• coffee life,  fountain pens,  journaling,  poems

    Hanging Around Friends

    May 14, 2025

    Something whispered something that was not even a word. It was more like silence that was understandable.

    Mary Oliver

    I’ve been struggling with health issues for the past 4 days. Primarily deep back pain that penetrates my chest. I’ve had about every test possible checking for blood clots, strokes, seizures, and any heart issues. I have many symptoms of pleurisy, but all the testing came back negative. So, I am taking six Tylenol a day and resting. I haven’t been to the natural areas, bicycling, or photography as much. However, I made it to Mugs for an Old Town mocha and gathered around friends this morning. Seems hanging around friends is good medicine. I’ve kept up with my journaling and been reading some new poetry. I hope all is well with you. And, thanks for listening to me whine.

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  • landscape,  meadow,  natural areas,  nature,  poems,  poetry,  sunrises

    Only the meadow remains…

    March 4, 2025
    This morning’s sunrise at Pineridge Natural Area

    In the early morning hours
    I sit in silence with the meadow and
    allow her to embrace me.

    I share the dawn of this new day
    while listening to the owl’s cry
    echo through the meadow.

    This shared intimacy with the meadow
    has a way of giving birth to new life
    in the ground of my being.
    … I am, therefore, never the same!

    And, I hear in this sacred place
    an unspoken invitation to return again
    each time bringing an awareness that
    each short visit is but a passing moment.

    So, whenever and while I still can
    I will sit with the meadow
    until only the meadow remains.1This was inspired from a poem written by Li Po (Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain) in the book Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems.

    mws
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  • poems,  shadows,  winter scenes

    How Well We Love

    February 9, 2025

    When all is said and done,
    The only true measure of our lives
    Is how well we loved.
    How well we gave love, received love, shared love,
    Protected love, created love.

    Nothing else will matter when our turn comes
    To make the final journey—
    Only the love we were will linger.
    Only love will still speak our name
    In the hearts of those we embraced.

    We were made to love, you and I,
    Made so by the author of love
    Made in the image of love to be the love we are.

    Steven Charleston, Spirit Wheel

    We had a light dusting of silent snowfall during the night. However, along with the snow comes the cold temperatures, 23 degrees. I made my way to the coffee shop for an Old Town Mocha made by Winter. It was rather quiet in there this morning. People must have slept in. I drove around the CSU Oval on the way home and snapped this photo for the blog. Hope you have a wonderful Superbowl Sunday.

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  • clouds,  landscape,  poems,  silence,  sunsets

    be the love…

    January 27, 2025

    Today I will conjure love from the empty air.
    I will call it out from thin places
    Where people walk without breathing
    From dark places where they stumble without seeing.
    I will find love in those I do not like
    And let love appear in the faces I avoid.
    I will make room for love in my life
    Even if I feel overcrowded with worry.
    I will offer love without restraint
    Even if I have not received love in return.
    I will dance with love in innocent pleasure.
    I will sing love as though love were a new discovery.
    Today I will be the love Spirit made me be
    When Spirit loved me from the empty air.

    Steven Charleston
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  • landscape,  natural areas,  poems,  reflections,  sunrises

    Quiet Sunrise

    November 14, 2024
    Sunrise at Arapaho Bend Natural Area – 2021

    It is a wonderful day in our life
    when one is finally able to stand
    before the long, deep mirror of one’s own reflection
    and view oneself
    with appreciation, acceptance and forgiveness.

    On that day
    one breaks through the falsity of images and expectations
    which have blinded one’s spirit.

    One can only learn to see who one is
    when one learns to view oneself
    with the most intimate and forgiving
    compassion.

    John O’Donohue
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