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 |  Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here. |
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NURTURE your NATURE  Nature can nurture our writing, can nurture our soul. What is the language of Nature? And how do we learn it? We look at the natural wonders around us and do not see them, hear, taste nor smell them. They do not touch us anymore than we dare touch them. And then we wonder why we feel so dead. To breathe in and live like a child again opens the Land of Wonderment. It's still there after all these years.   |
| Robert Waltz recently wrote a blog about change. My thoughts (added and edited): It's the end of September and Autumn is my second favorite season. In Montana it's a mix of green and gold with splashes of red and rust. The bears have been visiting the apple trees to bulk up. I have to remind myself not to hibernate as days shorten. It's a time of change. We change even as the landscape changes. For instance, those of us of a certain age become wrinkled and then the wrinkles get crinkled. Some deal with it by buying cosmetics, others by surgery, some by proudly embracing every crack and crevice. Blessed is the lover who says "I wish to caress each wrinkle". But what about parts that, like autumn leaves, fall off? Personally, not all change in my life came about by my efforts. I did not beg to have head injuries from a car accident. And although I suspect it actually helped later with my ability to think in Spanish I shouldn't wish that on others (seems a bit drastic). It may be a factor in my present mental slippage. And yes, I'm at a point that I need to acknowledge that and hope that it's temporary. In 1849, French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr wrote "plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." Yes, even change can look like it isn't changing as humans tend to remain human over millennia and individual and systemic changes can be very slow. Some folks remain recognizable decades later! Regardless, they have changed. Part of my personal struggle is remaining flexible enough to adapt to internal and external changes. The River of Time keeps flowing. Yesterday I wrote a serenade to the sunset I just missed. Serenade to a dying September Nothing to say ... you blush the horizon and move on. I'll abandon you then and descend to the bathtub where waves lap gentle and wet warmth soothes, a decadence my worn-out feet have begged for. I may turn out the light, may light a candle, inhale the fragrance of last season's lavender, in the quiet remember your blush, savor your hush, and bathe in the moment of a dying September. © Kåre Enga 2021 [164.235] (29.september.2021) ~370 words Posted in "Blogville "  1159 |
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