season of berries

howls

from somewhere on flickr years ago

On Friday night the town of Ira held the annual tree-lighting ceremony. Allyn asked me to lead the Christmas carol singing part of the program. I was asked to go outside and prepare for that. The moon was almost full. While I was waiting I heard the sound of coyotes, quite a few of them, howling at the moon. That sound is riveting when you're out alone in the dark. It was amazing how quickly I went from the usual daydreaming to being grounded in the present moment; in the cold, in the dark, in the coyotes and their howls.

Listen. Make a way

for yourself inside 

yourself. Stop looking in

the other way of looking.

Rumi

Zen page-a-day calendar

dawn

Each time the dawn appears, the mystery is there in its entirety.
Rene Daumal
Zen page-a-day calendar

November

trailing arbutus

Arthur Haines Go Botany

As I said, November is the month of the axe, and, as in other love affairs, there is skill in the exercise of bias...

I find it disconcerting to analyze, ex post facto, the reasons behind my own axe-in-hand decisions. I find, first of all, that not all trees are created free and equal. Where a white pine and a red birch are crowding each other, I have a priori bias; I always cut the birch to favor the pine. Why?

...So I try again and here perhaps is something, under this pine will ultimately grow a trailing arbutus, an Indian pipe, a pyrola, or a twin flower, whereas under the birch a bottle gentian is about the best to be hoped for. In this pine a pileated woodpecker will ultimately chisel out a nest; in the birch a hairy will have to suffice. In this pine the wind will sing for me in April, at which time the birch is only rattling naked twigs. These possible reasons for my bias carry weight, but why? Does the pine stimulate my imagination and my hopes more deeply than the birch does? If so, is the difference in the trees, or in me?

November

A Sand County Almanac

Aldo Leopold

blazing

Fifteen degrees this morning, stars blazing outside. Wool caps have come out of the bureau. Christmas wreaths on sale at supermarkets. Allyn brought home a couple of poinsettias yesterday.

That which cannot change, remains. The great peace, the deep silence, the hidden beauty of reality remain.While it cannot be conveyed through words, it is waiting for you to experience for yourself.
Nisargadatta Mahaaraj
Zen page-a-day calendar

tamaracks

I must not drive much through tamarack country these days as I haven't seen any turning until we drove the NY thruway to Buffalo for Thanksgiving. They are one of the last to turn, maybe the willows are the last. The asparagus plants in the back provide a miniature version in color and shape.

Gratitude

November is the gloomiest month of the year in Vermont; dark, cold, wet. It contrasts so nicely during Thanksgiving when cozy homes are full of warmth, family, light, lunacy, and love.

Happy Thanksgiving!

At times our own light goes out, and is rekindled by a spark from another person.

Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.

Albert Schweitzer