Out in the garden, clearing out the last of the pepper plants and darkened tomato stems; removing stakes and doing battle with determined wild nettle that stings and burns right through garden gloves and dirt and fortitude. I intend to uproot the summers wild vines and wayward weeds, attempting to avoid just-planted bulbs and next year's lilys all the while.

A familiar doe returned on saturday morning with her rambunctious fawn in tow..she was a frequent and bold guest in early spring. I remember her as limping noticeably at the edge of the wood and worrying for her survival. Surely, she couldn't outrun or out jump any pursuer. How would she keep place with the herd?

And now she returns with baby in tow, moving with awkward grace on three legs; tripod in swift motion as agile as she need be. It comes to me that she is unaware of her limitations as she sees herself as having none. Her mothering instincts clearly in place, she steers her fawn and keeps him within safe range. She is Darwin's unlikely twist in my own backyard. She is her best self without limit or apology...and I watch her, duly humbled.

autumn notes

Morning was steeped in mist and damp, the earthy scent of mushrooms and clouds of feisty mosquitos erupted. Colorful garden snakes serpentine across pavement, most without success. Perhaps the echoes of storm and flood days from last month? Today marks the ceremonial beginning of autumn curiously void of scarlet leaves and carpets of pine cone. Hydrangeas fade into antique bouquets right on stem and turkey broods strut down driveways and circle mailboxes without trepidation.

Ancient peoples and current day farmers begin the task of sorting seeds this time of year. Spending moments noting which ones were indeed fruitful, which ones lacked energy, choosing which seeds to continue to cultivate as they look ahead to next years crop and field. Reminds me that I might do the same....taking notice of what seemed to flourish and replanting what feels true. Sometimes seeds take a bit of extra time and care in order to be bountiful; need to remember that as well.

sending peace.

Did you hear it this morning at sunrise? That soft whisper that is Autumn's song drifted alongside summer's rainfall and began to show herself in the quietest of ways. A hint of gold upon a leaf, a lone goose making her way elsewhere, a dimmer morning and earlier twilight....say it isn't so! We have a wish to bask in August sun awhile longer and desire to stand surfside still melting summer feet into warm sand. No worries...while August is sunflower yellow and crayon green ; September comes in upon a silken carpet of muted golds and singed sienna that soothes and softens.

sending peace.

Misty, sultry August mornings are among my favorite..today I was out early to check on the progress of drying my first garlic crop laid out on the screen porch. First thought..smells just like a NY pizza parlor! Deep inhale. All spring and summer I waited impatient for the brown stalks to tip- toe upward signaling harvest ready bulbs. Buried and tucked away under layered straw, tiny crescent shoots slept thru frosty nights and hibernated beneath many layered quilts of snow. I'll save a few purple blush bulbs to plant come November. I became distracted, however, by several bees intent on the opening blooms of a Rose of Sharon bush. Bumble bees drunk and gilded with dusty pollen, wings and bodies drenched in yellow- white dust. Working in the moment as if in rapture, not about to waste one grain for the hive, they remained until all was complete.

sending peace.

3 copper bowls

Years ago, while traveling to San Antonio, I visited the shop of a coppersmith who was schooled and trained by her father...generations of ancestors calloused hands meandered through her hands now. Her work had weight and memory and astounding elegance. There is a visceral response to certain types of metal artistry that starts in the belly and heart. I instantly knew I needed these three perfectly imperfect bowls in my home. The felt both humble and exquisite.

So, I unwrapped them, placed them upon tabletops and tried hanging them on painted walls and positioning them upon windowsills. Not quite right. Fill them with colored stones or seashells? Displayed and propped upright. Nope. Still felt empty...

I finally stacked them and left them be.

I found them again this week and realized what might be their purpose here...lining them up I filled one bowl with wishes of comfort and peace for those who have endured great loss; a place to hold teardrops till they evaporate over time. The second I filled with scraps and scribbles of dreams and blessings. Tiny notes chicken-scratched with what I hope the future and the present will hold. The third was left empty, perhaps the place for unexpected wonder to land and settle into. Space for not-yet-dreamed dreams and moments of Grace...I look for it to overflow.

sending peace, connie

Things I learned from harry potter

After many months I am called back to my blog so bear with me as I ease into the stream of consciousness that is my cluttered and often busy mind...

Here are just a few lessons I notice last week in the company of a "young wizard" at a local theater:

Control is not power

Your family is ALWAYS with you

Tiny elves can be braver than giants

Having a wand doesn't make you a wizard

There's a story in every teardrop

Girls kick ass

Light always fills the darkness

sending peace, connie

The sky and the waves were both the color of mussel shells...pashmina fog and salted raindrops cover the maine coastline as morning finds its way. Beachcombers wrap hands round coffee cups and measure their footsteps. It was a morning for warm doughnuts and destination-be-damned drives and for slowing down to watch birds dance on the seawall; to watch fisherman casting lines, zen like and aimless, with ballerina grace. Beach roses and sea trumpet bloom windswept. Worth waking up for....

sending peace.