TRIUMPH OF SPIRIT IN LOVE, NATURE & ART

Posts tagged “Turtles

A Barn in Winter

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Bare branches
yearning towards
turquoise sky
with fast floating
sunlit white clouds
white above
white below
the snow
hides the land
of insects
and mice
and moles
and snakes
and in the vernal pool
next door
turtles sleep
in their hernaculum
while frogs lay
dormant in the mud
I sit in sleepy
surrender
glad to be
in our little hideaway
in the woods
of our young dreams
wondering
if we will all
awaken
to another Spring.

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Nature’s Prayers

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Still yourself

and fold your hands

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humbly

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stand in awe

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radiate His light

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with eyes upwards

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towards

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the telephone

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to the sky

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and comtemplate

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the glory that is He


“The Rites of Spring”

 Sap a flowin’

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 Ice a goin’

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Frogs a croakin’

P1130043_edited-1Turtles snorin’


Denizens of the Deep

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The marsh is melting

and

all the turtles in their hibernacula

deep down under the melting ice

will soon emerge

and the marsh will sing

the chorus of the Spring Peeper

and the salamanders will emerge

with the urge to murge

and joy and the life force

will fill the air

and lift the fog

enveloping my soul.

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Whirling October

Fleet-footed October

with

leaves floating down

swirling

in

whirlwinds

while days dance away

as the last leaf-colored

butterflies

flutter by

before you know

 turtles

 will bury  deep

 for a long winter’s sleep


My Former Life

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In my former life I was a bee.

Why else would I keep sticking my nose

into the private, pollinated parts of flowers?

In my former life I was a turtle.

Why else would I hunch my shoulders

into a seeming shell, my back a carapace

to shield me from a sometimes dangerous world?

In my former life I loved thee.

How else could I account for my “knowing” you

from before the first time we met,

 for “seeing” the you in your inner depths?

Some would say  I risk damnation

for a belief in reincarnation.

Yet this answer satisfies me on so many levels

and requities my thirst, quieting my myriad of questions

that the old belief system did not.

Unpopular in the west,

woven into the fabric of life in the east

in which I clothe myself,  sewn by a strong affinity,

a strange familiarity,

attraction mystifies.

Most of us cannot remember

the details of the other lives,

and are left with fractured fragments of the past

glistening like sea glass in our hands, on the seashores of our minds,

trying to piece together a picture

of a previous existence.

Love is timeless and mysterious

and though I dread the inevitable,

the loss of our life together

in this life,

I know we will be together again in the next and the next

ad infinitium

for something as sacrosanct as our love

is eternal.


Animal Highs

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Last week my husband called me from the back yard.  “Come quick, come see what I found.”  I ran to the back door where he was, holding out his arm, and there in his hand sat a teeny green frog, about the size of a thumbnail.  I oooed and aahhed over it and thanked him for calling me. The frog had jumped onto his arm while my husband was unrolling the garden hose, its temporary home.  “How wonderful!” I said.  And then I thought some more about it and I realized I was jealous.  Jealous of the fact the frog had jumped on my husband’s arm and not mine.  “Well, he deserves the frog more than I do,” I found myself thinking, as if any of us deserve such things.

Today I began to think more about this.  I remembered when we had first moved in.  My husband was at work and I saw a mound in the grass moving out the back door window.  Upon closer examination I found to my utter delight it was a box turtle.  This time it was my husband, an affirmed reptile lover, who was jealous and even admitted to being so.  Okay, jealousy of such things is obvious and on the surface in children.  Yet we were dealing with adults here who, it seems, covet visits from animals.  We cherish an interchange with a creature. And why?

I remember the Sunday night a few years ago, apprehensive about a challenging week ahead, when I saw a stag in the woods behind our house.  I called to my husband to come see him.  He was stunning with huge antlers, an imposing presence. And suddenly I knew everything would be alright. Why?   Because the stag in the distance– majestic, princely, beautiful was a sign.

And how thrilled we are to have a snapping turtle return every year to lay her eggs in our driveway.  We feel privileged.  Again, blessed.  Or when, with delighted guests, we saw a giant luna moth flying in the porch light one night.  And the countless times a butterfly lands on one’s body, on a shoulder or head, or a dragonfly visits an arm or a sleeve.  And, the beautiful hummingbirds. We even had a hummingbird nest in our Black Birch.  Such visits feel so special– to have these delicate, exquisite creatures land near us or live in the trees near our house.  Even when my least favorite reptile makes an appearance out from under his home on our back deck, a tiny garter snake, the spirit soars.

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Research has shown how having pets is therapeutic.  We are blessed by animals who trust us utterly.  We feel their trust and it is pure, unalloyed by human characteristics. We don’t deserve such trust and yet we receive it as a gift.  We have made contact with a being of a different species who lives in a different world whose being synchronizes with different biological rhythms. The native Americans believed animals to be spiritual guides that have much to teach us.  Psychology tells us Nature is a natural antidepressant.  An animal can disarm the most defensive, enchant the most mentally ill, bring out the goodness in the criminal, and bring a smile to the face of the young, old and in-between.

And, yes, animals can be pests when they get into where they don’t belong or become aggressive or defensive in a bad way.  But our world is a richer, more vibrant place because of them.  Animals bring us out of ourselves and into the experience of awe.  Their innocence lightens our loads, allowing us to share the “mystery of the other” with others, drawing us closer to our friends and family.   We share the world with animals and they share their hearts with us. And their innocent interactions with us are blessings from God.


Through the Green Lightly…

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through the pale veil of green

the tusset grasses grow

as the greening of the marsh

intensifies each longer day

while below frogs

and turtles

and fairy shrimp

dance their rite of spring

prey for the ducks,

crows, bald eagles,

  ephemeral lives

 we watch

nature raw

unawares

of the fragility

of us


“Landscape of Loss”

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Sap is flowing through ice and snow

When nature awakens in late March or early April, sap starts flowing in the trees and ice changes to water marking the end of hibernation.  This is the grand opening of the wetlands and the pilgrimage to the vernal pools as David M. Carroll writes in his “Swampwalker’s Journal: a Wetlands Year.”  A vernal pool is a body of water which fills up in autumn and winter and is swollen in the spring but often dries up completely by the end of the summer.  Carroll describes vernal pools so beautifully: “It is at snowmelt and ice-out, the last sleets, first rains, and the earliest warming breaths of spring that they beckon wood frogs, salamanders, and spring peepers from surrounding upland woods, where they have passed the winter in rotted-out trees roots [a reason not to ‘clean up’ the woods], under layers of bark and litter, in small mammal tunnels and other hibernacula in the earth.”  The melting snow heralds the march of the amphibians.  “Vernal pool habitats hold a galaxy of small things that come to life the instant ice and snow turn back into water.”

Carroll walks the swamps, as the title of his book suggests, in search of mating salamanders and spotted turtles, bogs, fens and all wetland flora and fauna.   He tells us that there must be a certain collusion of events– several warm days in a row followed by a darkest of nights with temperatures ideally in the mid-50s with rain preferably two nights in a row.  And then the magical migration begins.  The salamanders begin their “annual pilgrimage” to the vernal pond to mate.

My husband and I are lucky enough to have a vernal pond on the property next door to us and when Spring comes the sound at night from that pond makes us feel as if we are camping out next to a vast wetland.  The music of the spring peepers plays through the night throughout the house, often starting overeagerly in the late afternoon.  This manic symphony thrills us every year.  It is the first sign of Spring for us.  The quality of joyousness and the affirmation of life gladdens our souls.  Going to sleep with that sound makes us remember what we so often forget, to give thanks to our Creator for His magnificent creatures.

Inspired by Carroll, one year we awaited the first dark, rainy warm night after a succession of warm days.  In our rain gear, armed with flashlights we set out around 11PM to look for the march of the salamanders.  We walked to the nearby pond.  Nothing.  We walked quite aways down a nearby dirt road that has run off but is not quite a vernal pond.  We shone the flashlight this way and that.  Nothing.  We finally headed home disappointed and dejected and my husband started towards the front door when I let out a yelp.  There in the doorway was a 6 inch spotted salamander in all its glory!  We never found the march of the salamanders but we were greeted by one of these fantastic amphibians right at our front door!

This story, however, does not have a happy ending.  In his epilogue to the “Swampwalker’s Journal,” David Carroll explains why it took him more than 7 years to complete this book.  He writes that he became involved in saving some of the wetlands in his book and says sadly nearly all of his interventions have or will become “losing battles.”  He describes the plight of the wetlands, bogs and fens as a “landscape of loss.”   And he scorns our human selfishness as he writes how it “reveals explicitly the extent to which we think of ourselves as owning all living things, along with the very earth, air, and water in which they live, as if we possessed some divinely mandated dominion over all creation.”  He warns: “As we will learn in time none of this belongs to us.”  I read these words, knowing them to be true and I think of the soon-to-be-extinct bog turtle and other creatures with the same possible fate.  I think of the spotted salamander who came to our door, as did Shelley, the snapping turtle who used to return to our drive way every year to lay her eggs.  I think of the spring peepers whose joyous song heralds spring next door every year, and I fear for the future of them all.


Vestigial Remnants of Hibernation?

It is frigid outside and has been for a long time.  It is very cold in many parts of the country.  The holidays have come and gone.  The hoopla of the inauguration is over.  Now begins the nitty-gritty of hard winter work.  I find myself listless and not wanting to go outside or exercise or paint or take pictures or do much of anything I usually love to do.  I have a cold but that does not excuse this lassitude.   When I go to my favorite deli, I find that Terry, the sandwich lady, is in the same mood.  “I was ready to go home the moment I came in,” she says.  My husband was dour and I was sour.  What is the meaning of this discontent?  Could it be some vestigial remnant of human hibernation?  While man has never hibernated, science finds his metabolism slows down in winter and he becomes less active.  Binging on food and drink over the holidays may not be the sole reason for weight gain in winter.  Perhaps we should be sleeping off the extra pounds.

I who love winter and live for fall each summer, find myself longing to hear the music of the spring peepers.  It is months away– well about a month and a half away.  They signal for me the first harbingers of new life.  Terry, who also loves winter, tells me today she is sick of winter as she makes our sandwiches.  Perhaps it is this string of Arctic air and grey days and icy road conditions and snow every few days.  Perhaps, and more likely, it is the human condition to always be dissatisfied.

P1110411_edited-2Hibernaculum for turtles and other animals

 I miss the squirrels.  It has been so cold and snowy they seem to be laying low in their nests.  Judging from the tracks in the snow the animals most on the move are the deer.  And as much as I love the silence of winter, I find myself longing for the sweet dulcet music of birdsong at mating season in spring.

We bought a calendar for the new year with a celestial map of the sky for each month so you can find the constellations in the night sky.   We have yet to go out with flashlights and match the map with the canopy of stars.  It has been too overcast or too cold or too something.  But my dazzled psyche is humbled by the view of the stars through the stripped down trees that we see from bed every night.

Then again maybe it is laziness.  Too many sugar highs in December have led to a deep low in February.  And after a tease of spring one day in which the temperature reached almost 60 degrees we were let down even further.  Not liking being unproductive, I think I can overcome this.  But maybe I should just go with the flow and accept a period of inactivity, let the land lay fallow, so that an increase in productivity may eventually result.

I know I should focus on what is positive.  Winter is the season of silent beauty that I so long for in the summer heat. I delight in the quiet of winter days.  The snows bring a hushed stillness good for the soul.  It is a time to regroup.  Spring will come.  Hopefully if man has not destroyed all the vernal pools, the spring peepers will return.  And if pesticides have not destroyed all the birds, sweet mating songs will be sung.  And if the weather turns more clement, our spirits will soar once again, and we will be busy bees making honey while the sun shines.