Foxglove Moments

Foxglove Moments

Foxglove is the name of my property, five acres overlooking the Lewis River Valley that was covered with the wildflower when I first moved here in 1996. 

December 15, 2014



Absorbing the warmth,
absorbing the light,
fluffed up and radiant,
a little sun ball of feathers.




(Speaking about warmth and light, following last week's windstorm,
I was without power from 5:00 pm Thursday to 6:00 pm Saturday--
I've grown quite fond of the smell of oil lamps.)







November 24, 2014



This time of year:

all fluffed up,
showing off one's stylish winter coat,
looking around to see who notices
and checking out the competition.




November 19, 2014

Dashing out the door yesterday morning, I was stopped in my tracks.

Up in the branches sat a magnificent owl, staring at me with an almost ethereal calm.

"Oh, wow," I whispered to him, "Don't move." I dropped my briefcase to the ground, unslung my camera from my shoulder and hurriedly removed it from its case.

This was a sign, I was sure, a sign for the day beginning. The owl was a symbol of Wisdom to the ancient Greeks...He was also a symbol of Approaching Death to the native Northwest coast peoples, but, given the choice, I was feeling partial to the Greeks at the moment.

He sat up there, calmly observing me as I fumbled with the camera and kept begging him, "Don't fly away. Please don't fly away."

And he didn't. It was as if he knew that I meant him no harm, that we were brothers in spirit and I honored his presence, that he and I were fellow creatures on this planet, both of us belonging to this hillside, equal in our right to be here, although I was the one stuck with paying the property taxes.

Or, maybe he was thinking, "This klutz can't be a threat to me. He can't fly. He can barely operate that camera--Oh, look, he's trying to take my picture with the lens cap on. How pathetic."

Anyway, I got his picture for Facebook, decided that he was a symbol of Wisdom, and then tootled off to work.



November 21, 2014


Let both your living and your dying
be beautiful,
be memorable

...and don't forget to compost.







July 2, 2014


This photo was a mistake (I love it when that happens.)

I was standing in the bright sunlight, focusing on the rhododendron by my pond, and didn't notice the Buddha back in the shadows‐‐the shadows were much darker than this picture (now cropped) suggests.

But when I saw the photo, I was surprised--and delighted!--as the Buddha appears there out of focus in the background. It gave me metaphysical shivers.

The same surprise occasionally happens with my writing‐‐some plot twist I didn't see coming, or a deeper meaning to a story suddenly reveals itself to me‐‐and I think, "Wow, I would never have thought of that!"

And a voice from some deeper part of me whispers, You didn't.



July 9, 2014

 I watch the hummingbirds fight over the feeder, flaring their feathers at each other. Such territorial little fellows!

"There's more than enough for all of you. Have you considered sharing maybe?"

From what I can see, they never really attack each other. Just a lot of hovering and feather-flaring and zipping around, trying to show who's the alpha hummingbird of the hillside.







July 15, 2014



They zip, swoosh and buzz-thrum about my head when I try to refill their feeders.

Cheeky little fellows!

I tell them, Really, you want to be nice to me.



July 17, 2014



This time of year I see foxgloves every day--
as I go to work,
as I come home from work,
as I walk around this hillside--
but sometimes,
maybe it's a certain slant of light,
I see through the lens of the miraculous,
and it's heart stopping (or starting.)



July 19, 2014



Can't think of a better place to meditate.


(The frogs around my pond are particularly serene.)