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Tag Archives: lessons from nature


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like a hawk. unlike a hawk. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

the hawk didn’t move even as we rounded the bend in the trail. it stayed in the tree – watching – its clear vision taking in all that was below it, the lay of the land, so to speak. not swayed by anything other than what was true, it quietly watched, consciously aware.

it is what is striking about these times in our world. the amount of conscious avoidance – the ignoring of what is happening – the lack of question or research even in the face of the obvious – acting with eyes wide shut.

it is reprehensible that so many people deliberately ignore all of which is destroying this country, closing their eyes, not taking any responsibility for their inaction and for their complicity, their lack of seeking to learn the facts, their willful blindness.

it takes my breath away to know that people i know and love are consciously avoiding the truth and, thus, supporting the immense chaos that is now this country…even though every – suspicious or otherwise – single thing that has happened or is happening would confirm the existence of that very chaos.

we went around the bend and stopped. we looked back at the hawk and i took a few photographs, wishing i had a stronger telephoto lens.

and then the hawk – which had remained relatively motionless as we approached and stood underneath the tree in which it was perched – took off.

flying over the meadow and marsh below it, it was clear to us that it had set its sights on something, its focus zeroed in as it flew.

the hawk landed on a branch across the marsh from us. still laser-focused on its prey and the ground below, it had the tenacity that comes from clarity of vision.

with wisdom and power, this hawk had an instinctual plan based on being aware.

how is it that there are a plethora of people in this country who fail to function even at the level of a bird?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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pieces of driftwood. pieces of my life. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i’m having a chance to renew my relationship with the harbor town. a tiny spurt of time here, a tiny spurt of time there. one of my favorite places on earth – the dock, at night, clanking masts, the sound of small fishing boats and soft troll motors – it is a good thing for me to revisit all this at a new time.

i didn’t know how much i needed to re-create this tie, to heal it. i didn’t know how much i needed to walk the pebbled beach, to scout for rocks and shells and driftwood, to sit and stare at the waves coming in.

when we left the last time we brought home this driftwood garland. we hung it in the place in our sunroom that seemed to be waiting for it. we sit next to it every day. and in the night that was draped in darkness from the storm, we sat next to it in candlelight.

we’ll go back. we’ll maybe pick up some more rocks for our rock garden. we may find a shell or two. we may bring home a piece of driftwood or other sea treasure. we’ll see.

the thing i do know is that each of these times i find another piece of me there. i rejuvenate another memory, process another bit of it all, feel affirmation.

somewhere on that beach, on that dock, in that town are pieces of my 19 year old self. the girl with the dog who climbed on the jetties and danced on the sand, who ran on the boardwalks and soaked in the sun on big old beach towels. there are pieces of me to reclaim, to go pick up in the corners of my memories, to re-empower. there are truths to release into the air of the world – finally. there are notes poised, floating in the air to compose, words in peripheral vision biding time to be written. i can feel the vibration of it all – that flutter in my chest.

and, though it is now a fancier bistro, the next time we’ll go – this place that was a pub where i’d fill up on baked clams and salty air. we didn’t go the last time because we knew it would be expensive and we are careful about our budget.

but the next time – yes – we will go.

because there is no price that you can put on the restoration of power, the retrieving of juju, the butterfly-net-capture-and-healing-release of muse that had been muted, stalled from trauma. to sit on those stools – even if they are different stools – is to sit on the sacred ground of yesterdays ago. it is something to celebrate.

the driftwood next to me in the sunroom taps my shoulder and my heart. it tells the story of ebb and flow, of survival and resilience, of transformative renewal and of a metamorphosis into something that has ridden the waves of the sound and – ultimately – emerged stronger.

*****

HOLDING ON, LETTING GO © 2010 kerri sherwood

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the fragile crossing. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and then, the quiet after the storm.

there is nothing like fierce winds, torrential sleet, and a blizzard to get your adrenaline going. it’s been a minute since a bit of quiet.

so monday morning – as we gratefully sat under our comforters and quilt and sipped coffee – the sound of red-winged blackbirds in our pine tree was like a symphony – significantly even more moving, at this moment, than listening to the ode to joy finale of beethoven’s 9th symphony.

we were in the aftermath.

even with the bits of destruction we experienced and unexpected – but necessary – expensive repairs – some already made and some on the ever-present maintenance docket – we felt the change and we rested in the sound of birds who had essentially disappeared during the chaotic weather.

the sun came out, we saw a bit of blue sky.

we took a breath.

there will be other storms.

some will be weather, some will be personal challenges, some will be directly connected to the state of this country.

and for any of it – for all of it – we need to gear up.

so – for right now – the sun, calm winds, melting snow, a few comforters and a quilt, coffee and the birds of our backyard will all help. they stoke up the fortitude, endurance and resilience we all have and we all draw on, the fragile crossing from destruction to recovery.

*****

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metaphors everywhere. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we talked about what this stunning vine would look like in a time-lapse video of itself – curling around this stem of underbrush, coiling in and out. it would be fascinating to see.

we watched a PBS special of a vine – reaching, reaching – for the sky. it was nothing less than intense. it would seem that vines are definitely in the every-being-for-itself gang, striving to get sun and squashing – choking – all in its way. which, in these times, sounds devastatingly familiar.

i see this vine off the side of the dirt trail we are on – tightly wrapped around underbrush – and think about how stuck it is, there on that stalk. i wonder – as I look at it – if it is even possible to unwrap itself, to loose its deathgrip on its victim, to shed its imperative to conquer as it climbs. or if it is lost in this dedication, this seeming mandate; if it is too immersed in its scheme of obliteration.

once a vine is a vine is there a point of no return, that dedication to climbing the ladder, so to speak, with no thought of that which it is crushing?

a little research shows that vines climb and block sunlight – starving the host plants. they add weight to delicate branches and foster rot. they are smothering. many are rabidly destructive, aggressive invasive species, hard to mitigate, impervious to control or checks and balances. hmmm. again, sounding familiar.

as i studied this creeping grape-vine-knot in the woods, i was struck by its beauty, taken in by its curves and the graceful way it had wound itself. it did not occur to me – as i studied it and photographed it – of the harm it may be causing. a little time dedicated to research, to asking questions, to garnering factual information and the vine-knot took on different meaning and made me wary of any championing i might give it.

“vines can deform trees by interfering with branch growth.” “active, localized efforts to manage and eradicate wild grapevines exist in wisconsin, primarily to prevent them from choking out trees and native vegetation.”

“without constitutional checks and balances, the presidency risks shifting toward authoritarianism, where the executive branch can ignore court orders, dismantle regulatory independence, and weaponize the department of justice against political opponents. this breakdown of oversight allows for unconstitutional executive orders, consoldation of power, and the potential erosion of democratic norms.”

there are metaphors everywhere.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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HELPING HANDS
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in our back pockets. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“symbolizes wisdom, intuition, and the ability to see beyond deception or hidden truths.” (google)

it was on our way back on an out-and-back trail. we had already had the good fortune of hiking in the sun, our shadows falling on reedy marshes and fallowed underbrush of the forest, deer crossing our path.

the trail was muddy. i was watching where i was stepping.

and there it was.

a solitary feather.

a search told us it was an owl feather.

though there are resemblances to hawk feathers, i’m not minding the idea of going with owl – particularly since the symbolism is timely.

so, let’s go with that. (of course, i do welcome any birder’s opinions on this.)

we left it there, on the trail.

but we carried with us the good news of its symbolism, the wisdom, intuition and ability to discern truth. heaven knows we all sure need that right now.

in these times of unbelievable chaos, unbridled deception and grift, rank, depraved cruelty, a country being unconscionably deceived by its appallingly incompetent leaders, we are certain to need to stand in earnest wisdom with clear-eyed views of what is real versus what is propagandized or outright lying. we need to move with grace through all these challenges, protected against vast negative energy, step by step toward transformation and renewal in our country.

maybe we should all carry a virtual owl feather in our back pockets as we walk through these days.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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stoke up. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

the outside world got really quiet. the snow fell most of the afternoon and into early evening. we decided to go nowhere, immersed in the horrific news of the day. it was saturday, the last day of february.

i suppose we could have gone out – there were errands to be done. i suppose we could have gone somewhere to entertain ourselves or be entertained. i suppose we could have tipped a glass at some bistro or bar, shared a meal together, people-watched.

but this morning had brought us the overnight news of a new war conflict and – as we tried to process this new insanity – while others posted patriotic country songs clearly in favor of this pedo-files-distraction/this follow-the-corrupt-money-trail/this what-the-hell-is-this-anyway – we just weren’t up to leaving our home.

i suppose that (at least some) of mother nature will go on after we humans have utterly destroyed this planet, after we have made it impossible to live with each other, after every safety has been discarded and the world has become literally toxic in every single way.

i suppose that it may still snow. there may still be quiet days, when there is a hush outside. there may still be sun. there may still be stars. all that is likely. it will be our loss.

this morning – as i write this – the sun is in my eyes. it is bathing the quilt in light and i can’t look out the window – it is full of bright.

i can hear the birds outside. they are at the birdfeeder, on barney, feasting on birdseed and sunflower seeds. they are at the birdbath, cleaned and filled with water. everything else is still quiet, as it is early.

i’m thinking it doesn’t hurt to stoke up on these things – these sights, these sounds. it doesn’t hurt to hold them close or store them away.

because right now the future seems utterly uncertain.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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a changing sculpture. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we were waiting in the examining room. i had a doctor’s appointment.

we were surrounded by beige and all manners of brown.

i said aloud, “if i had a doctor’s office, it would not be decorated or appointed in shades of beige and brown. it’s all rather flat and depressing.”

i suspect – for the same reason i said that about the office – you might say that about this photograph. you might even say that about this trail – for much of it is bathed in beige and brown, the reeds along the river, cattails, leafless trees, and dry underbrush populating the trailside.

but it’s different.

these shapes and textures are completely engaging. there has been a giving-over to nature, an organic timewornness that has taken place. and in this flower’s stead has been left a stunning sculpture, full of light and dark. you just have to see it.

in the new eyes i have since going slower, i feel drawn to each of these. i could be completely happy lingering on the trail, photographing one after another of these dried flowerheads, each distinct, each stunningly beautiful. the tall and stately, the rounded, the wishing seeds clinging to the rough edges after floating on the wind. so much life in so much fallow.

my sweet momma – at 93 – would look in the mirror to apply her lipstick. she’d frown and grimace, “i look like an old woman!” i’d assert the obvious – “well, momma, you are 93!” and then, looking into her blue eyes i’d tell her – “a beautiful old woman”. for it was those very wrinkles, those spots of age and wisdom and experiences, those eyes that told a million stories of love and pain, summit moments and disappointments that gave her the actual depth, the texture, the light and dark to BE beautiful.

i look in the mirror, glance down at my hands, get on the scale at the doctor’s office – i am a changing sculpture. i frown, i grimace.

and then i remember my sweet momma. and i remember the flowerhead on the side of the trail.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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energy into energy. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

every time we drove past we wondered what it was going to be. the farm field had been sold and something was being built.

up north in wisconsin are farms with structures that – at the beginning of this build – look somewhat similar to what was happening here. there are ginseng farms up there. we wondered if maybe that’s what was being constructed.

what we really hoped was happening – right next door to another farm that had posted numerous maga-loving signs – is that ‘they’ – whoever ‘they’ was who had purchased the large acreage – were building a solar farm.

we were thrilled to see the metal structures and underpinnings for this solar field as it became obvious to us that – indeed – it was a solar power generating site. we cheer each time we pass it.

it is truly beyond the scope of my ability to understand the utter lack of responsibility it takes to undermine the handing-down of a healthy planet to our ancestors as the administration gutted the environmental protection agency’s endangerment finding – an agency created in 1970 to protect “clean air and clean water and open spaces as the birthright of every american.” (president richard nixon)

“an EPA that ignores science and dismantles the tools designed to protect public health and the environment cannot fulfill its mission.” (protect our winters)

with 31 deregulatory actions on the cusp of being implemented, clean air, clean water, stable seasons and public lands are all at risk. this is the potential loss of public health and environmental stability, escalating climate impacts on the world. where – on this good earth – is accountability?

when you continue south on the road with this new solar field, turn right on the county highway after passing a few more farms, and drive about a mile further, you find yourself at another construction site.

another solar field.

cheering again, we couldn’t be more proud.

the solar development of these lands is looking forward – not back. it is not mired in the self-serving profiteering of cronies’ fossil fuels. it is not ignoring the plight of the environment – this beautiful earth – and those who follow us.

instead, this solar development is part of an initiative that seeks to support the state of illinois’ goal of 100% renewable energy by 2050. renewable energy…hydro, wind, solar, biomass.

bravo, illinois.

as a country – planning for a future that can be healthy, sustaining – a country that will care for all its inhabitants – we have a long ways to go.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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do winter. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

dogga stands on the frozen pond out back. it is covered with snow and this is the first time – the first winter – he has not still avoided it. he’s not a water-dog so – as an aussie that circumvents it when it is an actual pond, it is surprising that he is choosing to traverse it, dig in its snow, stand on it.

winter is his favorite. it is his beach-weather. it’s his bliss.

now, i’ve heard many people lately complaining about this winter. “sick of” cold, snow, grey skies, biting winds, they crankily bemoan winter – like it’s a monster dedicated to making them miserable.

i don’t feel that way.

it’s winter, i think to myself, and winter is supposed to be like, well, winter.

the last few wisconsin winters have been easy on us, moderate temperatures, little snow, no real winterish hardships or challenges. maybe that’s made some of us less tolerant of what winter really is. but this winter feels about right, as far as i’m concerned. i think you are supposed to want to linger inside, nest, cocoon a bit. i think you are supposed to rest and maybe clean out a bit, readying yourself for spring and new growth. i think you’re supposed to take stock of it all and appreciate the change in seasons as the spinning earth revolves around the sun. i mean, maybe that’s just me.

i find great beauty in the almost-monochromatic that is winter. i find a storehouse of rejuvenation in its fallow. i find anticipation in the slowly-lengthening days, the slight uptick of temperatures. i find a little bit of hope – even in the midst of the darkness that is this country right now.

when spring comes – after the temperatures level out a little bit – we will cut these grasses down so that new growth will have room to burst through the soil. in the meanwhile the tracks around the grasses show that there are tiny creatures taking shelter in them, warmed by the fronds into which they are nestled. the snow is gorgeous – so bright out back i cannot comfortably look out the window.

it’s february. i don’t know how long winter will last. i suppose it could stretch well into april, maybe a bit into may. whatever. i am just here – me, d, dogga, our new gutters and warming cables – riding the coaster. studying the milder weather where family and friends live, i wouldn’t mind a few days in the 60s, but i kind of need the seasons to be what they are.

we watched the birds in the birdbath yesterday. there were at least seven birds splashing and drinking out there. i guess the sun was strong enough to melt the snow that had accumulated. they seem elated. they’d fly away and then return, waiting their turn on the edge of the bath together. they know where the birdfeeder is and they frequent it. their chirping and birdsong in the morning reassures me that – yes – it’s just winter and this is what winter is like.

i don’t want to race through. i don’t want to wish for months from now. I don’t want time to go by without my acknowledgement of some sort, my appreciation.

i just want to do winter – because it IS winter.

i’ll get to spring when it’s spring.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this not-so-flawed wednesday

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y indeed. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and why wouldn’t nature – this universe – ask Y?

WHY?

why wouldn’t nature – in all its magnificent glory – wonder what in the hell is going on?

why wouldn’t nature – in its most minuscule and its most vast – its most discreet and its most deafening – stare down humanity, shocked at the impunity?

why wouldn’t nature – in its chugging-chugging ability to keep on keeping on – shake its head as the people, living within its generosity, destroy it?

why wouldn’t nature – working around its infinite challenges to maintain a healthy and centered balance – be infuriated at so many unresolved conflicts, so much bigotry, so much extremist agenda?

why wouldn’t nature – in its symbiotic synergy – be aghast at such lack of cooperation, such disregard to interdependence?

why wouldn’t nature – in its innate ability to BE love – drown in tears of devastated sadness?

why, indeed.

Y?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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