Tag: Nature

The Pursuit of Peace

Californian Winters

The January cold was nothing like the icy swell sweeping the rest of the country. In fact, it was almost anti-climatic. I had stepped out for a walk, and while I admired the sunset, I also took in the stirrings of spring all around me. 

Californian winters are mild.

Trees in Bloom

The first white cherry blossoms – the ones to bloom earlier and earlier every year were already beginning to bloom. I swished along, looking for the other signs of winter leaving and spring taking tentative peeps into our neighborhood. The narcissi were growing, and some precocious ones were beginning to bloom. The snowdrops too – little drops of spring tucked in their white and green attire. 

The trees were still bare, and I tilted my head upwards towards the moon. I really do love the waxing moon season – the gibbous moon against the early sunset makes me think of tides in the sea, turtles on beaches, deer in meadows, pelicans in lakes and any number of beautiful things. All things intended to fill your heart. 

I made my way towards the magnificent magnolia tree in bloom now. They truly are astounding to behold. I stood there peeking at the moon through the blooms, taking a picture that I was sure to delete soon, and then laughed at my own folly. I have yet to take a good picture of the moon with my phone, but the optimism with which I whip it out every time is truly remarkable. 

I stood there waxing poetic (Get it? Get it?) – with a yearning to set the roiling news of the world against the peace of the winter evening. 

The Pursuit of Peace

A little wish to capture magic in a bubble.
A January wish to capture peace in the world.
A wish. A hope. A thought. 

Maybe.

It will make people appreciate peace
It will make magic permeate the bubble and spread to the world.
An intention. A manifestation. A yearning.

January started off with turmoil on all fronts in the world. The pursuit of peace seems more and more elusive in the current situation. But nature always shows us hope.

History & Herons

South Indian Meals

The vegetables were neatly sliced & diced, the tomatoes were pureed, the tamarind was soaked, the rice was boiling merrily, the rasam was simmering gently at first and then with a ferocity matching the chillies in them. A South Indian meal was in progress. We do not set much store by one-pot meals in South Indian cuisine, and consequently all the burners were on. 

Efficiency. A production. An orchestra. 

I was listening to an audible book on The History of the United States  that was making me gasp in places, as I cooked.

After one particularly intense chapter ended, I stopped the podcast. In the ensuing silence an image arose in my mind.

Unbidden, unhurried, and unsullied. 

The gray heron

It was from my morning walk. Before the frenzied cooking spree to get food on the table. 

The gray heron. 

I have seen many gray herons. The common refrain in the household is that I have more photographs of the herons and egrets than I do of the children. This one, though, was the very first time I saw a heron go in for the kill at close quarters. 

The heron was less than 5 feet away. Standing still immersed in knee deep waters. Stark against the morning light. It was still cold – January colds of California – and then, slowly it waded into the waters a little more. Stealth. Strategy. And then, in one swift motion, it plunged its impressive beak into the water, and caught a shimmering fish in its beak. 

A second later, the fish was eaten, and it went back to standing in the waters. 

Whoa!

I couldn’t help contrasting the efficiency and speed of the heron’s meal against the one I was preparing. Dozens of spices, different boiling points, cutting angles for the vegetables, the right consistency, the right temperature, the right time, the right ingredients. 

In fairness, the heron was also probably listening to its version of American History from the walkers nearby, as it contemplated and went after its meal. All those opinions and snippets on Noble Peace Prizes, Venezuela and Greenland. But there, the comparison ended. 

Now, I cannot compare the taste – was the fish as tasty to the heron as the meal I had made was to our palates? I honestly cannot say. But the heron seemed content enough. When later, the family gathered around for lunch, they seemed content enough too. Wasn’t that the point? 

To Realms & Worlds Unknown

“Wow! Do people actually get up at 3 in the morning and drive up the mountain to catch the sunrise?” I said, my jaw slipping a good 45 degrees downward.

The husband, knowing my enthusiasm for these early morning fests, said, “Yes! But I was thinking of something else. Let’s go up in the afternoon, do a small hike and then watch the sunset. That way, we can wait for an hour or so, and watch the starry night skies too before heading back down.”

I nodded – did I tell you he was a smart cookie? I must have.

Haleakala Crater

So, that’s what we did. Haleakala Crater is one of the major attractions of Maui.  As we made our way towards the mountain, it was becoming gradually more scenic and lush. The volcano itself is a stunner – at about 9000 feet above sea level, it is a world very different from the rest of the island. Up there it actually feels like it is different from the rest of the planet.

One minute, you are parking the car, and looking at the trail map, and the next minute, you are on a trail called the Trailing Sands (Keonehe’ehe’e – slides off your tongue doesn’t it?) that transports you straight into the dusty dunes of Mars. Your lungs sort of leap into your throat, and your heart does this dance where it shows you what it means to hike at 9000 feet. But it truly is an experience. Some barely-there-scant vegetation is the only anchor to Earth up there. You are surrounded by miles and miles of volcanic rubble, and the shifting sands around you promise you bleakness. The sands are black. They are rust. They are brown. And there are pebbles, gravel all the way every way.

The worst part of this other-world hike is that you first go down, and then climb back up. If your heart was dancing the jig when you start down, it does the conga when you start back up. But this is where human beings are truly other-worldly too. You show them a trail in the middle of a crater, and you’ll find a swell number of souls all tramping up and down. “We’ll see you on Earth later!” They seem to say but they are there. Telling you you’ve got this, and snapping pictures for one another.

The sweat from the hike, and the cold from the altitude make you sort of yearn for a few warm blankets and a cup of hot cocoa. How did these astro-biologists and astronauts opt to go on missions lasting years to places like that in the movies? 

Alaula & Aka’ula of Napoʻo ʻana o ka lā 

The sunset was spectacular  once you got your breath back, and we huddled around the mountaintop peeking over the horizon as the skies did their magical thing of swishing out its robes. 

Napoʻo ʻana o ka lā – means the setting of the sun

Alaula – the glow of the sunset

Aka’ula – the reddish glow of the sunset

Within minutes, the pinks and oranges were gone – to be replaced by a pitch black sky and a million glittering stars. The temperatures dipped a frightful amount, and as we swiveled our necks up to the worlds above, a warm blanket felt more than welcome. Or even a warm towel fresh from the dryer would have been enough.

Towels for interstellar travels

I have no doubt that if we were to hike up into the skies there we would find our own species up there cheering each other on. “Just a little further and you’ll be on the other side of the star – just drink some water!”

I chuckled feeling a bit silly at the thought, but it reminded me of that fellow in The HitchHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy where he says the first thing a space traveler ought to pack is a towel. Well, the first thing a traveler to another world in our world ought to pack is a towel too.

The stars, and the crater had done its thing. By the time, we drove down the mountain side to our own planet, it was well into the night, and sleep under a cozy comforter and a temperature controlled bedroom beckoned us far more than the adventures of the universe.

Our Beautiful Earth.

We may enter realms and worlds unknown, but to enter our known world with the comforts of modern living awaiting us is no small blessing. 

The Tyrant’s Daughter

Early morning vibes

“What do you mean we have to jump in the ocean at 6:30 a.m.?” We were planning on snorkeling in Maui. Islands, especially those closer to the equator like Hawaii, have a sort of early morning energy to them, that dwellers from the mainlands like Yours Truly have difficulty comprehending.

The husband shrugged, and said either something to the effect of only-time-available or only-time-it-is-done. He was already tucking into toasted bagels, sounding happy and energetic. I whined. “You’re such a Tyrant for waking us up at this ungodly hour!” He laughed, and thrust a cup of coffee into my hands.

The daughter gave me a scolding, “Amma – if you have to go snorkeling you have to get up at 5:30. You can nap the rest of the day like a sea turtle sunning on a beach if you’d like, but you have to get up now.”

“Well – buddy up with him, why don’t you? You’re the Tyrant’s Daughter. That should be title of my book – The Tyrant’s Daughter! Why does he have to be so peppy at 5 in the morning?”

“Because we’re snorkeling. You kind of have to be!” She said, and I scowled at her. I sent baleful glances the whole way to the boat. I still wasn’t sure about the whole jumping in the ocean at dawn thing, but apparently fish don’t listen.

“You jump off here – and you can swim up to there – you’ll see some turtles if you’re lucky. Keep your distance..” I shivered, as the captains of the boat went on with their instructions.

The waters shimmered and looked beautiful. I am not denying that. We had spotted two whales and a baby on the way there. Granted, they didn’t look cold, but they hadn’t been pulled from a downy comforter in a room that already had the thermostat set to a comfortable temperature, had they?

Flip Float & Fiddle

I watched braver souls splash into the waters and flip off with their flippers and snorkels in place, while I just stood there praying for strength and warmth. Finally, when it was getting a bit shameful to put it off any longer, I took the plunge too. Once I got the hang of it, it was marvelous. 

I don’t know what the whales were thinking just about then, but I could’ve told them, the waters were not cold at all. Getting a healthy swim right around sunrise is the heartiest thing to do.

I flipped off and peered down into the most beautiful coral reefs. It was teeming with fish, and there up ahead was a large turtle having his shell cleaned by the reef fish, It was a gorgeous sight to behold. The sun’s rays piercing through the waters combined with the silver and black fish that were in abundance in the reef, and the turtle, put me in a sort of trance. I felt my heart stop several times as the turtle swam towards me – why do turtles look like they are smiling? Before I knew it, I heard someone holler at me to come back to the boat.

Note: Picture not from snorkeling, but elsewhere

Our next stop was equally breathtaking, and here, we saw rainbow fish, yellow sun fish and so many happy creatures, it was amazing. The corals are true marvels of creation. Here we are, trying our best to hold leaking roofs together, plastering walls, soldering outlets, while the reefs build and hold with grace and pressure.

I feel the tug in my heart to quote Gerald Durrell here. It is from one of my favorite essays in the book, Fruit Bats and Golden Pigeons by Gerald Durrell. Titled, The Enchanted World.

Quote:

Any naturalist who is lucky enough to travel, at certain moments has experienced a feeling of overwhelming exultation at the beauty and complexity of life <….>  You get it when you see a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis <…> You get it when you see a gigantic school of dolphins stretching as far as the eye can see, rocking and leaping exuberantly though their blue world <…. >

But there is one experience, perhaps above all others, that a naturalist should try to have before he dies and that is the astonishing and humbling experience of exploring a tropical reef. You become a fish, hear and see and feel as much like one as a human being can; yet at the same time you are like a bird, hovering, swooping and gliding across the marine pastures and forests.

You Are Not a Tyrant!

When finally I hauled myself back on to the boat, I started to feel cold again. But down there, in the waters, it was heavenly. I shimmied up to the husband and said, “You are not a tyrant for waking me up! It was so lovely – thank you!” He gave me a loud guffaw, and laughed.

The daughter said, “I think I need an apology over here as well.” She had a sort of shine that happy mermaids get after a morning of frolicking, and was chomping Hawaiian chips. “If I remember correctly, you were writing books about the Tyrant’s Daughter a few hours ago.“

I smiled sheepishly. Or Turtlishly maybe.

“Fine! You get an apology too. It was beautiful!” I said, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I thought I’d left my heart in the reefs, but then what was that huge tug I felt in my torso as I beamed my love out into the world around me?

Note: These pictures were taken in Monterey Bay and not under the seas at Maui. I did not take underwater cameras with me to record. I simply drank in the scenes and a bit of the Pacific Ocean too.

Dramatic Rainy Day Imagery

Not Dramatic?

“I did not like going for a walk in the rain the other day.” I said. The children clutched their hearts. The husband looked up from his chess game, which if you know the husband, is huge. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh come on! It’s not that dramatic!”

“Not dramatic?! Baboons battling elephants isn’t dramatic. You not enjoying on a rainy day walk?”

“Let’s pull up your posts, shall we?”

Rainy Day Adventures

“Okay….I get the point! Nothing unifies you lot more than this, huh?!”

Slithering Serpents, Morphing Worms, Shuddering Breaths

The husband kept his chess aside, and came to me looking concerned, as I fiddled about in the kitchen. “So what happened?”

“Nothing! It really was nothing. Usually I quite like…”

I gallantly ignored the snickering “Quite like indeed!”, and proceeded, “Just .. maybe I should’ve gone when it had just started to rain, and there was still light outside. As it was, by the time I went most of the sidewalks had flooded over, the darkness and cold had made things difficult everywhere. The street lights illuminated things I’d rather not have seen: there were such large earthworms everywhere! When did they get so huge? I mean, at that point are they earthworms anymore?”

“No mother – they are slithering serpents!” I glared at the brother-sister duo. They were having too much fun, and reveling in building on each other’s point to notice. I suppose points were to be given for quickness of repartee or whatever it is these debating champs award.

A Grouchy Day Walk

“You know that’s why most people don’t walk in the rain? They don’t come prancing in all wet, and shining with an inner light and all that. They huddle indoors. “

“They sip tea. They light candles.”

“They listen to music, watch TV.”

“You can try any of these things next time, and let us know how you feel!”

“Well – thank you all for telling me how you really feel! I am not going to be inviting any of you idiots on a rainy day adventure with me next time!” I said, making sure to point my nose in the air, and huffing impressively.

“Promise?” they said. 

The glee, I tell you! I couldn’t help laughing. 

This is not to say that I shall not go on other rainy day walks. I am too much of a pluviophile for that. Just that I didn’t enjoy that one. It was the earthworms mainly. The cold too. My aches and pains may have contributed. I sound like a proper grouch, don’t I? Everyone is entitled to a grouchy day walk aren’t they?

If Earthworms could fly

The day after though, I stepped out, and felt like a caterpillar who’s itching to burst into wings and flutter about. It was beautiful. I loved the clean Earth. The Earth was bursting with promise. The bare trees were looking stark in their beauty of abscission. The footpaths were cleaned of debris – all washed away, and all of the Earth’s songs were bright and beautiful.

I don’t know what the earthworms were doing, but couldn’t help thinking that they must envy the caterpillars right about now – imagine bursting wings to fly a day after the rains? I sent a wave to the butterflies on my walk. I wonder what they do when it rains – it must hamper their flight, isn’t it? I think I detected a humph from an earthworm buried deep in the mud. 

Amulee’s Green Party

The Cave of Quietude – Keats

There is a sort of quiet happiness – The cave of quietude as Keats so elegantly puts it, a rather meditative sort of space where the soul expands. It is truly astonishing.

It happens when you are sitting and marveling at life – it could be on a beach like I did in Maui recently. A sort of reverent hush crept in – It was time for the sunset. The waves were calm and all around us were signs that we were meant to be peaceful with the Earth around us.  The children and I went off on a little saunter to catch the sunset at a leisurely pace.

There, by a log of wood, I stopped short and said “Ooh – look somebody made a sea turtle out of rocks and sands!”

We had watched an instagrammer make a sand castle earlier, putting all amateur attempts to shame. So, I really thought it was another beach artist showing off their skills. (There are so many ways in which people are famous these days, it almost makes fame look normal.)

Aamai, Amul, Amulee

“Ummm – it looks like a real turtle to me!”, said the son, walking cautiously. But he also heard Maui’ian rules about keeping 10 feet from a turtle, so we settled on a log of wood conveniently placed 15-20 feet away to watch. Was it alive. Was it real. Thrilling questions for one on a sunset walk by the beach wouldn’t you agree?

We sat there and hoped it was real and alive. It would be such a tragedy if it weren’t. I sent a silent plea to the universe to let the turtle live long and prosper.

As though the turtle heard, it lazily opened its eyes and peered at us. A little lengthening of the neck – no exertions, no fuss. Then, determining that we were harmless souls, closed its eyes and went straight back to sleep. I cannot tell you what a scene like that does to one’s nerves. It calms and excites at the same time. In those quiet moments where brilliant life blends with peace coexistence, the soul expands. 

We spoke in reverent whispers about myths and fables that humans have come up with to capture the lure and aura of these gentle creatures.  Kurma Avatar (The way Lord Vishnu came to save Earth in the form of a turtle). I could understand it – they truly exude calm in a frenetic world. They made us saunterers stop, sit and take in the sunset, did they not?

“What should we name it?” I asked.

More hushed suggestions. “Amulee” – I said. “Aamai means turtle in Tamil, and this one is a very sweet one, so I like to call it Amulee.”

“Do you think it is a female?”

I confess turtle biology baffles me. So I threw my hands up. “Fine! Amul if male and Amulee if female. Happy?” I said smiling.

The turtle opened its eyes and craned its neck ever so slightly. I took it as a nod of approval, though it could possibly not have understood. Right? Sitting there though, I doubted it. Most creatures have shown themselves to be more brilliant than us – they learnt how to communicate us, while we did not do the same for other species. Apparently, cats only meow to communicate with humans – not amongst themselves. Dogs understand English and vernacular words to communicate with us. Dolphins too. These turtles have been around beach-goers all their lives, I would not be surprised at all.

Green Party

We sat there, and maybe it was the magic of seeing the turtle share the beach with us, but we saw some tiny streaks of apple green in the gorgeous sunset. Poets have written about it. I know L M Montgomery talks about apple green in the sunsets in her books – I thought they were a North Pole phenomenon. I have always felt a little off-kilter about the ways writers write about the brilliant streaks of color they see in eye colors and sunsets. But then, the daughter mentioned Green parties in their university – apparently, folks gather around at sunset and look for the streaks of green in the sunset.

This time, we did see it. Mild, and no darker than apple green, but still there. Amulee’s Green Party was a success.

The next morning, it had gone back into the ocean.

Do Skunks Eat Ducks?

A few years ago, an aunt asked me, “Don’t you get bored looking at the same trees and park everyday?” She looked genuinely concerned because she had heard my mother-in-law say, yet again,  that I was setting off on my walk. 

They could not imagine why I would take the children on walks, or if they weren’t in the mood, then set off by myself. 

I was genuinely shocked. Not because of the question but because nature is very rarely boring. It is full of adventure and mystery, not to mention humor, and joy. 

Take for instance the morning walk a few days ago for me. 

Hibernation would be a marvelous pursuit

Winters in California can be tricky – cold, foggy, misty, cloudy, cold (did I mention cold already? Well – the cold this week is worth mentioning twice, so I’ll leave it). 

I went reluctantly for a walk. See climatic conditions mentioned above for explanations. When I get up in the morning these days, I fervently wish I was born a bear. Hibernation would be a marvelous pursuit. The self-help channels and articles are all banging on about getting enough sleep, and yet society wants you to be up and about for long hours and at absurdly cold times too. Ridiculous!

That morning I moaned about being awake, and the husband gave me an amused look. I snapped petulantly, “What?! I have to be awake all the time once I get up – till I sleep again!” 

“Isn’t that true for all creatures who aren’t nocturnal?”, he said, and I apparently replied in gibberish. Semantics. The point is, I did not want to get up. I do not want to get up. I do not want to start my day in the cold. But I do – everyday the alarm seems to go off earlier and earlier. It could not have been the whole night gone, could it?! I just got warm and comfortable. The comforter took that long to trap body heat, the heater did not turn on, the frozen nose took awfully long to thaw. 

But human-beings are resilient if nothing else. So, I dragged myself out into the cold. On my morning walk, the fog was still lifting, and the cold made me look like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. Even the birds seemed to be quieter. No chirping, no loud squawking. 

Down in the riverbed, that I stopped to take a quick stroll before starting the day, life was slow too. I saw a great white egret with her little chick, some geese, some ducks, and a grey heron. All lethargic enough to match the atmosphere around them. 

What is that – a rat, mole, otter, weasel?

That’s when I saw the sleek quick movement of the water mole. The water must have been biting cold. The frost on nearby rooftops could confirm that much at least. Yet, the water rat or mole or weasel or otter (I honestly do not know) was sleek and fast. 

I was fascinated. I started walking to keep pace with it, and looked on amused as it kept away from the waiting blue heron. Smart.

That’s when I saw a duck family nearby. The duckling must’ve hatched late. For it was the only one its size in vicinity. The water rat was gaining on it, and I held my breath.  That’s when I caught the white streaks on its tail. Ahh – it must be a skunk. 

Do Skunks Eat Ducks?

Would I be witness to a tragedy that early in the morning? A creature’s got to eat, sure. But can’t it be less gruesome than watching a little duckling being pulled under water? 

I willed the duckling to fly away, but it seemed oblivious. After what seemed like an eternity it sprang to life and ran away from the skunk. Slapping its webbed feet rapidly on the water like a basilisk – those creatures the children were fascinated with in elementary school. 

I released a huge breath of air – I hadn’t realized I had held my breath in for that long. 

Who says there is no adventure and mystery in nature? 

There’s plenty of it. I will have to tell the aunt all about it. 

The water-skunk went on its way, the sun slowly started to peek its way through the misty morning, and I jogged my spirits up to get back home and start a day of work.

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.

-Rachel Carson

The Monarchs of Butterflies

Heliotherms & Heliotropes

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping, the leaves were all showing off that they were as good as their east-coast-fall-color relatives. It was all marvelous. So off we went for a week-end walk. 

The husband tried his best to not roll his eyes as I stopped in several places to admire big, fluffy brown and black caterpillars on the trail. “All those butterflies!” I buzzed. “Such darling guardians of the sun, aren’t they?” 

“What now?”

“Butterflies are heliotherms – did you know that? They get their body heat from directly basking in the sun. And isn’t it such a beautiful word? Heliotherms! Heliotherms flitting to Heliotropes for nectar.”

“Are we going to watch them weave their cocoons or shall we head back?” said the husband. 

Monarchs of Caterpillars

I waved to folks in the neighborhood as we passed, the dogs wagged their tails, the cats gave us looks of live-and-let-live. It was all lovely. What I didn’t realize was that it was all about to get much lovelier. I stopped to chat with a friend.

“I am going to give you a gift – it is a milkweed plant!” she said. I couldn’t help smiling at that. 

“Well – I do love that gift!” I gushed,

“They are required for saving the monarch butterflies, you know?”, she said beaming, and getting that smile on her face that meant she was excited to show me something a biophile would appreciate. 

“Yes I remember reading about it a while ago when the numbers of monarch butterflies had dropped. They planted them all along the migration paths to revive their numbers.” 

Monarch Butterflies: Back from the Brink

“Want to see the caterpillars?” she asked me, giving me a look like Christmas had come early. 

“I just saw a few – big fat furry ones there!” I said pointing vaguely in the direction I’d come from. The husband had that look that said – “I’ve had quite enough of caterpillars for the day!”

 “Come and see these. These are the monarch butterfly’s caterpillars, and they are only found on the milkweed plant itself.”

Now, how could I resist? The husband squiggled away – wishing us a wonderful caterpillar viewing session.

I went into my friend’s garden and am I glad I did?! 

These caterpillars are striped beauties that make you want to sit and admire them all day. Light green, black and yellow, they were squirming and filling themselves on the milkweed plant. Their home looked beautiful in the November sun. Apparently, these caterpillars lived out their entire caterpillar-hood on the milkweed plants. 

A few years ago, I had written an article on the Monarch butterflies – their numbers had been dwindling and the state of California had revived them by growing milkweed plants everywhere along their migration route. I thought it was for the nectar – now, I know it was for the caterpillars to nest and grow a cocoon in too. 

Lepidoperist

When they say transformative like a butterfly, how many ways can it hold meaning? For there are the ones that become butterflies from the woolly variety. I now remember how my children as elementary schoolers loved talking about the caterpillars, cocoons, and butterflies.  The thick brown and black caterpillars produce butterflies too, but the monarch butterflies only come from the green and black striped beauties on milkweed plants. These caterpillars are really the monarchs of butterflies.

What fascinating things lepidopterists study. (One who studies butterflies and moths are called Lepidopterists)

Books: The Girl Who Drew Butterflies: How Maria Merian’s Art Changed Science – Joyce Sidman

Novembers Blues and Joys

Describing a Blue Sky

It’s hard to not fall in love with rain-washed November mornings in California. I remember once as a child being asked to describe a sky of indescribable beauty and getting frustrated. The sky was blue. But it was a blue that was not just a color, it made you feel happy! What was the color of that blue?

I felt that way this morning too.

The blue made me feel the opposite of blue. No one who has experienced this blue would attribute sadness to ‘feeling blue’. So what gives? When language is not enough, maybe the fluttering of the golden thrush is enough. For that’s how it feels – to swoop and dance through the air.

The leaves are beautiful, star-shaped, hues of green, yellow, orange, red and maroon with little sunbursts through their leaves sparkling and shining to uplift your day. Peering through that riot of color to the blue sky – how does one describe that?

Prized Priceless

That’s when I noticed the helicopter flying low, and I peered up at it, and feeling like a toddler asked to point at the helicopter in the sky, waved at it. Of course, it was at that very moment that our empty suburban streets produced neighbors walking on the streets. I smiled sheepishly at them, and said, “A day that makes you want to wave at helicopters isn’t it?”

They exchanged a swift, almost imperceptible look of concern, and then being the kind folks they are, arranged their features to polite interest, and said, “I think there is a police chase going on. We saw several police cars earlier today.”

Oh.

If people ask me at the beginning of the day how I plan to make a prized fool of myself, I am not sure I could tell you. These things are not planned. There is an innate talent to these things.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I goggled a bit at them, and felt my cheeks brightening to match the color of the maroon leaves through which the sunbursts looked splendid.

“So! Have you seen what they are planning to do for the park?”

Adulting in November

I recovered and walked home, though, the nincompoop before this little social chat might’ve skipped home. Really! Sometimes being an adult can be very restrictive. I thought of Anne of Green Gables – I felt for this girl so much just then.

“Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it… yet.”

― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Just before I closed the door though, a beautiful butterfly and am engaging hummingbird seemed to understand what I was feeling as they flitted around the flower patch, and the trees nearby.

I watched them go, and then grateful that I got to step out at all, headed inside.

Feeling blue? Take a walk and wave at passing helicopters will you? The November world around us works like a charm.

🦢🦢🦢 A Pod 🦢🦢🦢, 🥁🪘🪵 A Drumming 🥁🪘🪵, and a  🦅 ☕🦅 A Kettle 🦅 ☕🦅 

It isn’t often that one feels like the poet, Mary Oliver. The October mornings are starting to feel crisp, and then one remembers that this is California – so we have a beautiful mix of windy, cloudy, frosty, and this year, rainy days. 

🥁🪘🪵 A Drumming 🥁🪘🪵

The vibes that morning seemed to be around the themes of: Ready to bear moisture, and don the colors of autumn. Some trees had started turning orange, and the little family of woodpeckers I stopped to observe on my morning walk had me enthralled. There is something about the morning sun through the orange leaves, and little downy woodpeckers flitting and pecking their way through their morning that has to be experienced. They are called a descent of woodpeckers, or a gattling or a drumming of woodpeckers. I like the last term more – suits their percussion band theme. 

The trees reached and yearned for the blue skies, the birds tittered and chattered. I couldn’t say they sounded happy exactly, but they sounded content. The Earth around me at that point felt content to be part asleep, part awake. 

🦢🦢🦢 A Pod  🦢🦢🦢

Thinking of this and that, I made my way to a little spot I knew was favored by pelicans for their spot of morning fishing. Watching pelicans do a spot of coordinated fishing is one of the best experiences of nature. For all these men and their wars and their power trips, they should learn a lesson or two from a pod of pelicans. 

Glide, swim, swoop,

Glide, swim, swoop,

Glide, swim, swoop,

Glide, swim, swoop

Ballerinas and group dancers they are – It isn’t a rhythmic time-based swoop, for sometimes, they glide, glide, swim, and then swoop. 

Community creatures they are, and so totally in sync with each other, it is a joy to watch their companionship. Maybe they are territorial with their nesting and breeding grounds, but they also have an immense sense of taking care of each other.  

https://nourishncherish.org/?s=coordinated+fishing

🦅 ☕🦅 A Kettle 🦅 ☕🦅  

By the time I came home, my spirits were soaring with the kettle of hawks overhead. Hawks really do have a musical cry. They swooped and cried high in the skies, and really, they could be called a Swoop of Hawks. The agility!

Musical cries, percussion bands and group dancing is more than a morning’s worth of excitement, don’t you think?

A pod, a drumming and a kettle put me in mind for a hot cuppa tea, and I bustled into the kitchen full of purpose. A few minutes later, I sat sipping my brew content in the knowledge that mornings like this are not easy gifts. They are meant to be savored one precious breath at a time. After all, poetry, music, orchestra and words can only try to capture beauty.