I've been packing all week to move. It's taken much more time and energy than I anticipated, perhaps in part because oddly I don't know what I'm to do from here.

This afternoon, I ran into a stray journal, a thick, unlined double-spiraled notebook. Before I put it away with the others, I sat on the bottom step and opened it to see what was inside. On April 20, 2007, I wrote:

'He said when he first studied Shintaido--he didn't 'get' anything. But he wrote everything down. And when it's time for the information, the knowledge, to be of value, it falls together...

'The sun lighting up his hair...he said it may not seem you know where you are going--but you know where you are going.'

As I read the words, sunlight flowed through the window into my eyes. I felt relief.

(hay sculpture by Heather Kuhn)

Among the newly ripening grapefruit, there are ten or so that are hard to reach and so remained on the tree from last year. After freezes, summer rain, heat, and two hurricanes, it seemed doubtful they would be any good. I picked one anyway a couple weeks back, stuck it in the fridge to cool, then forgot about it. I figured it would taste spoiled, or be dried out or have bugs.

Yesterday, it caught my attention, and I had a tentative go at it. I cut it in half, saw that it looked ok, smelled its pungent tartness. I ate all the flesh, which was plump, mild, and sweet, then went for the juice with my spoon, but there was so much! I squeezed it into a glass--over half a cup after having already eaten the fruit. Is this remarkable, or are double-season grapefruit a little-known delicacy?

And no, I did not mistake a current newly ripened fruit for one from last year. This one's skin was rubbery, and inside, two of the seeds were sprouted. I stuck them in the earth today.

How generous the land is.

Ms Opal

(acrylic
Great Blue Herons
Christopher E. Broussard)

(lighthouse art by Samantha Cabaniss, Ola High School student)

I trust there is structure beneath inner turbulence;
even the universe explodes from its spindle,
its core within majestic chaos.

Leaves-
red, orange, green-
let go of their branches
with no thought
nor do they weep.

When you walk or run, let your feet fall with no more than four ounces.

Stephen Russell
"Barefoot Doctor"

how beautiful the rugged fruit...

There's so much to be done. I was heading to town, and wanted to wear my watch, keep track of the hour. But I couldn't find it. I looked on the dresser, in the jewelry box, in the little zippered case that travels with me. Nope. So I threw on a bracelet, and was on my way.

I got back late in the afternoon, walked down the drive to pick up the mail, and spotted one small piece of litter in the grassy ditch I'd cleaned early that morning. I trudged over to see what had floated down.

It was a strip of school paper with a drawing, maybe of a small blue planet, or a robin's egg. But close examination revealed an unconventional clock face. The 6 opposite the 3, and the 8, 9, and 10 floating above the face.

And then, aha! A watch! A kindergarten watch with a paper wristband.

I'm floating now. I've been liberated from the pressure of deadlines. Everything will happen this way or that; when you have a paper watch, time's funny and it moves in mysterious ways.

If you leave the pool you have dug for yourself and go out into the river of life then life has an astonishing way of taking care of you, because then there is no taking care on your part.
Krishnamurti

With no specific plan nor destination, I was afraid.

Sometimes I forget to trust the way that has worked so well.

I think about what to say but all I see are faces, beautiful faces.

I'll be traveling the next few days-
thank you for dropping by.

And we sit in the slender shelter
along the sidewalk of the café.
Evening is come
and the mounds of clouds,
just orange and rose,
are now dark; they tremble
with silent lightning.
There is no hurry to leave
now the leavetaking is clear,
just the long moment at dusk.
Hands cradle the unfinished ale.
If we never rise from the table,
will this moment never end?
We rise as though by common assent;
Lightning flickers beyond his shoulder.
We walk across the dark,
closer now, so soon to part.

It shows up without fanfare, the stillness,
then the movement of the leaves on a far-away tree
and soon you too are enveloped by the soft breeze.
Little birds twitter from within great oaks.
A deep sound fills you and echoes into the distance,
and you’ve gained entry into the peaceable kingdom.

Season ends:
lizards rest
behind white rafters,
thin tails like question marks.

It's been maybe 5 years since someone sent me the link to photoblogs.org

rooks.ca based in Toronto was one of the first photoblogs I visited. I saw his picture of a bunch of grocery carts crashed together, and I was hooked.

The topic today was empty—

In the night, someone drove into the yard and spun a circle in the grass, tearing up the sod. The markings formed most of a circle, like an open enso.

The one bit of litter in the yard was a Diet Rite Cola can that read: Pure Zero.

In times of stress, it can be helpful to empty the mind of clutter and worry.

It can be helpful to feel our connection to the Whole.

Sunlight carves tunnels
through dark clouds;
the face of a friend
is radiant.

Atlanta airport
Freddy Velazquez
Sonia Carranza
2nd grade

It seemed like such a cheesy little Facebook application--where friends send you these phony flowers and cartoon vegetables to plant in your cartoon garden. You’re promised that every time you send someone a plant (like a girl with purple flowers growing out of her head, or a baby with a carrot head), you rescue the rainforest. You get glimpses of this ad or that, and a portion of the ad revenue goes toward rainforest protection.

The messages that go with the plants you send your friends seem a little harassing—you're giving a plant gift, but have to ask for a plant back at the same time "to fight global warming" together.

But some plants don't cost anything to send, and the others--well, it's about spending pretend cash for pretend flowers.

It's when you start looking for rainbows that you learn about the larger (lil) Green Patch community. As you chase rainbows, you end up in strangers’ gardens, and every now and then you’re tempted into caring for their plants. When someone steals your rainbow, they may take care of your garden as long as they’re there. They water it, give a dog a bone, or walk a deer back home.

Sometimes people leave a greeting on the garden walls, like a hi! from Amsterdam or I raked your leaves! from Texas and then a stranger named Signe is sending you little dolphin gifts of appreciation, spending her greenbucks on you, and a stranger named Jessica is sending you thank you's for taking care of her garden and...

it all feels very nice.

Maybe we are protecting the rainforest, one tender act of cyber-love at a time. Maybe in our green patches, we're growing thoughtfulness and trust. Who am I to judge what's phony and what's real?

The crescent moon setting below the Venus was stunning last night and should be even more beautiful as they merge closer together tonight. (I think their positions will have shifted with the moon above.) It's so magnificent, the moon and planet glowing within infinite sky.

I was thirty feet away
but the hawk was so focused on food
that one stray human, a dog, mockingbirds, a squirrel and a blue jay
barely distracted him.
A migrating Broad-Winged Hawk
little bigger than a crow
searching for frogs, lizards, snakes or insects
didn’t worry the other birds too much
though they chattered and kept an eye out
and flew at him now and again,
more out of habit than real fear or fight.
I do know this-
his awkward landing
in unfamiliar oak branches
and rather desperate feeding in the pasture grass
seemed like noble effort.
His timing and nearness touched me;
I was not so alone.