This is the next installment of playing catch-up to today’s date. Magic Moments:
Early morning overcast gloom, light snow in the air, a thin layer of fresh fluffy flakes covering the ground, eyes watering from the cold, tears freezing an icy glaze on my eyelashes, absolute silence surrounds everything like a heavy blanket. Get in the car and drive to work leaving the first tire tracks on the road!
Sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, legs curled under, socked feet under a fleece throw, pile of knitting in my lap, needles working off a colorful bright ball of yarn. Enter one large grey tabby cat… Little white furry feet attack the ends of the needles, trying to pull them out of my hands. I respond and get him chasing one around the sofa with quick frantic bouncy paws and claws. Soon he tires of the game, his movement almost lazy, halfhearted and climbs into my lap, pinning the scarf down, head butting my chin. I lean down so he can nuzzle my face and kiss the top of his fuzzy head, however, I am unable to maneuver the yarn and needles so unceremoniously dump him off the bundle. Not to be deterred, he climbs back into my lap. Next tactic, pull scarf from under him and gently cover the cat with it. He settles, purring loudly, chest vibrating, gently kneading my leg. I start knitting once again and little white furry feet reach out from under the pile and attack the yarn feeding onto the needles. I laugh as yarn slips between his claws and keep going as 16 pounds of happy purring love bug helps me knit.
Slowly, reluctantly, I open my eyes and find myself immersed in shy early morning light hesitantly seeping through the window. It’s a kind of light that can be felt, cool and velvety. It’s translucent and hazy, fading to opaque in the shadowy corners. If I were to wave my hand through the air, I might see the currents swirl around the movement, like walking through mist. I am surrounded by 3 sleeping curled bundles furry a d warm pinning me under the blankets. The earthy feline presence gives me peaceful tranquillity. At this moment I want nothing more than to close my eyes and slide gently back into sleep.
Standing in the front yard in the snow, slowly pouring black oil sunflower seed into a bird feeder, watching as the seeds slide and skitter, clattering against each other as they fill the metal mesh tube. My eyes following the trajectories of many falling seeds, they bounce and scatter as the hit the surface of the frozen snow. When the feeder is full the rest of the seed is tossed out in an arc for the ground feeding birds. While I am hanging the feeder on the shepherd’s hook, several chickadees swoop down and quickly peck seeds from the snow at my feet. I stand completely still, my eyes only inches from the feeders. Several minutes pass, but then the chickadees loose their trepidation and start flitting to the feeder, snatching seeds, and hopping away. They are so close, I can see individual fronds on their feathers, minuscule scales on their tiny feet as they grip the perch, and the spark of sunlight reflected in their gleaming black eyes. I stood there surrounded by fluttering chirping chickadees until I was cold enough to break the spell and move myself back into the house.
After a blissful yoga session, shavasana with singing bowls. The sound laps around us like warm gentle waves. I feel the vibrations through the floor and in the air, every cell in my body can feel the ebb and flow of the music. Floating on the sound waves like floating in the river. Inhale, my lungs expanding with the singing tones, I am completely enveloped with the magical sounds. I feel transported to a higher plane, the subtle creative power of the universe pulses in my veins. As the last tones fade away, I seep back into myself, keeping that peace and strength close where it can blossom and grow.
Standing in the chilly darkness, listening to the exquisite silence of a winter evening , gazing up at millions of sparkling stars, watching the small white fog cloud of breath billow up into the beam of the porch light to dissipate into nothingness, feeling the sting of cold air on my cheeks, smell the earthy wood smoke wafting down from the chimney, then out of the blackness of the forest across the valley comes the distant and faint, yet clear tones of church bells ringing down the hill from over a mile away. Sound travels beautifully on clear winter nights!
While driving down a twisting road on the other side of a mountain, following a fast and furious creek, my eyes wander over its rapids, riffles, and waterfalls. At the top of the mountain this creek is shallow and narrow enough to jump over. It get wider, fuller, and wilder as it flows down the pass. I have often fantasized about canoeing this creek, but its steepness and boulder strewn gorge is beyond my ability to navigate safely. What strikes me on this particular trip is the color of the water: pale frozen green. There is ice everywhere and as the water rushes over, under, around, and through the ice, it looks green like when looking through an aquarium at just the angle in just the right light. Two hours later, when I drive back through, the sun is at a different angle and the illusion has disappeared.