Summer I

Story 1: Spiders

One summer afternoon a thousand strings of light emerged from the wall of green and drifted into space, each end strapped firmly to the tiniest of spider babies, little parachutists, bravely and willingly allowing themselves to be carried by a faint breeze into the unknown. 

This story weaves together images of parachuting spider babies, an ancient turtle, love and loss.

Story 2: Lost

I was hiking in Utah once and had to keep myself from diving off a cliff: L’appel du vide; the call of the void. Surprisingly there is little written about this. Doesn’t everyone feel the urge to enter the  void at some time in their life?  

Find helpful instructions here on what to do when you are lost in the woods.

Story 3: Bhola

Very early, on the second last morning of my month in India I crossed the clear, blue-green Ganges. The narrow, usually packed footbridge was quiet. Ahead was a woman, her dark pink sari fluttering in the breeze.  The mountains rise up north of the town, cast their long shadows, keeping the air cool in the late winter morning. 

This story is about a conversation at the edge of the Ganges.

Story 4: Maps

Perhaps stories,  our mental maps, our perceptions of the world are only illusions, marked by clear or faint, experiences along the path. We do seem to have an insatiable need to create meaning, to connect seemingly random memories, to help us make sense of the world, and our place in it. 

This story threads together maps, owls and wolves.

Story 5: Entanglement

At our small cabin, the lake is moving and churning today, thunder threatens, the light bounces off the waves. I step into the water and pull myself under the surface and open my eyes, as beams of light reflect off tiny particles. And I become aware that I am this too, a tiny particle in an ever changing sea of light and life.

Entanglements is about the connections we share with the big and small, the living and dying. (See Links 1)

Story 6: Remnants

A story about memory and the clear and blurred remnants that mark us.

Story 7: Silkworms

Of course there is no guarantee that change, and the stirrings of a thousand earthworms will restore life, there is always the chance that it won’t. Life is not predictable and it might not end as happily as you once hoped. Nonetheless, even if choice seems faint, do remind yourself that you don’t have to wait for the frail promises of your unraveling life.

Silkworms spin together no-till farming, silkworms and life transitions.

Story 8: Path

Last winter a man I met in a small northern community told me that when he was young he would hunt for Caribou with his uncle. One evening, at dusk, he watched as thousands of the large lumbering animals moved not as one, but swirled in all directions. He said that the ground moved and shook with noise and motion. But the caribou don’t migrate that far south anymore.

Impermanence, toads, caribou and the forest.

Story 9: Terns

I once read that lightning fixes nitrogen in the soil. The lighting bolt’s electric charge breaks the stable strong  bond that exists between the nitrogen atoms that fill the air. The separated atoms rearrange and attach themselves to oxygen and rain delivers these molecules to the earth. It can burn you too. The shoreline remembers the power of such storms in its blackened trees, which,  like the small flowery monuments to the highway dead, post their warnings along the way. The story is about navigating your way through a storm. (See Links 2)

Story 10: Lola

I had heard that cats bring dead, or half dead mice, to their human owners to teach them how to hunt. Given our lack of responsive learning,  I have always been impressed by Lola’s patience, her unwillingness to give up on us. But recently I came across a different theory: animals might leave us presents to show their gratitude.

A story about our cat Lola, harvesting brussels sprouts and gratitude. (See Links 3)