I haven’t posted the last week or so, felt like being quiet, (online can be VERY loud and overwhelming), and still unsure what to post, (will work this out), which is why have shared poetry mostly, (not my own, that would be painful, for everyone). Though today, I thought I’d say how I planted pear and apple trees three years ago, and yesterday, made my first apple pie! Magical. 🍎
It’s a bit cold in Scotland today. ❄️ Fine weather for weeding.
If you know me or have read this blog a few times, you won’t be surprised to learn this, but I’ve always been a tree hugger, and I mean always. My poor mother (happy birthday wherever your spirit is) used to find me as a toddler wandering around the yard talking to the huge oak […]
leaves in the trees
an old man sitting
on a bench
and thinks of his youth
sitting on a bench
looking into his iPhone
simulates the falling
red yellowing leaves
~ Rudolph Rinaldi
Nature is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven— Nature is what we hear— The Bobolink—the Sea— Thunder—the Cricket— Nay—Nature is Harmony— Nature is what we know— Yet have no art to say— So impotent Our Wisdom is To her Simplicity.
I love the Forest and its airy bounds, Where friendly Campbell takes his daily rounds; I love the break neck hills, that headlong go, And leave me high, and half the world below; I love to see the Beach Hill mounting high, The brook without a bridge, and nearly dry. There’s Bucket’s Hill, a place of furze and clouds, Which evening in a golden blaze enshrouds: I hear the cows go home with tinkling bell, And see the woodman in the forest dwell, Whose dog runs eager where the rabbit’s gone; He eats the grass, then kicks and hurries on; Then scrapes for hoarded bone, and tries to play, And barks at larger dogs and runs away.
As I continue to reflect on issues of faith and my journey beyond faith, enjoying the daily wonders and beauty of Nature, I return time and again to the wise words of John Burroughs: Amid the decay of creeds, love of nature has high religious value. . . . It has made [nature lovers] contented […]
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their aerial neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind, As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves; The song-birds leave us at the summer’s close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
Reblogged from Medieval Wanderings: Despite so many aspects of life virtually grinding to a halt this year, one thing I have observed advancing unaffected over these past six months is the growing crops. From vast expanses of golden wheat to fields of delicate purple flax flowers, it’s been quietly reassuring to see at least something […]
In the extract below, Thich Nhat Hanh offers Buddhist thoughts, which seem to me to have considerable resonance for Druids, with their animist and earth-honouring perspective and their support for deep ecology. “There is no absolute dividing line between animate and inanimate, between living matter and inert matter. In so-called inert matter there is life, […]