Whenever I find myself in a state of anxiousness, the first chance I can get to step outside in a plot of nature and absorb myself into its quietude and melodic sounds, that’s when my spirit feels renewed. Step into the sounds of nature, even if only for a few minutes. When nature calls then that is when you start singing too.
This is an amazing photo of sun rays piercing into one of the huge, colorful rock formations located in Antelope Canyon in Arizona.
If you don’t protect her, she won’t protect you. It’s just that simple. Today is the observance of Earth Day and while our calendars denote that this day is designated to serve as a reminder about the importance of respecting our planet, conserving energy and being the caretakers of creation we were meant to be, protecting Mother Earth should naturally be an individual, committed and personalized mantra each of us should be cognizant of employing every day.
The toxicity of air pollution, water pollution, and soil pollution are indicators of our carelessness and recklessness that diminish the quality of life Mother Earth produces. Do we realize how intimately our lives are affected by the health and wellbeing of this universe we inhabit? What has happened to our compassion, sensitivity, and appreciation for our beautiful planet that is being destroyed, simply because we have neglected her or failed to see and protect the beauty that abounds all around us?
As I stepped outside this morning to admire the new blossoms and buds on my rose bush, I saw the brilliance of a little red ladybug sitting on one of the leaves and watched her enjoy my rose bush just as much as I did, even if our reasons were different. You don’t have to take on a mass environmental project, but you could do what you can in your neck of the woods, or city, to contribute to the preservation and growth of this planet. Earth Day. Do we really need a day to remind us of something we should be incorporating into our level of consciousness every day? Hmmmm… Just a thought.
There are so many poems that describe the mystical and ethereal experiences of the moon. When I saw that perfect circle of brightness in the sky through the Palladian window in my bathroom, the brilliance of its luminance made me think I left a light on, but I hadn’t.
Hundreds and hundreds of poems have been written about the moon by many notable poets like Carl Sandburg, Claude McKay, Sylvia Plath, J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert Frost, Emily Bronte, Matsuo Basho, William Butler Yeats, Amy Lowell, Robert Graves, Li Po, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Henry David Thoreau, and Denise Levertov.
Almost instantaneously, this haiku came to me as I was caught up in another awestruck moment glancing at a full moon in the rich darkness of the night sky.
She pierces the night
with her beauty and her light
to shine with great might.
© Kym Gordon Moore
When I find myself feeling down and in despair, I either step outside or look out of my window, then allow my eyes to pan upward and breathe. There is something mysteriously wonderful, resonant and placid about looking up towards the sky and realizing that even if everything around me is in disarray, for this moment, I am okay.
I opened the blinds to my bay-window a couple of days ago and from each angle of the window, the sky looked different. The right end window showed nothing but stormy dark gray clouds. As I walked to the center window I saw gray clouds mixed with white clouds against a Carolina blue sky. My curiosity led me to walk over to the last window and there was a wisp of gray clouds floating among fluffy white clouds, against a beautiful blue backdrop.
As I steady my gaze and think about it, I ask if the sky truly changes or is it a resolute universal canvas? I wonder if the lens of our perspective is zeroing in on transitions like the earth’s rotation, seasonal changes, the sun and moon’s movement, and the clouds drifting between the sky and us, atmospherically teaching us new lessons? The variations of clouds I saw from my window were circumstances, remnants moving away as a rainstorm just past through. Behold, the sun began peaking through in all of its brilliance.
All I know is the sky is a portrait that is ever-evolving within my emotionally charged spirit. No special effects needed. That is the type of peace that surpasses my understanding. Some things are seen and felt, and cannot offer an explanation. Sometimes the feeling becomes the explanation.
*Photos courtesy of and found in public domain.
No doubt I, like other writers pull out our pens and keyboards and seek a nostalgic moment of clarity in the presence of atmospheric climate pattern changes. Yesterday morning I watched powdered sugar coated snowflakes whisper to leafless branches of oaks and maples while stroking the long slender needles of pines, and landing silently on any surface that welcomed its presence.
Is there a brilliance of creativity dancing in the nucleus of observation, a brilliance that forces us to stop, listen and look to where the depths of spiritual discovery lies in the genius of weather-related silence? And how do our moods change and our heart rate intensify when the ferociousness of wind, rain and snow strike violently like a bold slap on the face when such gentleness turn to brutal storms?
For now, I marvel at this scene of falling flakes as I’ve witnessed many times before as if this is the first time. I never tire of moments like this when I stare at showers of flakes disappearing in a flush of gentle kisses on top of the lake. I would be remiss not to say thank you God for the opportunity to show my gratitude in a moment like this, “weather” I write or not.