This morning strong westerly winds lifted the spirit of the freshly fallen snow across my path of travel.

Wisps of blowing snow like a fine cotton veil moved in random directions on the wind. I was in the presence of greatness and power from the almighty creator.

Like many I was preparing for the rebirth of spring, but winter crossed seasons and delivered one more appearance.

I observed trees and bushes swelling under the burden of new life as they witness yet another surprise but stand ready and undeterred.

The roar of March is once again present and the persistence of Mother Nature has to be admired.

Two seasons competing for my attention, both causing blessings and consternation at the same time.

I ponder how long winter will linger but with great patience comes great reward. Nature’s sense of humor is once again front page and the result is that I have a great appreciation when warm winds return to claim the skies and the sun will heal my winter’s journey.

 The miracle of blooms and blossoms will replace barren limbs and stalks and greenery will abound.

Warm sunrises will replace icy winds and winter will have done its job bringing grateful thanks to my soul and spirit.

I am reminded to hold steady the ways and wonder of nature for its ways are many and reasons are few. I am grateful!

There are times in the night,

Before light of dawn,

I dream of you at my side

I smile in the darkness,

With you snuggled so close,

At my feelings of longing deep inside

Your presence in my life,

Has jump-started my heart.

A heart which has lived in complacency,

Being the norm, not the exception.

Now excitement and wonder are fuel to move

In a new direction.

Love cannot survive in a static heart, rendered helpless,

Torn apart.

Grateful to the woman with vision to see      

Giving meaning to life, a chance to be

Long is the road to lay ahead.

To be welcomed as an audience member in nature’s daily play is a blessing. To have a seat in the front row of the performance is a truly a treasured opportunity. I give thanks to the great creator for I am truly humbled by the beauty of the day.

Today a warming front brings steady rain, falling on frozen earth, which creates a ghostly fog to hide the approaching dawn. A light easterly wind choreographs the morning shroud across the cut corn. It has a spiritual presence and movement, lingering above the earth with no apparent sense of direction. It is just there!

      Suddenly, in the mist, movement is captured from the corner of my eye. Any movement on the hunt gives race to the pulse. A flock of hen turkeys soars from the roost and lands with authority in the field. They have but one purpose or so I think.  They approach my position not ten yards away, some seventeen in all. They leisurely walk the barren field, constantly in search of a good meal.

It is amazing how truly attentive they are to their surroundings while tending to their task of searching for food. After a short time, they meld into the haze and disappear into the security of the woodlot. Moment later, they can be seen running like troops in formation across the corn field, amazingly quick as they approach the fence row, crossing in single file, just feet from my location. I can count the feathers and the sound of tripod feet.  As I turn to watch their purpose for such haste, I see their reason to hurry. Stationed in the middle of the adjacent field are some twenty additional strutting brethren. They assemble, a communal gathering with one purpose, to scratch the corn fodder, to search for corn manna left behind from the harvest.

The rain remains steady which seems to provide an orchestral background to the duties of the moment, but they pay no mind to the falling moisture. I believe this is force in numbers to work in unity for all to feed.

       From the confines of my home I cannot pen the subject of this scene. For inspiration I must rise and don the cloak of nature and proceed to a woodlot playhouse where every scene is free range and not rehearsed.

Their only rehearsal is driven by survival. The players are true feathered spirits working for one reason, one goal, oblivious to my need to attend. I am grateful and thankful for this performance.

A “Pine Wind” is a masterful force as it moves through the needles producing a melodic tune of strength and power.

These sentinel trees, high above the terrestrial floor, accepts the wind as a life force of the planet.

The needles play the chords of change and dutifully create a symphony which, if one takes a moment, can truly enjoy the song of spirit on the wind.

As the breeze ushers in the morning the sunrise creates a sparkling array of diamonds shards on the surface of the tide.

This crystalline display holds our attention and creates a subtle emotion of calm repose and thought.

 A panoramic awakening comes alive in our consciousness and we who witness are given a gift of mystic greatness, power and direction.

 We realize that we are listening to spirit, traveling in time and space and flowing in our existence as we commune with the pines and accept the movement of spirit through their needles.

Intentions of a wonderful day start with a clear heart and a spiritual purpose.

A simple turn of direction to the sunrise brings adventure to the morning route across a familiar hill. As from the line in a famous poem by Robert Frost, “I moved under the final guise of evening to the east on a road less traveled.”

This path renews with each mile as to not have been tread too much. All who travel this direction stray the main course and flow in a long procession without a conscious mind on their surroundings.

Over and down the wheels spin forward always cautious for the movement of woodlot creatures. I am not surprised when I am slowed in my travels by forms crossing my path.

As I bear closer, several deer have quickly crossed to apparent safety. I slow, I stop and find the need to greet the last doe. She suddenly stopped with a curious glaze and a quick turn of the head.

In all my experiences I have never known these wild creatures to exhibit such close quarters. I speak as if to address a human form, Good morning, “I am glad you were able to cross safely” and all at once this beautiful creature nods her head, steps back onto the hardtop and advances to my position.

My awe is apparent to her as it seems this deer understands my greeting. Quickly though she recognizes her current position and bounds quickly into the brush.

To me this was the appearance of a true woodland spirit who understood my traveling spirit and relishes the meaning in the moment that we met.

 These moments are not coincidental as they teach the lesson of awareness of spirit and the adventure which surrounds our existence.

I am grateful for the opportunity to relay this short story and I am sure that such a scene would not be possible if I would have taken the more traveled road.

As we traverse the years given to us, our memories, good or bad, provide the essence of who we are or yet to become. Thoughts flood through the catalogue of my memory bank and one experience makes me smile.

I remember summers growing up on the Gunpowder River, at the head waters of the Chesapeake Bay, where I shared a homemade rowboat and a crabbing adventure with one very special person. My maternal grandmother, endearingly known as Minnie, was a jovial, loving soul, full of adventure and love with nothing expected in return.

 Excitement filled the pre-dawn morning when we were scheduled to caste off the pier laden with bait and hemp string in search of the tasty Chesapeake Blue Crab. Grandma would have prepared fried bologna sandwiches as I loaded the boat with dip nets and baskets. Unless the weather was blowing a gale, my Grandmother would not be deterred from going “chicken necking”.

To the many readers who grew up along the shores of the Chesapeake or other coastal towns the terminology in this story may be familiar. Chicken-neckin’ as it is known, involves attaching a piece of fresh chicken neck to a weighted string line, which were known as handlines.

I would navigate the boat by oar to set up several hundred yards offshore into deeper water and drop anchor. Handlines were pre-loaded for quick deployment and the nets and baskets were at the ready. Then, the wait began for the all-important “tug” on the string from below which indicated the crabs were aware. At that moment this was all that meant anything in the world to me. To see the excitement in Grandma’s eyes and having her give the command to “man the net” was pure heaven. Although excited, I do admit I was scared to death if I was not able to land dinner!

Grandma would position herself on the mid-ship bench and tend eight or ten handlines. As a seasoned pro she would handle each line like a virtuoso violinist. I believed that she could tell if a crab had taken the bait even before the crab would. Her patience was both a way to catch more blue crab as well as a lesson for me. Once a sizeable catch had been retrieved and loaded into the basket, we would weigh anchor and head for shore to prepare to steam the feast. It would be an afternoon of anticipation until we sat at the picnic table with a mound of crustaceans ready to be enjoyed.

Many similar adventures from my memory could be written and fill countless pages but usually one single adventure provided the life lesson which to recall. Patience, humility and love were displayed that day and have lasted a lifetime for me. Hold on to the simple pleasures in life for they end up meaning the most.

The years are many,
The memories profuse.
Your passing expected,
But sometimes obtuse.

How could I exist
Without your guiding light?
Your wisdom, love and understanding,
Always made things right.

I sit here today on the edge of the bay,
Northeast winds dry my tears away!

The water, the waves move with power and might,
Tending their direction, making things right!

My waterways of life where the lanes I cannot see,
Looking to you to navigate the right place to be!

“Right on Red Returning” when I leave the harbor of this life, returning to the sea,
With you, Dad, at the helm,
Homeward bound is where I be!