In the Storm so Long

No doubt, I fell off a cliff in late July. Can't even say what all the triggers were, but several were pulled, and I fell. And so I once again find myself on the long slope, coming up from the abyss. As I've climbed, I've turned to my camera for solace, exploring old and new subjects. And, as always, I've held fast to living, breathing nature as sustenance for the journey. So I thought I would share a few glimpses of light from the long night that was the Dog Days:

 This little girl came to visit SO often in August and September!

 This happened! Quite a surprise to see Mom and the brood out back

 Of course this happened, too! Bug learning to walk again

 Beautiful mums from our dear cousins

 Lots of flutterbys this summer

 Heather and the Impatiens were a big hit!

 I am obsessed with her...

 Hey girl! She LOVED our morning glory vine.

 Flutterby

 Verbena Lantana is still blooming

 This pic has been a big hit on social media.

 Ms. Pinky getting loved up!

 Obsessed...

Convalescing Bug...

 Increasingly I have turned to the sky, seeking solace...

 My old flame Cassiopeia

 Pinky!

 Our hanging baskets have done very well: petunias

 Bougainvillea

 There...out in the darkness...

 Moon and oak leaves

 Baritone Moon

 Billions and billions...

The Northern Sky, filled with familiar constellations

 From right to left, Cassiopeia (modern form in blue, old form in red); Cephus, King of Aethiopia, husband to Cassiopeia, father to Andromeda; the Little Dipper, dipping toward the horizon.

 I think it might be time to mow again (we had a three-week dry spell)

 Our little Vinca has thrived!

 Blousy petunias...

 Ms Rita and her pet weed

And of course, Ms Pinky Two-tone Geranium...

We are moving toward my birth sign, Scorpio. I have described myself as forever autumn (a brilliant song from War of the Worlds, btw). Like autumn, I am filled with equal parts beauty and sadness and doubt and hope. Yes, I am a spendid season, but brace yourselves, winter is coming. With shortened days comes doubt and sadness, with the cold comes pain. But the winter sky, with my old friend Orion presiding, and the promise of rebirth in the spring, give me sustaining hope. May these images from my new home give you solace, wherever they may find you, in these troublesome times.

I leave you with a soulful video of autumns past, up in Ohio:
Autumn in Ohio, 2013

Christmas 2016

This is our annual Christmas poem, from hearts broken by 2016. It is a reminder of the travails of a certain refugee family long ago, and the fears and woes of our world today. It is a Christmas lament, written for anyone who feels cast out, without shelter...anyone whose refuge, whose Zion, was shattered by 2016. Peace on Earth, good will to all is our fervent prayer.

Dear Friends and Family,

We sat down and wept

Since we sent out last year’s poem a number of things happened which made Mike write a lament for our annual poem. We lost two people in Mike's family (Aunt Helen and Uncle Barry). We lost Dana's dad’s wife Amy. The head of Dana's department at work died after a very brief fight against brain cancer. Mike’s school cut several positions; his was one of them. Our nephew Brandon deployed to Afghanistan. Dana's priest is retiring next month. And Donald Trump is the new president-elect.

And remembered Zion, our refuge

In response to all of that, it feels as if our safe place, our refuge, has been shattered – we grieve, we wail, we post epic rants on Facebook. And, we decide to move back to North Carolina, possibly in late winter or early spring. Dana will keep her same job, and Mike will spend time with his father and replenish his emotional resources. Whatever 2017 brings, we’ll face it with feet firmly planted on the red clay of home.

The Poem

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down,

yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.

Upon the willows in the midst thereof

we hanged up our harps. For there they

that led us captive required of us songs,

and they that wasted us required of us mirth,

saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion.’ How

shall we sing the LORD'S song in a strange land?

                                    Psalm 137: 1-4

It is a season of lament—

Unwed mother, pregnant, stunned, shunned.

Older tradesman viewed with cynical suspicion

As he cares for the living vessel of Presence.

Zion shattered, they cling to each other and God.

It is a season of great worry—

New accounting, and, always, taxes to be paid.

Difficult journeys to be taken and retaken

With no clear vision of what the future holds.

Quo vadis? Where are you going? Do you know?

It is a season of homelessness—

In one fell day, secure shelters can vanish.

Cast off, adrift, wandering, we wonder…

Many of us feel mocked, displaced, rejected.

Is there room for us at the tables being set?

It is a season of faith leaps—

A weary couple seeking a new life, yet again.

Together struggling with the real, hard now,

Yet ever walking hand in hand the road

Before them, delicate steps, but walking still.

Have faith in this season of uncertainty—

By strange waters we have sat down and wept,

All of us, as we have mourned unsettling loss.

Our refuge shattered, we were unable to sing.

But in time, we each fetched our harps. Amen!

We SHALL overcome…

Mike & Dana

Christmas 2016