Thanks for your empathy, Kati. It's always a shock to experience life snuffing out. Even when it's expected. Death is part of life, but I don't know that we ever get used to that idea. Blessings to you and much love.
I'm sorry to hear about your friend. It often feels to me like grief is in layers, that all the personal losses and world losses intertwine, somehow, and now is one of those times in history where a lot of us really feel that even more than at other times. You address that here very eloquently. This really struck me from your writing: "And remember this: Love wins in the end. Not necessarily easily or quickly, but it does win. Love is what lasts." Sending lots of hugs and light.
Christina, Thank you for your empathy and for articulating so thoughtfully the layers of grief so many of us are feeling right now. I think the magnitude of the losses around us make every loss hit harder. I do believe that love is what lasts, and that is a great comfort in these times, as I do my best to live with my heart outstretched as if it were my hand. Hugs and light back to you, friend.
On my walk yesterday, I had the good fortune to watch a turkey hen and seven of her newly hatched babies - such adorable little creatures. Then, on the way back, a doe with twin fawns popped out on the road in front of me. Though mom was walking intentionally, the twins' curiosity led them to check on smells and bushes on the side of the road. What a way to start my day.
What heart-lifting encounters, Sue! Those reminders that so much of life carries on no matter the turmoil that we humans create are such gifts. I'm so glad they visited you. :)
Right now I'm dealing with moving across the Sound! I think that it will be for the better, but I have way too many books! I'm also dealing with our foster daughter moving to Europe after being "fired" from her position at NIH in D.C. (she, and about 40,000 other civil servants were still paid, but not allowed to come to work! A great way to run a country.) If all goes well she will pursue a Ph.D. in Public Health and get a job in Holland or Denmark, but I may never see her again! In the meantime she was lucky enough to secure Canadian citizenship as a backup!
This year has been an unusual year in that I've seen more butterflies and bumble bees than I've ever seen before. Four species of the former and maybe five species of the latter. Also the Sound has been invaded by a troop of California sea lions. Nature is indeed giving us a show to blunt the current human failure.
David, Thank you for your sympathy. It IS hard. Even when we know intellectually what is coming; it's always a shock to the heart.
I'm delighted to hear that you are moving across the South with Rebecca. i will say that every time I've moved, I've used it as an opportunity to evaluate my things, including books. It's amazing how clarifying it is to realize that everything I pack will have to be carried and unpacked. Suddenly some things seem much less necessary.
I hope your foster daughter lands well in Europe, and enjoys pursuing her PhD there. I am sorry that she was part of the mass slaughter at NIH, and glad she has other options. I suspect she will find ways to visit you regardless of where she ends up.
Enjoy the splendid spring there and may the move go well.
Thank you for this reminder, Susan. To practice right action, and to be right sized. There is such peace in being small, isn't there? Ave I'm so sorry to hear that you've lost a close friend. xx
I think there is a comfort in knowing that we aren't in charge, after all. That we aren't powerless, but we belong to a vast community. And that if we learn reciprocal ways of belonging, we can heal each other and our beloved planet. That's where the comfort is for me, at least. Thank you for your empathy and for being part of this Substack writers from the Earth community! Blessings and a hug.
Enormous sultry heat here yesterday and I stayed inside, stayed inside, until dusk, when I needed those fifteen minutes and went outside and visited my gardens. So much had happened, it seemed, in the 24 hours since I'd last been there. And I took a breath. Thank you for your reminders, always. xo
Bless your gardens for giving you breath and wonder and calm! And you for going out into them at dusk despite the enormous sultry heat (oh, that description--I feel the wet heat enveloping me!) and finding what you needed to tend yourself. I long for sultriness here: we have had weeks of pore-sucking, skin-crackling dry heat and I want to feel the air come alive with moisture again. xo back!
May you have the evening storms that grace us here — but none of the daytime sultry. We are in for much wet weather, whether it rains or not. Your beautifully designed and managed garden water system deserves replenishing.
Thank you for that wish. We had rain last month. Not much, less than an inch total, I think. Sultry isn't possible here with an annual precipitation of about 13 inches. There's just never moisture in the air for long enough for sultry to happen for more than an hour or two. And then the storm clouds pass, the sun comes out again and we bake dry. That's just life in the high desert. I'm fine with that, but there are times when weeks of baking makes me long for rain. xo
Thank you for your sympathy, Cathy, and for your comment. We are all doing our best in these times. Sharing what nurtures us is a gift for each other, I think. Blessings!
A day meant to be spent outdoors, after rains last night cooled everything down, with clear skies and a pleasant breeze, I stepped away from screens. Nature is the best defense against inhumanity.
Exactly, Jill. Thank you for expressing it so clearly! Nature is indeed our best defense against inhumanity, and the most healing place to be. I'm glad you had good weather for stepping away from screens and nurturing yourself. (And I wish we had your rain!)
Sending you much compassion and loving kindness as you grieve the loss of the physical form of your friend, Susan, while the love you shared will forever be in your heart♥️🙏🕊️
And thank you for the beautiful post. I especially love the idea of terraphilia as strength training for the heart and spirit. I've felt this deeply on our travels through the Southwest these past weeks—the land has a way of quieting the noise, help keeping awareness of ego, and reminding us of our belonging in something much larger than ourselves💚🙏🏜️
Thank you for that deep empathy, Camilla. The friend who died so suddenly was one of the people who helped care for Richard in the last weeks of our journey with Richard's brain cancer. That wove a bond which will always be part of who I am.
I am so glad you could travel some of the sacred landscapes of the Canyon Country. You have the ability to listen to the land, and hear the stories that land and culture and time tell. That is a beautiful gift for you and for the place! Blessings to you.
Thank you for your wise words and for the love and blessings, Camilla.
Re landscapes like the ones you spent time with, I think anytime we can slow down and listen closely to a place, the sacred begins to speak to us, and we find much more than we expected. I believe that Wallace Stegner was right when he said that every place needs a poet, by which he meant, all places are special and deserve our attention, love, and for someone to sing their songs and tell their stories. Places like Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon are so awe-inspiring that it is easy to feel the sacred and take the time to listen, but every place has stories whispering to be heard.
Thank you for making time to read and comment, Jeanne! We're all so busy these days and we all need inspiration and encouragement more than ever. Hugs to you!
I'm sorry to hear about your friend, dear Susan.
Thanks for your empathy, Kati. It's always a shock to experience life snuffing out. Even when it's expected. Death is part of life, but I don't know that we ever get used to that idea. Blessings to you and much love.
Beautiful and timely messages about nature, Susan. Ever welcome.
Thank you, Robin. It feels like a critical need for our survival right now. Blessings to you!
.y condolences on the passing of your friend.
Thank you. Even when it's expected--at least intellectually--the loss hits at our hearts.
So true.
I'm sorry for your loss. May you find solace in the living world around you.
Always, Leah. The living world is my sustenance. And thank you for your empathy. Blessings to you.
I'm sorry to hear about your friend. It often feels to me like grief is in layers, that all the personal losses and world losses intertwine, somehow, and now is one of those times in history where a lot of us really feel that even more than at other times. You address that here very eloquently. This really struck me from your writing: "And remember this: Love wins in the end. Not necessarily easily or quickly, but it does win. Love is what lasts." Sending lots of hugs and light.
Christina, Thank you for your empathy and for articulating so thoughtfully the layers of grief so many of us are feeling right now. I think the magnitude of the losses around us make every loss hit harder. I do believe that love is what lasts, and that is a great comfort in these times, as I do my best to live with my heart outstretched as if it were my hand. Hugs and light back to you, friend.
On my walk yesterday, I had the good fortune to watch a turkey hen and seven of her newly hatched babies - such adorable little creatures. Then, on the way back, a doe with twin fawns popped out on the road in front of me. Though mom was walking intentionally, the twins' curiosity led them to check on smells and bushes on the side of the road. What a way to start my day.
What heart-lifting encounters, Sue! Those reminders that so much of life carries on no matter the turmoil that we humans create are such gifts. I'm so glad they visited you. :)
You so touched my heart and being this morning as I read your writings. Thank You!
Reggie, Thank you for that lovely comment! I so appreciate your reading the post and your words. Blessings to you.
Sorry about your friend. That is always hard.
Right now I'm dealing with moving across the Sound! I think that it will be for the better, but I have way too many books! I'm also dealing with our foster daughter moving to Europe after being "fired" from her position at NIH in D.C. (she, and about 40,000 other civil servants were still paid, but not allowed to come to work! A great way to run a country.) If all goes well she will pursue a Ph.D. in Public Health and get a job in Holland or Denmark, but I may never see her again! In the meantime she was lucky enough to secure Canadian citizenship as a backup!
This year has been an unusual year in that I've seen more butterflies and bumble bees than I've ever seen before. Four species of the former and maybe five species of the latter. Also the Sound has been invaded by a troop of California sea lions. Nature is indeed giving us a show to blunt the current human failure.
David, Thank you for your sympathy. It IS hard. Even when we know intellectually what is coming; it's always a shock to the heart.
I'm delighted to hear that you are moving across the South with Rebecca. i will say that every time I've moved, I've used it as an opportunity to evaluate my things, including books. It's amazing how clarifying it is to realize that everything I pack will have to be carried and unpacked. Suddenly some things seem much less necessary.
I hope your foster daughter lands well in Europe, and enjoys pursuing her PhD there. I am sorry that she was part of the mass slaughter at NIH, and glad she has other options. I suspect she will find ways to visit you regardless of where she ends up.
Enjoy the splendid spring there and may the move go well.
Thank you. I feel calmer.
Calmer is good. May you find solace and strength in all sorts of ways by practicing your terraphilia, Jo. Blessings!
Thank you for this reminder, Susan. To practice right action, and to be right sized. There is such peace in being small, isn't there? Ave I'm so sorry to hear that you've lost a close friend. xx
I think there is a comfort in knowing that we aren't in charge, after all. That we aren't powerless, but we belong to a vast community. And that if we learn reciprocal ways of belonging, we can heal each other and our beloved planet. That's where the comfort is for me, at least. Thank you for your empathy and for being part of this Substack writers from the Earth community! Blessings and a hug.
Enormous sultry heat here yesterday and I stayed inside, stayed inside, until dusk, when I needed those fifteen minutes and went outside and visited my gardens. So much had happened, it seemed, in the 24 hours since I'd last been there. And I took a breath. Thank you for your reminders, always. xo
Bless your gardens for giving you breath and wonder and calm! And you for going out into them at dusk despite the enormous sultry heat (oh, that description--I feel the wet heat enveloping me!) and finding what you needed to tend yourself. I long for sultriness here: we have had weeks of pore-sucking, skin-crackling dry heat and I want to feel the air come alive with moisture again. xo back!
May you have the evening storms that grace us here — but none of the daytime sultry. We are in for much wet weather, whether it rains or not. Your beautifully designed and managed garden water system deserves replenishing.
Thank you for that wish. We had rain last month. Not much, less than an inch total, I think. Sultry isn't possible here with an annual precipitation of about 13 inches. There's just never moisture in the air for long enough for sultry to happen for more than an hour or two. And then the storm clouds pass, the sun comes out again and we bake dry. That's just life in the high desert. I'm fine with that, but there are times when weeks of baking makes me long for rain. xo
Sorry for your loss. I have been learning so much reading your posts. Thank you for what you do and who you are.
Thank you, Kathie, both for your empathy and for the lovely compliment. Many blessings to you and yours.
So sorry for the loss of a dear friend, Susan. Thank you for sharing your calming strategy with us.
Thank you for your sympathy, Cathy, and for your comment. We are all doing our best in these times. Sharing what nurtures us is a gift for each other, I think. Blessings!
A day meant to be spent outdoors, after rains last night cooled everything down, with clear skies and a pleasant breeze, I stepped away from screens. Nature is the best defense against inhumanity.
Exactly, Jill. Thank you for expressing it so clearly! Nature is indeed our best defense against inhumanity, and the most healing place to be. I'm glad you had good weather for stepping away from screens and nurturing yourself. (And I wish we had your rain!)
Sending you much compassion and loving kindness as you grieve the loss of the physical form of your friend, Susan, while the love you shared will forever be in your heart♥️🙏🕊️
And thank you for the beautiful post. I especially love the idea of terraphilia as strength training for the heart and spirit. I've felt this deeply on our travels through the Southwest these past weeks—the land has a way of quieting the noise, help keeping awareness of ego, and reminding us of our belonging in something much larger than ourselves💚🙏🏜️
Thank you for that deep empathy, Camilla. The friend who died so suddenly was one of the people who helped care for Richard in the last weeks of our journey with Richard's brain cancer. That wove a bond which will always be part of who I am.
I am so glad you could travel some of the sacred landscapes of the Canyon Country. You have the ability to listen to the land, and hear the stories that land and culture and time tell. That is a beautiful gift for you and for the place! Blessings to you.
Thank you, Susan.
I can understand how caring for Richard together would have created a bond that remains part of you always. That's a hard friendship to lose.
These landscapes have certainly invited us to slow down and listen more closely. We've felt very grateful to spend time among them.
Sending love and blessings to you as you hold both the grief and the love💚🙏
Thank you for your wise words and for the love and blessings, Camilla.
Re landscapes like the ones you spent time with, I think anytime we can slow down and listen closely to a place, the sacred begins to speak to us, and we find much more than we expected. I believe that Wallace Stegner was right when he said that every place needs a poet, by which he meant, all places are special and deserve our attention, love, and for someone to sing their songs and tell their stories. Places like Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon are so awe-inspiring that it is easy to feel the sacred and take the time to listen, but every place has stories whispering to be heard.
Beautifully said, Susan. I have the same sense that every place has stories waiting to be heard when we slow down enough to listen.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom and love of place💚🙏
Lovely, Susan -- thank you, as always. Heart-lifting images and words.
Thank you for making time to read and comment, Jeanne! We're all so busy these days and we all need inspiration and encouragement more than ever. Hugs to you!