year round. I am content doing little tasks in my garage as my mind wanders off to the coming sermon and the business of the church. I like the view out my window of fog and crystal.
But I wonder if I am really learning from the gifts of each day. I wonder if I am growing wiser or simply older.
Mary Oliver reminds me:
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
I have been given everything that I need to be a person of joy and acclimation. I am witness to an amazing world filled with amazing people doing amazing things. The beauty that surrounds me is literally beyond words.
And, all too often I don't stop to look at what is before my eyes - to learn - “to instruct myself over and over in joy and acclimation.”
May I go through today with my eyes wide open.