Tag: Nature

Anticipation, Joy and a Surprise!

Is it raining yet?

I could barely sit still. Excited. Like a puppy waiting for a run around the park. Every few minutes, I found myself peeking out at the skies, and wondering whether the predictions were true. You see? We had been promised rain. The skies however did not seem to realize that our weather apps had predicted a 95% chance of rain. I genuinely do not know how they do this, but many times if it is a 30% chance of rain, the clouds may bother rolling in to salute the weather gods, but don’t want to go through the trouble of pulling on their grey robes, and just flit away.

This time they did not even bother rolling in. 95% chance of rain. It has to come – dance, spring, skip to the window. Nothing yet.
Sunny skies. D,s,s. Nothing.
A little breeze. Nothing.

When people tell you to keep your child-like outlook in life, I don’t think they realize how much disappointment goes with that. “We’ll go for a walk!”
When?

“Ice-cream?”
“Later. Once I’m done with work.”
“Done? Still? Not yet?”

It really requires enormous amounts of resilience. I salute you children – I really do. So, I peered out, sipped tea, and peered out some more. Nothing. So, I decided that the best thing to do was to be apathetic. Act like I didn’t care. Because I don’t. I mean, if it rains, I am sure, I’ll come to know.

Just as I thought the meteorologists really had messed it up this time, the rains started. I didn’t notice the dramatic shifting of the skies. The thunderous clouds rolling in. Like an efficient theatrical crew, the whole thing happened in minutes.

Then, the show started. 

Oh! Was it good? It was amazing! I sat on my patio dancing away from the lashing rains, enjoying the sound of the water pouring down – beating against the broad leafed plants, and dripping down the pine needles. I watched the roses get drenched – rose petals with fat water droplets on them have to be one of my favorite things.

The son was equally thrilled to go to school that day. The biggest highlight was that his cross country runs would not be cancelled for something as trivial as rain, and he wanted to run in the pouring rain. I tried to make noises a responsible mother ought to make, but found myself excited for him. How can one not be excited about running in the rain with your friends?

I set off for a walk with an umbrella in hand, listening to the soothing sounds of the pouring rain, and getting a thorough drenching from all sides except the top where the umbrella tried its best. A friend of mine stopped her car to chide me, but refrained because I looked ‘far too happy to be scolded‘.

Plop! Plop! Plop! Surprise!

Later that evening, the son and I had both dried off and looked very pleased with ourselves with our little rainy day adventures. That was when I noticed. The roof in our house. The same one that leaked and had been repaired last year (but was never quite stress tested afterward) was not fixed. The pouring rains meant we had a puddle on the floor, and I found a little of my soaring spirit subsided somewhat.

But so what?

The first real rains of the season were well worth it! The sunset the day after was even better. So there! Happy rainy season fellow beings. May the Earth make a pluviophile of us all!

24 Hours Later

Have you ever felt this way?

24 hours apart

One morning I felt like an optimist
The Earth felt full of promise
Luminous, inviting, abundant, peaceful
The skies benevolent, clouds wispy

The next morning I felt like a pessimist
The Earth felt cruel
Lacklustre, haunting, sparse, watchful
The skies sharp, clouds morose

One morning the brown grass looked ready
Ready to wear a green coat
Embrace the verdure
Invite the rain

The next morning the brown grass felt tiresome
Ready to absorb another layer of dust
Shake the moisture
Accept the scorching heat

So what changed?

One morning the white goose
Hobbled over to where I stood
Looking out into the waters
Inquiring, curious, mutual polite interest

The next morning the white goose
Stood mute and weak
Looking out into the waters
Her leg lost leaving an infected stump

Nothing to be done
I felt a pang of distress for the old goose
Could it have been a predator?
Maybe a coyote?

But I saw a coyote the other day
Beautiful coat shining, curious eyes watching
Gleaming in the evening sun
It couldn’t have been the coyote

One morning the world felt
Like how it could be
The next morning the world felt
Like how it can be

From Precious to Abundant: The Shift in Photography

“I may have just filled your phone with a bunch of useless pictures!” said the son. 

I nodded. Par for the course. Not like in our childhood, when you had to think through getting a picture developed in a store and wondering whether a picture is worth the wait, is it? You just delete them, or worse archive them, never to be seen again. Somewhere. Sigh. 

He was still thumbing through his pictures with a commentary on the side. Apparently, on several artistic ones of M&Ms on a plate  👀, when he stopped and said. 

“Oh well – now I don’t feel so bad!”

I looked up. What was he on about?

Komerebi – The dappled sunlight shining through the trees

“There are a whole bunch of pictures of … yep…. Pretty much all of them of trees! Goodness!”

I laughed. Then, feeling a little embarrassed, I confessed. “You know? On my walk the other day, I had this urge, nope…scratch that … It felt very important that I must try to see the differences in the way sunlight filtered through the old oak trees, the weeping willows, and the pining pines.”

“Oh Amma! You are a kook! How long did you do this?”

“I don’t know. Not very long, but I kept clicking knowing fully well that I may not exactly go back and see them again.”

Many to Solitary

Oh! How technology has spoiled us? I don’t think there is a single photograph in our childhood albums of light filtering through the leaves. If there was a leaf you liked, you picked it up, and crowded as many people as you could around the leaf to get in that picture! The poor leaf squished and forgotten, and all of us looking mildly surprised at being included in a picture of a leaf that isn’t even visible. We did the same thing when we met up decades later at our school reunions. We crowded in front of the lawns, jacaranda trees, clock tower,  and the bougainvillea plants, no clue why the background was so important, and the background completely forgotten with all the noises and laughter with folks in the foreground. It was marvelous.

I peered into the phone, and saw he had started looking at selfies taken a while ago by his sister. A teenage phase I’d like to call them – but these were all solitary hearts beating alone. Only context made it known that there was a crowd of loved ones around her that day as she took pictures of her nose from a 30 degree angle, and of her reading a book from the 130 degree angle. Obtuse. (I meant the angle.)

Precious to Abundant

Was that the trend of technology and advancements though? This move from crowded/community to alone/aloof lifestyles? Precious to Abundant. 

Hmm…I peered out into the rays of the setting sun, and shelved philosophy for another day. “Maybe we should get a picture of the sun’s rays through the filter on the M&Ms,” I said, and we cackled. It was time for another picture – combining our objects of interest this time.

Creation Myths: Nature’s Narrative

The Power of Belief

The world was swirling in activity, news, festivities, events. The world felt turbulent, swift, and equal parts joyous and worrisome.

The Navarathri festival meant that all versions of the festival were being celebrated – there were Durga pujos, Garba and Dandia dance events, golu, bommala koluvu. All in all, it was a week wrapped in the surreal – creation myths, war legends, female power. Most old cultures have versions of these – and if it takes festivities to remember the good old good-vs-evil arcs, and the figurines of goddesses to remind us of the righteous power women hold within themselves, so be it.

In some ways, it was a welcome distraction from the doom-and-gloom of news cycles. It was as if we could build a dichotomy of spirit within us.

Serene Solitude

Come Sunday evening I craved for some solitude, and nature too, to round out the craving for peace. So, off I went with my bicycle, into the cycling trail nearby. It was tough going – all that festive food sloshing inside of me. Made me feel heavier and more sluggish than usual. But the trail is magic – it seems to lead, with each pedal stroke, to a place of peace.

It was nearing dusk, and the birds had started their journeys home. I stopped every now and then to take pictures of beautiful sights that took my fancy. Deer and goats grazing, a hare (I couldn’t get a picture) running so quickly it startled me, pelicans lifting their incredible frames into the air with grace and ease (They did not eat puliodare over the week-end, but even so), kestrels soaring, squirrels daring themselves to see if they can make it across the bike path (I swear these little rascals wait till the last minute to scuttle across – a thrilling game for them for sure, but enough to scare rice-sodden slower-than-normal reflexes bike riders), the small birds (finches, blackbirds, wrens – all making a racket as they prepared for downtime). It had been a particularly hot week too, and I could see the relief of the cooling temperatures in my fellow beings.

The AT-CG Creation Dance

It was as I stopped to gulp some cool water – deep and slow, that I noticed the deer gazing at me. I have written about the gaze of a deer before. I shall write again. All the poets and writers when they write about unending universes in eyes, this is what they mean. It is possible to gaze deep into those big, round eyes. The goats eyes have a different quality to them – their pupils being rectangular appeals to the human mind differently altogether from a round, large pupil shape. Could that be social conditioning too?

It made me think about our genetic makeup, evolution, and all the creation myths. I could understand why every ancient culture and civilization had creation myths. I wonder whether whales have their version of creation myths in their repertoire. If they do, I’d love to hear it.

I stood there warmed by the deer’s gaze, the bird sound, and the gentle breeze around me. How was it possible that all these marvelous creatures I had seen today were variants of adenine, thymine, cytosine, and guanine?

We need a nice simple beautiful creation story with AT-CG that can round out the beautiful repertoire we have the world over. A goddess seated on a lotus from the AT-CG DNA, a multi-headed god whose genetic composition had mutated differently and went on to use that mutation to create a whole planet of marvelous creatures.

Full of beautiful images of nature, man-made images of golu decor, and a head refreshed, I pedaled back to the house. The pink skies were turning purple and grey, and it would soon turn dark. Another phenomenon that gave rise to so many legends till we understood Earth, and our miniscule place in the Universe.

I heaved a grateful sigh, breathing in the fresh air, and taking a gulp of fresh water before heading inside.

Not an AI Poem

I feel the need to clarify before posting this one – this poem is not AI generated, not helped on by AI. This is just Average Intelligence at work here.

The Language of Birds & Trees

The willow’s yearning for the river looks so easy to the oak
The oak’s purpose is different
The fir’s yearning for the sky looks so easy to the oak
The oak’s purpose is different
The banyan’s yearning for the earth looks so easy to the oak
The oak’s purpose is different.


The eagle’s yearning for the sky looks so easy to the crow
The crow’s purpose is different
The stork’s yearning for still waters looks so easy to the crow
The crow’s purpose is different
The avocet’s yearning for diving looks so easy to the crow
The crow’s purpose is different.

This oak embraces the crow as it prepares its nest in its boughs.
This crow embraces the oak’s sturdy presence as it raises its young.

Mellow Joys: Strolls in the Moonlight

Mellow Joys

The week-end evening was pleasant after a hot week, I sat relishing the quiet: the especially large magnolia blossom on a tree, the clouds in their pinks, lilacs and greys before they embraced the inky blues of the night, and the gentle breeze through the leaves and waters nearby. It truly was idyllic. 

The long summer days always make me yearn for the different colors of dusk and night. Our home is bright and filled with natural light which is a blessing, but it also means that late risers like Yours Truly do not get to the see the colors of dawn. The days start with light and then go on burning bright with every passing hour. 

Last night, I had time on my hands. I watched the dusk turn to night. A slow stroll through the moonlit streets of our neighborhood made for a different rhythm. There was a mellow joy to it – not boisterous, but buoyant. Moonlight can be tender, but it also can throw everyday objects into harsh contrast. 

Not just our homes but our heavens too

Maybe it was the lackadaisical nature of the stroll – one I rarely permitted myself to do. Brisk walks, phone calls while walking, chatting – they were all absent. I watched a cloud flit over a sinister looking tree, and looked on passively as an owl flew past and perched itself on the very tip of the tree-top. We stood there each surveying the other, and finally, of course, I lost. Can we ever win out against the stillness of predators? 

I heard the sounds of animals scurrying outside – every sense accentuated by the lack of electric light. Even the olfactory senses seemed to be enjoying this – Some flowers that wafted their fragrance only into the night, and I stopped to sniff and smile every so often. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the owl swoop. 

“Our village of Fairacre is no lovelier than many others. We have rats as well as roses in our back gardens…. But at times it is not only home to us but heaven too; and this was just such an occasion.”

― Miss Read, Over the Gate: A Novel

Asrais magical in the moonlight

Reluctantly, I headed back into the home, and insisted on switching off all the lights for the rest of the evening. Even when I watched a movie with the windows open, I kept sneaking glances at the moonlight pouring in through the slats in the window. 

The evening reading fare was equally marvelous. A magical book with fantastic beasts, beautiful illustrations, and oh so much imagination! What a book, Stephen Krensky!

The Book of Mythical Beasts & Magical Creatures – By Stephen Krensky

On the different kinds of fairies, Stephen Krensky has this to say on the Asrai:

Asrai are rare creatures that live in the water and only come to the surface once every hundred years. Asrai grow only by the light of the moon, and if exposed to sunlight, dissolve into the water and are never seen again.

-Stephen Krensky on the Asrai Fairies

When I read about the magical Asrais, I felt it was time now to go to bed and continue the beauty of simply watching the moonlight through the windows. Maybe it had been an evening when an Asrai had come out to the bless the lands. Who knew?

Halcyon Days: Myths and Realities of Cloudy Moods

☁️The Colors of Cloudy Days 🌫️

Sometimes, I see how much of a spoiled brat I am. What I am about to say falls squarely in that category, and I shall say it anyway. The Californian summers seem to drag on. It feels especially so at the end of August. They are warm, bright, sunny, but not too hot.

📚The school’s summer vacations are over. But the summers aren’t. 

🩴The summer clothing is supposed to be winding down, but I can never bear to look at anything other than some flowy cotton with any fondness. 

🌷The summer flowers are still blooming on every shrub, plant, tree and pathway. 

While I mostly enjoy this halcyon time of the year, I also wouldn’t mind a few days of summer rain. Or even some cloudy skies. 

That was probably why I had not the heart to come in this particularly overcast morning. The clouds made an excellent background. The flowers that we see on our walks everyday were still there – but they looked more fresh, more vibrant. The angel’s trumpet flowers that we admire everyday looked more angelic than usual. The chamomiles looked more soothing – their purples against the sombre greys. As your eyes zoomed to the skies, the jacaranda tree’s flowers attracted your eyes to their purples too. Really these color combinations look marvelous against the grey. 

Shouldn’t cloudy days be called halcyon days? I mused. 

Are Halcyon Days Myths?

I came and idled with ‘halcyon days’ floating in and out of my consciousness. What I stumbled upon made it so. 

Halcyon itself referred to a species of bird that nested in the oceans during the winter solstice and were supposed to charm the wind and the waves into a calm. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halcyon_(genus) the halcyon bird owes its naming to a Greek myth involving the wrath of the Greek Gods, Alcyone & Ceyx. 

Somehow Alycone and Ceyx managed to anger the mighty Zeus (apparently, they lovingly called each other Zeus & Hera. Really! It must be exhausting to have such fragile egos and live on forever. An endless cycle of being offended, and recouping from it). So, Zeus , in his rage,  cursed them separately turning them into birds – there are many versions of the myths of course. Some say Alcyone became a kingfisher with a mournful cry trying to find peace in the seas. The gods (the other ones) took pity on her and granted her a period of calm as she prepared her nest and gave birth to the young. So, these days during the winter solstice were called the Halycon Days. Alycone’s father, the god of the winds, gave her mild breezes, calm oceans and tried to bring her peace. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcyone_and_Ceyx

What became of Ceyx? He either became a kingfisher too or a sea tern.

By Bernard DUPONT from FRANCE – Woodland Kingfisher (Halcyon senegalensis), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45557095

Of course, kingfishers do not live by the sea – so they could be referring to other birds, and over time came to be associated with these beautiful birds. 

After a start to the day in which I was feeling less than inspired – the cloudy days, and the halcyon myths managed to transform it. I have always liked the phrase, ‘halcyon days’. But now? I love it. 

Exploring Gardening Philosophy: The Joys of Deadheading

“Huh?! Who knew deadheading flowers was a thing?” I said.  I was reading a Miss Read book for the n-th time, and came across the phrase as she took charge of her new garden in the fictional village of Beech Green. I had read the book enough times, but somehow, this time, her thoughts on the flowers in the garden drew my attention. Maybe because I was enjoying the flowers in the gardens myself.

“Do you think I should try that? To get some better blooms in our garden?” I said to the husband. He muttered something which I took to mean yes, and started snoring to avoid further plant-based rants or ramblings. If I didn’t know better, I’d have prodded the man, but I know he literally can sleep, and snore, midway through a sentence that he was speaking.

So, I set about deadheading the little yellow roses off my little shrub that refuses to grow beyond a certain point. After that, I walked around with a pair of scissors and shears, properly and improperly deadheading flowers in and around the garden. Some variety of aster or phlox or daisies did not take kindly to this, and remain sticks pointing out. I think they sometimes give me severe looks when I step out. Roses are more forgiving for all their thorns. The chamomiles are conferring amongst themselves and deciding to see how much of a menace I can be with my garden shears. 

I muse about Ray Bradbury’s quote on gardening in the book, Dandelion Wine, as I flit about on my own in the evenings. The long days give me ample time before sunset. 

Gardening is the best excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are. Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is akin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder.

-Ray Bradbury

These are summertime joys. California is full of flowers in the summer. Even as the sun beats down on your head, you can’t help enjoying the blooms. The huge angel’s trumpet flowers, the large hibiscus and magnolias, or the smaller chamomiles, and aster, they all attract your attention. There is one garden that boasts of all colors and varieties of hydrangeas. I love them. 

So, I bought a beautiful light pink hydrangea after a friend told me they need shade and grow very well. I spent the last few weeks deadheading the hydrangea, and resuscitating the poor plant after it almost died. I did everything the friendly fellow at the store told me to do. Sigh.

It makes me wonder every time I pass by a good garden. Because while I enjoy a good garden, I had thus far strayed from gardening shears and gardening experiments. Now, I have a new respect for Earth magicians. How do they coax the beautiful bounty from the Earth?

 “If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.”

– Buddha (apparently!)

If anyone has bright ideas on easy flowers that grow in pots or in tough soil, please let me know in the comments section. I saw a cheeky post on the internet the other day and drew solace from it. “You are enough!” it said, “That plant should have tried harder!”

Also, does anyone if the philosophers mentioned in the post were also good gardeners? I hope not!

The Joys & Jams of Plum Picking

Feeling Plum?

“Go on! Ask me How I am feeling.”

Eye roll.

“Just ask.”

“Fine! How are you feeling?”

“Plum!”

Then I laughed, and the children exchanged concerned glances at each other. Completely lost on them, of course. So, I set about explaining Plum minutiae to a mildly uninterested audience.

I have been thinking of P G Wodehouse during plummy times. (P G Wodehouse was called Plum by his close friends and family)

I have been thinking of little passages from Miss Read’s books as she wrote about making jams and chutneys for bazaars from the excessive plums and marrows during summertime.

How lucky country children are in these natural delights that lie ready to their hand! Every season and every plant offers changing joys. As they meander along the lane that leads to our school all kinds of natural toys present themselves for their diversion.

– Miss Read

I told the children about eating so many berries as children in the countryside in the Nilgiris, it made us slightly sick.  But, I also told them about how it was the most fulfilling thing in the world, and they rolled their eyes again.

An Excess of Plums

You see? We are having an excess of plums.

Some days I would gaze up at the branches – grateful for the bounty. Other days, I would step into a mushy one that plopped into my path and spattered and mutter to myself. Plum season is upon us, and nobody is spared. Neighbors, gardeners, cleaners, household helpers, friends, family. Everybody is gifted with plums. 

I stood one evening determined to make the best of the plum bounty, and set about making batches of plum pickle, plum jam, plum chutney, and plum juice. I also might’ve eaten a few plums. It was beautiful. The evening light was streaming in through the kitchen bay windows bathing all the world in a luminous glow. The plums were freely squirting their juices into the stovetops, the floors, the kitchen counters, my clothes, and the children stood around helplessly in the melee. 

“Amma – you’re going cuckoo! Can’t you just leave the plums?!”

I gasped for dramatic measure and said that prudent folks saved the excess. 

“Another 10 have fallen from the tree since you came in ½ an hour ago. Let it go!” said the daughter. Seeing that lunatic obstinate look on my face, she decided that the best thing to do was to leave me alone and took mocking videos of me instead.

I sorely regretted this plummy splash of enthusiasm a few hours later. I had sticky juice everywhere, a jar of jam, a jar of pickle and two bottles of sour juice. But I also had the back-breaking task of cleaning up the kitchen. The mops ran red, the washcloths turned pink, the tissues soaked and cleaned like they had never done before, and yet the kitchen was nowhere close to done.

I tell you. 

Black & Blue & Plum

The next day, I plucked and picked more plums and gave them to my friends. “Err…it’s okay! I have some!” they said.

“Oh! Sure – that’s nice. Don’t worry – I’ll walk over and give them to you.” I said smartly, putting the phone down before they could say no, and walked over.

“Would you like some blackberries?” said one of them, and I beamed at her. 

“Oooh! That’d be a nice change of pace from plums!” I said, and set about picking the blackberries and popping them in the mouth. The friend peeked into the bag and said, “Plums might make a change from blackberries!”

We looked at each other – lips stained with blackberry and plum juice and started laughing so hard, it was hard to stop. 

I’d call that a fruitful week-end, wouldn’t you?

Marine Magic

We had that hopeful gleam the moment one of us thought of it. Monterey Bay Aquarium. The one place we can all agree upon for a day trip in Summer. It has seaside charm, magical beings in a world so different from ours, and yet still ours, and somehow, manages to wrap you around its world every time.

There are a few new exhibits every time:  new inhabitants, new shows, new facts to learn, and the ethereal magic that stretches through time, space and water. 

The poetry is in the little moments.

When one gazes fondly as moon jellies bonk each other while drifting up and down, 

Or in watching the beautiful fractals in a porcupine jelly. 

The way the otters flips themselves in the water as they preen and play,

Or the way the flat ray cruises and slices through the waters.

The assured and sturdy movements of the giant turtles,

Even as hammerhead sharks and leopard sharks dart about.

The way the corals grow – miniscule and exquisite like little pieces of jewellery on the ocean’s floors,

Or the way the kelp forests sway like cathedrals catching and swirling the light from above. 

This is life.

This is magic.

Every time, there is the feeling of immense fullness of the soul, and of the visual. The summer is brimming with young explorers of the deep all wanting to touch and feel and gasp and squeal at the enchanted occupants of the oceans.

As always, we walked around trying to take in all the sensory inputs around – the quotations of the tides and the seas on the walls, the dynamics of the schools of fish, the eerie feeling of an unblinking fish eye.

One wall fascinated us all equally. The one that shows all the different careers one could have while studying and mapping the vast oceans of our beautiful Earth. The oceans may be the last frontiers left to explore, and the allure of the oceans is a yearning of the soul.