Transition by Crow.
Seasonal transitions are worthy of our attention. The natural world around us is chocked full of sounds, smells, colors, and critter signals so much more rewarding than the stylized seasonal colors of store aisle merchandise.
The crows that seemed scarce all summer are now filling the early morning air with their unmusical cawing. “Raucous” we think, listening to and watching their loud behaviors.
At the end of winter with a scarcity of other birds to watch I had noticed that seven crows arrived together daily. Now, as fall nudges out summer, seven crows have again been making their presence known. Is our linking crows with Halloween partially related to the way they fill the fall air, now absent of summer’s birds?
In contrast to the small sweet birds of the warm days now past, the crows seem graceless, coarse, their black feathers devoid of pleasing color patterns; menacing biker birds with hints of malice to be given wider berth.
Yet crows are savvy. Smart. Strong. Worthy of respect. Those who have studied them inform us we have underestimated their kind.* Like or dislike them they are an aware presence in the transition from warm to cold.
*Marzluff, John M. and Tony Angell. In the Company of Crows and Ravens. New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Pr., 2005
Haupt Lyanda Lynn. Crow Planet: Essential Wisdom from the Urban Wilderness. New York: Little Brown and Co., 2009.
Back to back, I witnessed the colors of sunset and sunrise.
The angled light as the sun lowered in the sky turned ordinary grass into the deepest emerald perhaps because it was in contrast to the nearby ocean that was turning from silver to nearly navy blue. The low angle of the light reflected from the underwings of gulls flying high, brilliant white flashes that were repeated by the underwings of the jet plane flying so much higher. This intensely colored world lasted only minutes. Does the sun move more rapidly as it approaches the horizon, almost if it can’t wait to tuck under?
I am awake early and see first light as steaks of fuchsia, pinks and purples, before the sun rises over black water. A small lobster boat moves out to sea, a tiny yellow and a tiny green light marking its movement across the horizontal plane giving scale to the vast sky which is its backdrop.
We think of Fall as the season of color, the brilliance of yellow-orange-red as the leaves prepare to depart their summer perches for soft ground landings or when, in swirls, they spin in gusts of wind. Often the October sky seems the bluest blue we’ve ever seen. Saturated color oozes everywhere we look.
Is this spectacular color preparing us for what comes so shortly after? The world of whites, and grays, and blacks is so close now and it lasts so long.
Trilogy: Three Different Ways of Saying the Same Sane Thing.
Less Is More.
Clean. Bare. Stripped down. Lean. Sparse.
These words can describe a body or a life; a living space; a frame of mind or an attitude; a way of seeing or creating; a design. I breathe into what lies beyond these words, into the feeling of windswept or water-washed. Less-is-more is an excellent landscape for meditation. Less-is-more can become a striving.
Once long ago, a roommate uttered a truth I’ve carried all these years: “All decisions are made with too little information.”
Information is the exception to less-is-more.
You and I can fill the page with examples illustrating this wisdom.