putting forth fruit

Saturday I walked home from a choir rehearsal at church. It's a good route, three miles, mostly beside the river. I passed Goose Island (so named by me). This picture below is from early April, when couples around about its small beach and mini-forest paddled, all considerate and nestinglike.

I found jungly places Saturday, blossoms at their full and leaves shiny fresh.

More than halfway home I was passed by another of the many folks zipping along on two wheels. This rider carried a potted plant in one hand and had a bag of some soil or earthy stuff sticking out of his pack. No mistaking him.

I called: "Hi, James!" His head turned, and he smiled and stopped. My son and I then wandered the rest of the way back to the house together. It was a companionable moment, James being in Eugene briefly, drumming up lawn care jobs and permaculture consultations. (You can check out his website for more info. on his doings.)

He and I reached the bridged inlet and pond and happened upon a family moment.

I liked how the parent geese kept their faces at water level, making eye contact with their brood. This is us, they seemed to be saying. Let's focus together, let's navigate reality. Then someday you can be off and make your decisions and find your own islands and pathways and rivers and streams.

a calm day

Lost in wonder and other people's words. I'm resting, refreshed. For the fourth time I have journeyed through the Lenten season at my church and in my heart. There's a hidden brightness that is anticipation mixed with interaction peppered with longing. It is so good.

The other people whose words I mentioned are writer friends. Lounging today, I reacquaint with their views, their syntaxes, their existences that I hadn't been thinking about so much, but now I'm all into.

I think it would be good to write reviews on Amazon. So I compose in my head, while sipping Trader Joe's wine and munching greens with feta and Parmesan. Is it all right to mix Italian cheese with Greek? I'm such a daredevil.

around my yard

It is blossom time.

A friendly ornateness awaits every afternoon. I take for granted these live things, their doings, their openings, their murmurs. They guard my boundaries in beauty, with peace.

They are real. Nothing can unmake them. Though they fade and return again to their dust, the face of the earth is yet once more renewed.

I'm borrowing ancient words. David, the shepherd king who responded to things most deeply alive, expressed mystery in reality.

He began with waters, which pass between the mountains. Like the water I wander alongside, sometimes recalling it is nice to look up.

The waters... shall give drink to all the wild animals of the field; the wild asses shall quench their thirst; the birds of heaven shall dwell beside them; they shall sing from the midst of the rocks. The earth shall be satisfied with the fruit of Your works. You are He who causes grass to grow for the cattle, and the green plant for the service of man, to bring forth bread from the earth; and wine gladdens the heart of man, to brighten his face with oil; and bread strengthens man's heart. The trees of the plain shall be full of fruit...

my daughter...

...is blogging. Which is another reason the posting online bug bit me once again.

Living now on the opposite coast from me (along with her husband and my first grandchild, Edmund), Victoria has been finding moments in which to create. Her usual medium is visual/graphic art. At this point her One Thing Per Day posts explore her thoughts about making comics, with a bit about further aspects of her life, plus links to other creative spaces (oh, yes, sometimes there's food).

I, of course, watch for glimpses of Edmund.

Notice him in the background of this shot of Victoria's work space? Busy, happy little guy.

here again

An amazing thing happened. A visit from a blogging friend. Seven hours of conversation (she and I had one day to make the most of it).

We talked about many things, and one of them was blogs. Our talk made me long to post again, but also I desired to bring pieces from what has happened -- the stories -- back here with me.

So here I am. I get to return. Trailing posts from other blogs like old kite string.

You know how kites tend to tug really hard in spring breezes, to fly away, to be eaten by trees. Still, when the day feels right you want to test out another one. To see where it might end up this time.