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Rain and music

Morning dark and dreary.

When a group of people sing together, we make up a chorus. When birds do, it’s more like a whole symphony orchestra.

~ Laura Erickson, The Bird Watching Answer Book

There is nothing in which the birds differ more from man than the way in which they can build and yet leave a landscape as it was before.

~ Robert Lynd, The Blue Lion

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A Monday Meander: The redbuds and the greening

The new bridge to nowhere. I think the deer might use it because there is what looks like a deer path through the marsh on the other side. We use it to watch the tide, the fish, and the crabs come in and out of the pond.  (The old bridge M put up, using the old decking from the house, finally fell apart over the winter.  It was intended to be temporary and we were surprised it lasted as long as it did.)

It is a serious thing
Just to be alive
On this fresh morning
In this broken world.

~ Mary Oliver, excerpted from “Invitation”

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The songs of wind and rain

Looking out the kitchen window on a rainy day.

The first step towards reimagining a world gone terribly wrong would be to stop the annihilation of those who have a different imagination- an imagination that is outside of capitalism as well as communism. An imagination which has an altogether different understanding of what constitutes happiness and fulfilment. To gain this philosophical space, it is necessary to concede some physical space for survival of those who may look like the keepers of our past but who may really be the guides to our future. To do this we have to ask our rulers: Can you leave the water in the rivers, the trees in the forest? Can you leave the bauxite in the mountain?

~ Arundhati Roy, Broken Republic: Three Essays

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A Monday meander: After the storms

Little Doe, who is not so little anymore, came by early this morning to say hello (and eat some breakfast, judging by the grass sticking out of her mouth).

We part at the crossroads,
You leave with your joys and problems,
I with mine. Alone, I look down the road.
Each one must walk one’s own path.

~ Deng Ming-Dao, 365 Tao

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35. Rain and sun

Rainy morning.

And I would be the wind, whispering through the tangled woods, running airy fingers over the island’s face, tingling in the chill of concealed places, sighing secrets in the dawn. And I would be the light, flinging over the island, covering it with flash and shadow, shining on rocks and pools, softening to a touch in the glow of dusk. If I were the rain and wind and light, I would encircle the island like the sky surrounding earth, flood through it like a heart driven pulse, shine from inside it like a star in flames, burn away to blackness in the closed eyes of its night.

~ Richard Nelson, The Island Within

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8. Rising, falling

It was a dark and misty morning.

The loving mind can observe peace and joy in one moment, and then grief in the next moment, and it will not be shattered by the change. A mind filled with love can be likened to the sky with a variety of clouds moving through it–some light and fluffy, others ominous and threatening. No matter what the situation, the sky is not threatened by the clouds. It is free.

~Sharon Salzberg

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