Weeping for the Willow

     The unofficial end of summer is upon us. It's Labor Day weekend and I'm sad. I'm okay with the change of season. I'm sad because my old friend, a large weeping willow tree in a neighboring yard, is gone. 
     Sadly, the tree succumbed to a storm a couple of months ago. Its tall, stately body fell as gracefully as it could, held by the smaller trees around it so as not to crash on a nearby roof. 
     I weep for my old friend, the willow, because it faithfully provided me with signs of the changing seasons. It was particularly hopeful in early spring. The willow, with its lush, curving branches, would be the first to wear that subtle yellow-green shade. I counted on it to show me that spring was coming, even during a late winter snowstorm. 
     We had three large weeping willow trees in our yard when I was growing up. They were messy, with shedding limbs and leaves at inopportune times, but I loved them anyway. There was a grace to those willows. I loved to watch them sway in the breeze, their tender branches moving as if they were dancing. I wanted to call my family's rural property The Willows out of respect to our three lovely trees. I also liked the name because I was just becoming familiar with British cozy murder mysteries and all of the rural estates had names like The Willows.
     Always practical, our willows provided wonderful shade on hot days. Their expansive canopies with long curving branches made for cool, comforting umbrellas under which to sit during our pre-central air conditioning years. 
     They also fed my imagination and became props for my little-girl whims. On one childhood play day, their slender branches were easily snapped off to become long tails when a friend and I decided we wanted to pretend we were horses.
     As I gaze at the landscape today, the trees are still lush, green, and full, but there is a gap that will never be filled in the same way now that the large and lovely weeping willow is gone. I'll have other ways to identify the change of seasons, but the willow will no longer be there in its subtle, stately beauty to reassure me that spring is coming. 

Renewing, Refreshing Walking in the Rain

     I love to walk in the rain. A gentle rain offers time for walking in solitude, quiet and reflection. So long as it isn't storming, walking in the rain can be restorative, healing and even enjoyable.
     It's a good thing that my husband Larry and I are drip-dry. On the second of our two walks one summer day, the sky became restless and we encountered a thunderstorm while on a local river walk. We tested our agility and speed, and dashed through the raindrops to the shelter of a building overhang until the storm passed. We stood in the protection of that dry spot for several minutes and watched the sky in all of its magnificence. Neither one of us minded being damp. We knew we'd eventually dry off. There was something lovely about just having to stand still, shoulder to shoulder, and watch for signs from the sky.
     The storm rumbled and moved quickly overhead, with sunny skies rapidly behind it. Once the rain stopped, we set out again to finish our walk. As we headed eastward, the sun touching our shoulders and the birds erupting into song, we breathed in the fresh scents of recent rain and walked toward a rainbow.
     That summer day's experience represented a metaphor for life: We will all encounter storms, some of which will be just gentle rain and others cataclysmic events with hail and lightning. We may choose to move quickly, to seek shelter, to wait it out. At other times, we might get wet. If we look at the storm as a fact of life and choose to live in the moment with gratitude, eventually the storm will pass. When it does, we will once again find the sunshine on our shoulder, the birds singing, the air fresh and new, and a rainbow overhead guiding us on.

Ah, July!

     Those of us who live in the northern climes wait for what seems like forever for summer to make its presence known. And now it's here! July has arrived and with it, the long, warm, sunny days we've been dreaming about -- a welcome feeling for those of us who tenaciously hang onto the previous summer's memory and crave July's sunshiny, sultry days, all while we wallow through winter's long, cold, snowy, dark months -- shivering along the way.
     In July, the air is fresh, sweet and warm, bordering on hot. The locally grown produce is delicious and plentiful. There is nothing like a homegrown tomato or watermelon! The sun comes up early in the day and hangs on late into the evening. It's a time for shorts, sandals and sleeveless tops, with the occasional summer-weight sweater just in case the temperatures dip at night.
     July is the month of vacations, whether a week-long road trip or a one-tank getaway just for the day. July is Independence Day picnicking time, county fair cotton candy time, summer splash-in-the-pool time, outdoor concert time, sparkly starry skies time, hang out in the hammock time, garden overflowing time. Who doesn't love the bountiful gifts of July?
     As evidenced by this post, I am one who loves warmth and sunlight. My perfect day would be 75 degrees and sunny, with just a slight breeze to keep the mosquitoes away and the skin cool to the touch. Now that July is here, I want to savor every moment of it, breathing it in slowly and spending it judiciously. That means being outdoors as much as possible.
     Each day is a blessing no matter the month of year, but July is a bright month filled with days we'll recall with a longing smile and cherish all winter long. Enjoy!

Listen to the Wind

I was in search of an answer, so I cast my question out into the universe. While taking a walk later that day, the answer came, a mystifying "Listen to the wind." What? Listen to the wind? What did it mean to listen to the wind? Perplexed by this mysterious message, I researched it online and found it was the first phrase in a Native American proverb: "Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows." With each subsequent walk, I started out by saying the proverb and then I intentionally silenced the incessant and often unhelpful chatter in my head. I allowed the wind to talk to me. At about the same time, I started finding heart-shaped stones in my path. I felt as if the Native American proverb's wise words were being directed at me. I was becoming quiet so the silence could speak to me. I was listening to the wind so it could talk to me. I was finding heart stones so I could know what was deep in my own heart. Listening to the wind has become a regular activity ever since that day when I received the message to do so. I haven't talked about it much with others, so it came as a surprise when, recently, our 85-year-old neighbor said she likes to listen to the wind. We were deep in conversation about the magnificent eruption of spring, from the fragrances of the season to the song of the birds to the beauty of the early spring wildflowers blooming in the woods next to her home. As one well attuned to nature's subtleties, my neighbor knows to listen to the wind. It does talk, if we make the time to become calm, silence our internal chatter and put our hearts in a place of attention and intention. Then, and only then, will we hear the wisdom of the wind. Listen. It talks.

It's Time to See the Light - In Each Other

     I realize I've been carrying a heavy load of stress over the past months and I'm ready to shed it. You can't live with heavy burdens for too long before they weigh you down miserably. I've been stressing about the increasing divisiveness in our country and our world, with people pitted against each other over race, ideology, religion, sexual orientation, political affiliation. I see it played out in news reports. I see it played out in business. I see it played out in families, among friends. I even see it played out in my own church denomination. I am ready to see the light.
     How did we get here to this growing chasm of insecurity, anger, bitterness, judgment, hostility and, with increasing frequency, violence? Where did we get so afraid of our changing world? Surely, change is happening quickly, but with that change is an opportunity for us to change, too. We have the ability to replace our fear with curiosity, our rancor with understanding, our hatred with love, our darkest feelings with the light of kindness.
     We don't live in a sanitized world where we are only with those who are exactly like us. It's impossible. We all have our own experiences and values that form us into the people we are. As much as we might like to live in a 1950's sitcom-kind of world where everything was perfect and squeaky clean, the ending was always happy, Dad came home with his tie and briefcase and Mom was polished wearing her best dress and apron, such is not life. 
     So that means we need to change in order to live in the world that actually exists. I believe we all carry the light of God in us and that we are called to seek out that light in others, never to diminish or suppress it. We are called to look at our differences with new eyes and see instead those things that are common to us. 
     Nothing good comes from a place of profound fear. That is where worry and anger are housed. It is there where the seeds of hatred are sown. It is there where we form a mindset of scarcity. It is there where we see differences instead of commonalities. 
     We are blessed, truly blessed to live in a world that is rich with the complexities of its fabric. The next time I'm heading down a path of judgment toward someone, I intend to stop myself, breathe and then look deeply to find the light in that other person. Only when we allow ourselves to see that light in another and then seek common ground, will that light truly be reflected back to us.

Fresh Air

     When you live in a cold-weather climate, there's nothing as lovely as opening windows for the first time in the spring and letting in fresh air. My routine spring tasks include sweeping out the mounds of sand from the garage floor that had accumulated over months of snow, washing winter salt off of the car and putting screens back on casement windows. I practically dance whenever I do these chores, for it means one thing: spring! Warmer weather is on the way. It’s a time of newness.

      It's been our habit in recent years to remove the screens from our home’s windows in the fall, washing them down and storing them for the winter so we can get the most out of the precious daylight streaming through our windows during the long, dark months. Whenever I hear the temperature is supposed to soar into the 60s, I wash the insides of the windows, reinstall the screens and then let in the fresh breezes to release the stale, cooped-up winter air.

      Such activity makes me think of the stale energy that might be cooped up and cluttering my mind and heart.

      A few years ago, I didn’t want to admit I was stuck in a rut. Things were difficult in my life at that time between my own illness and caring for a dying parent. I felt stuck in chaos. In looking back, however, I realize I was indeed stuck in a rut. I was stuck in the mindset of how I thought things should be in my life, not how they actually were.

      Once I identified my true feelings and set into motion some new thoughts, I opened my mind and heart, letting go of the difficult things that weighed me down. That new perspective brought about an acceptance and gratitude that helped me through a tough time. Rather than staying stuck in “what should be,” I found peace in “what was.”

      When I breathe in gratitude and change my way of thinking, it’s as if that old energy dissipates and a new, affirming energy sweeps in to take its place. I grow by gaining new insights. Where I had been stuck, there is now release. The windows of my world become clearer. The salt and sand stuck in the crevices of my old mindset are swept away. That’s one type of cleaning that doesn’t have to wait until spring.

Going with Flow

I had a particularly busy time several months ago when I was over-committed and overdoing. I knew it, but I had made a promise and the dutiful part of me wanted to see my responsibilities through. By the time I was done with my obligations, I was overtired in mind, body and spirit, and it took me quite a while to rebuild my strength and find my groove again. In retrospect, I see that putting myself in such a state was not exercising my best judgment and it took away something that has become a precious commodity to me: Flow. When I'm "going with Flow," I am using my energies wisely. I'm able to get things done with ease. Life is more enjoyable. I am in a happier mood. I feel less stress. I am my better self. It seems so easy, too easy to say Yes, when perhaps the greatest response of self-respect may be saying No. Setting limits for the use of my energies allows me to better utilize those energies and to do something that is satisfying. It also opens up Flow. I saw a tweet not too long ago that read: "Always take care of yourself first." That means setting limits, devoting time each day to self-care, hearing the voice of self-compassion. It means saying No in order to leave room for all of the right Yes things in life. Such self-care is essential, vital to health and well-being. So, with each decision going forward, I will ask myself if saying Yes will help or hamper. It's all about going with Flow.