Off the beaten path a rolling stone gathers no moss. The roll of its movement is like poetry in motion.
At a bridge too far, footsteps linger on a path.
A witness bearer is observing nature.
A rock falls, succumbs to the pressure and breaks in half. It will never be the same. Even pieced together, it will not ever be whole. There will always be light shining through its center.
Iridescent and beautiful, a shine traverses the in-between, always seeing both sides of an equation.
Never judging, never choosing which side is better, the lights only purpose; quiet acceptance.
It glistens and flows silently becoming the glue which clings to each half of a shattered foundation then with quiet support, it centers the mass – makes it stronger through the light bond of its touch and creates something new.
Like a bridge too far reaching across a cut-face, light connects both sides.
Some rock hard, stone like individuals previously stuck begin to cross over from the precipice of the cut-face. They courageously take small steps until gravity intervenes and they roll smoothly across. Having bridged the gap they celebrate their new found strength.
Fear paralyzes the forward motion of others. Their burden is heavy. They must remain unmoving and solid.
“Even rocks can crack,” they say sadly.
This a dark fact rarely mentioned – cracking is forbidden. It’s taboo to admit weakness or even create an awareness of its existence because one would then notice a concrete failure in their foundation.
Instead of rounded thoughts and wheels of motion to roll ahead, they form blocks. They see how easy blocks are to stack. They gauge progress by building barriers instead of bridges. They notice how they feel stuck in the mire and begin to sink as they fall into the pressure of its darkness and crack.
But, they don’t notice the beauty, movement or force of the light connecting the pulsing broken shards of a stone and how it has formed others into glorious pieces of art. Or, the peace that washes over a shattered, broken work in progress when it transforms through an acceptance of nature and, moves on; forever fragmented but beautifully whole; perfect while they dance and bond with the light of the in-between at the cut-face near the bridge too far. Free.
Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse
Three weeks ago, a foggy mist of milk white hid the horizon. It was still cold. Spring was here but the tendrils of winter were loath to release their taunting grip on the prairie.
Many migrating birds were overhead. I knew this because I could hear them.
I always tend to marvel at the ability of migratory birds especially, their instinctual ability to navigate blindly through inclement weather and unseen territory while they fly toward their new destinations.
I heard familiar honking in the distance. The recognizable sound was that of the Canadian Geese as they arrived in droves while fog shrouded the land. Other flocks of migratory birds were also flying in. Their types were harder to discern with listening ears because the opaque wall inhibited any clear view of the arriving birds and muffled the sounds of their songs.
The misty cold weather was surreal. Unending fog can be depressing to some but I enjoy the damp, cool weather and find the wall of cloudy white strangely comforting, even safe. I like the idea of disappearing behind a veil of white. It’s private. I especially like walking in the fog, mainly because I am obliged to use my other senses and am forced to pay closer attention to what’s in my immediate circle during the hours before the fog relents to the rays of the mid-day sun.
But, that day, I was imagining what it would be like to spread open the white wall of fog with my hands as if it were curtains and step through it. I was wondering if it would it be a clear day or magical world on the other side of the curtains when a knock interrupted my whimsy.
Knock, knock.
Knock.
“What’s knocking at my front door, it’s not like a knocking that I’ve heard before,” I wondered. (more…)
White rabbits, white rabbits; spring arrives; winter weather lifts; and there are white rabbits everywhere!
Rabbits are prolific creatures. There are so many of them here that it is near impossible to count their numbers.
The rabbit symbolizes fertility, luck, creativity, compassion and intuition. Rabbits are associated with springtime and new beginnings. They are happy reminders that life is full of possibilities. A rabbit’s foot is a lucky token and rabbits are considered symbols of fortune.
But with the appearance of all these rabbits, is it possible our home has undergone a takeover by Easter Bunny Central?
We have a profound conglomeration of long-eared, fluffy-white-tailed creatures hopping around our farmyard and nearby fields.
The majority of rabbits inhabiting the farm are jackrabbits but somewhere during the winter months a bush bunny family moved in as well.
Bush bunnies, otherwise known as mountain cottontail are the only true rabbit in Alberta. Despite its name, it is not actually found in our mountains. It is restricted to the prairie regions of the province, where it can be found in areas with sufficient brushy cover. I suspect our newly arrived cottontails fled from a nearby coulee to take up residence in our hedges mid winter.
I usually spot my little bush bunny or cottontail friends closer to the house not far from the hedges, whereas, their larger counterparts, the jackrabbits like kibitzing out in the open.
Jackrabbits, otherwise known as snowshoe hares, are larger than rabbits, have longer hind legs and longer ears. An interesting fact to note is that rabbits or baby bunnies are born hairless and blind whereas baby hares, (called leverets) are born with fur, can see, and are mobile within an hour of birth. As well, hares turn from brown in the summer to white in the winter; rabbits do not.
Our prairie jackrabbits are well camouflaged during seasonal changes. Right now, most of them are still wearing their white jackets and blend in with the white covered landscape. Some have begun to shed their white fur and have a brown patchy appearance and are hard to see against the barren spring earth. Jackrabbits will hide among and under rocks, outbuildings, hollow logs, and other covered spaces or even in plain sight. When faced with danger, rabbits tend to freeze and/or run for cover, while hares will usually try to run away and out maneuver their pursuer.
The jackrabbits around here love to taunt my dogs. They have even been known to run right through our legs during a daily walk to induce a game of tag. Jackrabbits can run up to 55 km/h (34 mph) and can leap up to five meters (16 feet 5 inches)! They are agile athletes who elude predators from following their scent through a series of large bounds, sometimes even moving at right angles to their previous direction. My poor good natured dogs don’t stand a chance. They get out distanced and out maneuvered by the jackrabbits during every competition. Still, they love the chase and it seems to be great exercise for both the rabbits and the dogs.
To be honest, I find the bush bunnies to be much cuter than the jackrabbits but the jackrabbits have afforded me plenty of comic relief over the years due to their antics with my dogs and their Easter exercise regimes.
To be a successful Easter Bunny candidate, one must assume that a rabbit or hare needs to be white or well camouflaged, agile and fleet of foot to deliver all of those chocolaty candy eggs across the Alberta prairie.
The training sessions around here must have produced plenty of successful Easter Bunnies and gained popularity with the rabbit populous. Rabbits have great listening skills and word seems to have spread that our remote Easter Bunny Central location is top notch. It seems very fortuitous that more and more white rabbits keep appearing from out of nowhere.
With all of these white rabbits hopping around, I’m beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland.
Which makes me wonder; if I utter the words white rabbit three times will they all magically disappear like a puff of smoke to be hare today and gone tomorrow? Or have I myself fallen into a rabbit hole?
Happy Easter every bunny!
Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse
They gathered around the podium while he delivered insincere words with a vulpine smile.
The posh, stood behind their Leader in mute support. Their heads bobbed in feigned agreement while they fixated on his every uttered word – they being his well paid entourage.
A mob, enamored by the devilish Ruler but blind to his self-entitled ego, clamored about the podium hypnotized – enthralled – agog. Drawn to his magnetic darkness, the crowd of followers had become nothing more than envious slaves duped into thinking they were free. Instead, they were mere minions drawn into the black shroud of a false idol. Infected by the beast’s insidious nature, and honeyed words their fervor the cause of chaos. Entranced and unwittingly infected, the gathering populous now formed in collaboration with the elitist cult to spread unease throughout their communities.
Those who were observant had no need to listen. The Devil’s state and demeanor made it glaringly evident to those with keen vision that, ‘his’ only intent was on cursing the world and taking its power.(more…)
It’s hard to create a work of art when you are feeling under the weather. Fever and delirium make sentences nonsensical. Your spirit seems to float away from your body – out of this world. You feel completely disconnected. The most talented of artists use the dark times in their lives to create beauty. It takes fortitude and resilience to recover from illness let alone create art.
I haven’t been feeling well – not at all.
I am not a good patient. I do not like being under the weather, I’d rather be in it, outside in nature.
The blues are pulling at me like a magnet. I can see them from my window. They taunt me as they dance and skip along the snow drifts daring me to catch them.
The day is early. The sun is only beginning to rise. I slog into my winter gear surprised that I am not collapsing under its weight and head out the door.
The air hangs softly in the distance a paler color of white than the snow lying on the ground. ‘Angel’s breath,’ I smile at the thought of it as some blue disappears with the sun’s first rays.
‘Most people chase rainbows in order to discover magic and I’m out chasing the blues. But, why limit one’s self,’ I think bemused.(more…)
Today, I sat in my rocking chair on the porch with my two trusty dogs at my side, soaked up the rays of the autumn sun and listened to the crickets sing.
When nature brings you bliss, the world’s woes drift away…
Give yourself permission to relax.
Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse
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