{this moment} - A
Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A
simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and
remember.
I can't explain why I am so drawn to owls, but I do know that it started over a decade ago when I used to see Great Horned Owls in the treetops on hikes near my home, which I wrote about here.
We've been having gusty windstorms here the last several days, blowing the last of the yellow leaves off the trees and creating a floor of gold in the streets and yards. Winter solstice is December 22nd, so there are just 19 more days left of autumn, but every year it seems to me that winter begins on December 1st, no matter what the official start day is.
Not long ago, feeling disconnected from nature and depleted from being endlessly wired in to technology, I decided to spend a few nights at a Buddhist retreat center in the Santa Cruz mountains.
The retreat center offers two types of lodging-- small, private rooms and yurts (similar to a tent cabin) away from the main buildings in a towering redwood grove. While trying to decide which type of lodging I wanted to stay in, I felt a tiny shiver of fear at staying alone in a yurt in a secluded forest, so I went with that. Something inside of me was craving both respite and adventure.
This statue of St. Francis stood at a crossroads on a forest trail, placed there by the retreat center and used as a landmark on the hike to the yurt campsite.
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I haven't been doing much knitting during my time off, but I did spend the last couple days birdwatching. I spent the night in Lodi, something I have wanted to do for several years, to see the Sandhill Cranes that winter there. I'd never seen one before-- they stand three to five feet tall and have a wingspan of up to six feet.
These photos are early morning shots of the birds at the ecological preserve where they roost at night. I actually arrived the previous evening just in time to stand in the rain and watch hundreds of cranes fly in. The flocks are so massive that at first I thought I was seeing an approaching helicopter.
They are quite vocal and make the oddest sound, almost like a purr. It's hard to see in these pics, but they have a patch of bald red skin on top of their head. I mainly took photos from the comfort of my car because it was COLD there, something I don't often experience. I don't knit a lot of warm wool items because they just aren't needed where I live, but in Lodi I was wishing for a thick warm scarf and hat. Brrrrrr.
I took a two hour drive to my favorite wildlife refuge. I swear that place is magical. Every time I go there, which is usually once a year, I ask myself why I don't visit more often. Spending time surrounded by wetlands and wildlife is so healing; it profoundly lifts my spirits.
The trees are still fairly green around here, so when you come across colors like these while out walking you really notice it. I've been giving thought to the metaphors associated with autumn like transformation, letting go, and accepting change, and for the first time in many years felt moved to write a poem.
On Sunday it rained all day, bringing an unexpected benefit. When I stepped outside Monday morning I was greeted with this lovely scene-- the sun hitting the damp creek bank, causing swirly mist to rise. It was a nice way to start the week.
The wet weather made for a perfect afternoon of knitting. I finished this Modern Cabled Baby Bib (Ravelry pattern) knit in a cable and seed stitch combination. The yarn is Jil Eaton Cotton Tail that I found at my local yarn shop. It is a deeper shade of green than I was able to capture in the photo. I liked the yarn so much I want to knit a few more bibs in different colors.