Wondering about Winter

Look up at those perfect fluffy snow flakes. Open up to them. They are simply falling, a weather pattern of absolute beauty. Softening all the edges encountered. Snow falls quietly, deafening the sounds. Or the world is quiet with snow outside. Cups of tea and cribbage are past times. Family and cooking. Having bread rise the old fashion way with a bit of TLC in the recipe. Some allow snow to be the cause of frustrations and holiday anxieties. No, no that is a choice. There is always one window into a better choice. Look at smiling faces and snuffling noses of all those youngens sledding. The snow may be gone tomorrow- so the only option is enjoying today. The presence and absolute love of the snow is unparalleled by the youth. Many love to walk in the snow, take pictures. But only those 5 feet and under really embrace the snow. A situation blossoming with opportunity of a play day anew with fresh powdery bliss. Take a page out of the snows book-slow down and never fight it for nature is surely bigger if the battle is chosen. Peace and happiness to us, everyone!

Joy of word play

It costs us nothing to visualize the moment. Awe struck in the presence of the woman. Heart is quiet, irrelevant to tempo chosen. But such brilliance to be found in this one. For the first time feeling from the inside out. Sensation of touch in every cell of the body. Imagination and curiosity streaming forth wildly. Senses are heightened to a new level of focus. Purely taking in. It is in the silence between thoughts that this presence of being lies. Such truth of this moment, the moment that starts all anew. Description of which is lost to words. Yet, an internal dialogue known at first new breath. The sensing without judging. Viewing without categorizing. A line is etched in this ecstatic present. Take in beauty for what it truly is. Then realize that you are in a participatory world.

This mirrors nothing of my current situation or sensations- simply enjoying words in a bohemian state of mind,

Gatticus

Posting for sake of

Good evening, it is a pleasant night in Bellingham. Quiet conversation with scrabble and music lulling. December nights arise too soon it seems. Daylight turning to a faded sunset with slight remorse. Too quick I say, leading on to chilly evenings. My nose is in a seemingly constant frost. Toes content only in woolies and slippers. Rest is satisfied with tea by the hour. A day to be lost in books, smiles surfacing with no thought-joy for the sake of joy. I do love walks this time of year, destined for a warm drink at the end of them. A roundabout of coffee shops with book in hand to be read. Educare - to draw out and latin informs. Though it is the time of year to cram in... interesting walks of life, not so much the gained at the end, but the process that holds all with ease. Simply must enjoy the tempo of breath-a sonnata with the soul in bliss.

An Evening Off The Beaten Track

Necessity for a quiet night. Enjoying "A River Runs Through It" along with a cafe Americano. Coffee shop thoughts. People watching and curious of Saturday night endeavors. What drives that majority of weekend activities. To what end will we lose ourselves to find ourselves. Crisp night walking home, foretelling my options for the evening. Arriving home-"Come on we are going to a hoedown in Bo Edison, should be a hootenanny!" Nights plans were set after that. The curiosity was sold at hootenanny-imagination rampant with hay bails and square dancing. Was in need of a new surroundings that night. Wonderful to get down to Skagit Valley and enjoy whatever was to be found.
Awkward directions left Matt, Tibbs and I driving around a one lane town-lost. We agreed Chuckanut drive would be excellent, seeing the San Juan lights and Anacortes at night. Luck will have it that we find mile marker 8-the missing link to the directions! Three of us walking down a long road to music at the end of it. Fog was beginning to seep in and dew the grass prematurely. A chilly night to be warmed by bon fires, dancing shoes, poi fire dancing, and fireworks. A look around to find smiling faces to greet three strangers. The spectrum of ages was wonderful. All dancing and enjoying company freely. Stories and social talk over a plethora of food and drink. None was to touch my lips that night. Enough to be intoxicated by the situation and a bright moon of Skagit. Music was wonderful! Bellingham Jam band-the whole works along with an alto and tenor sax to top it off. Simply had to move you feet and snap those fingers. Most amazing was such a welcoming environment-exchange of smiles was understood and left at that. A true gathering-inspiring to create such free laughter. Male, female, gay, straight, cowboy hat or not, all having a good time together. As the crowd began to thin we followed suit after the band finished their set. Upon leaving we were told that Chuckanut has been closed for a week due to wash outs and rock falls... The night could not have happened any other way.

Heart of a saturday night

Tom Waits quiets restless thoughts. Allowing life to occur around me-falling short of ideals. That sound is known-unspoken and understood. Am I going to take a step? Any direction or path leads on just the same. How each is traveled makes the man. Knowing that regret is unnecessary. Feeling content from the innate sense of self. I reach outwards to grasp things within my own heart. Suffocated by my own inability to expand my bubble. All the options before me and I stand-stationary. Moving at the speed of earth rotation. That is just it, the world is spinning round-I float along eyes closed asleep in my river boat. Bobbing up and down with river discord. Always a bit scared to allow myself onwards under my own wake. Recognition of the choice. The only choice-love or ego. Tomorrow is a new day, but tonight is a new night of dreams and a life to be lived-free.

Ego the author of the piece above. Writing distress for the sake of adding to the worlds volumes. Unease comes from inside-a mindset within my realm of control. Worn leather reigns in my finger tips atop an imaginary saddle. Powered by strength of will and vigor for life's ride-a full circle in the end. A circle that never repeats but travels on just the same. Surrounded by covered mirrors-bent, elongated, broken or polished perfection, all life perceived reflects the individual viewer. How to view The Yellow Rose without naming it? Essence no language can formulate-an innate understanding of seeing it for the first time. To view and understand being in one is to see in all.

Another for the world's volumes-no longer within Greg or I. "I am not sure which one of us it is that's writing this page" (Borges, Jorge Luis)

Witnessing a seasonal constant

Chuckanut ranges such a spectrum of wonder before my eyes and ears. Soft paddle strokes through Lake Whatcom. Only waves lopping the hull are those of my own power. Our whole group taken in my the stillness, emotions felt in the quiet. Words only used in disconnect. Smiles and long gazes all around. Thoughts embracing such a life resonating around and through all. The time battered hills allow the Big Leaf Maples to shine on. Still their beauty shared with the coniferous plantae blending into one magnificant whole. Attention browses from below the water line-into worlds below. Without passing throught, my immagination turns into the clouds. Stratosphere of bent light and whisps of charged humidity.

Bicycling to capture light and images. Stopping whereever inspiration sprung along the way to Larrabee. New destinations found in an all too familiar place. A special breed of folks find these wonderful places off the beaten path. A curosity leads the way with no expectation.

October Being the Salesmans Month

Thick fog keeps the days vigor in the house for time bein. Curious what to do, though cold feet just call out for more wool cozies. Another cup of tea will set right-third this morning. That is how a minimum utility house goes with the single pane charm. Fun is to be had nontheless. Wonderful sunshine yesterday. A bike ride to get lost and end up anywhere-everywhere. Then peddling the vertical rise of Sehome Hill with way too much weight in beer. Why do only I carry a bike bag? Rope swing at the top and fall colors to make you stop and listen. Quiet smiles and presence.
New choices to live by. No more settling for the well worn footsteps, my legend shows that end. It is simply too easy. Best tramping in the woods where more paths are found and followed. Breaks are taken is places of true beauty-completely surrounded by the sensuous world. Vision is present, though goal oriented.
Thicker fog rolls in still. Heavy mist fifty yards out from my chilly window perch. Third cup of tea almost gone-time for a pea-coat, scarf and a brisk walk in the crispness of fall. Much love to all, may your warmth by felt in the kitchen, fall harvests with family and friends.

G-atticus