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!

As the eyelids of heaven open on the morning, a lazy earth prepares to accept the excitement of a new day. Southern breezes dry the lingering dew on a field of lilies. Calmness embraces the soul and moves on every wisp of wind playing through the pine needles, whistling their melodies high above your head. Crisp, clean, flowing notes are repeated with every change in the wind and written forever in my memory. If for no other reason than to enjoy some ethereal music, take a walk into a wood lot and listen to nature breath! gcc82219

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 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. Hand lines 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 hand lines. 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 the 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 memories in life for they end up meaning the most.

As the remnants of the evening fog lift like a curtain on a broadway stage, anticipation builds in the show which is to follow.  The production of a new day has debuted. The sunrise on the branch brings to life the shimmering aqua crystals which dance across the surface like millions of brilliant strokes of light! As I stand and observe at the edge of the run, the reflections of my soul I can see in the tide. We are the writer, producer and director with a supporting cast ready to perform a story not yet told. gcc81719

 The ancient confluence of two rivers flows into one common union. Seems the one-way travel is destined to cleanse their appointed path for all eternity. The flow is forward and determined to carve out small portions of the earth it flows over. These deposits are lifted and dropped along the way creating a whole new environment to share, albeit, the flow may decide to relocate a permanent resident at a moment’s notice. We live our life as the river flows, starting and stopping along the way. If we live in the cleansing of our spirit it will always provide the experience of new destinations along the way.”

Ages and oceans have marked time and the evolution of mankind. The flow of deep water is true and constant. Age too is no pretender and moves in a parallel dimension. Together these forces give our immortal souls the stage to offer thanks for what we share and describe our purpose in this ancient play on this divine stage. Why was all this created if just so God could have a platform to show his almighty love.  It is our role in this play to offer true thanks and perform our life story using the props provided by the creator, hoping for an academy award performance.”

Setting amongst the branches and brambles and honeysuckle vines as they lie motionless and at rest, I witness the settling of the fog as it envelopes the land. As if wearing a cotton shroud, the land welcomes the moisture and the quiet. In the world beyond the blacktop all actions have purpose, even a ghostly covering of water brings peace and reserve. Droplets like teardrops settle upon my spirit and I become one with the vapor.

Rarely do we have the chance in our protected world to experience such a site. One must carry their spirit to the wood’s edge to feel the silence of a cloud as it visits the land. You will feel the strength and know the comfort under nature’s veil. gcc121518

Sinking shadows on a soft wind wrinkle the returning tide, rejoicing that the flow has returned to a naked earth. The high mark on the bulwarks covers the barnacles which basked in the afternoon sun. Egrets spy from on high for a culinary feast, easy pickings of bait moving from the shadows.

          How perfect the shoreline which stands strong against the tide. Centuries of flow have not marred the etchings or the story of life in the river. Repeated with each phase of the moon, the tidal flow provides a new chapter on each day. The tide creates a palatial menagerie of sparkling water to cover the shore.

          Listen to the flow of the river, feel the rhythm with your heart and know that your soul is fulfilled on each turn of the tide. gcc81219

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!