Tag Archives: muse

The View from Here.

There was a time that each morning I awoke to loving warmth of my two Golden Retriever’s, Riley and Muffin. We would get petted and nudged, roll over, dance in excitedness to see me and to begin their day. Pushing their way out the door, Muffin always first because Riley was a gentleman, but always the protector. Off we would go down the street, to our little woods, what was left since the building of the Great Wall of FedX and accompanying business. The path led along the wall of fake stone front and cement, the fortress wall only went so far, and there was plenty of nature to our left to entertain.


The trapeze act of squirrels scurrying from tree branch to tree branch, High wire jump from tree to tree, chattering all the way. The sounds of birds everywhere, The Cardinal elongated call and sharp whistle informing others of intruder in woods their red flash through the green always gave them away. The chick a dee’s in winter, their little gray tones sitting on branches and following along our path. The call for the Red Tail Hawk informing us from far above that he was there, but disturbed by our presence, circling in deeper and deep turns to scout for it breakfast.  On rare and lucky occasion we would get stared down by young white tail deer until one of the dogs would get wind of it, with a bark, start chasing after what now would be a small family of deer, running off along the little paths created by them to get away, disappearing in the brush.

shifting These adventures are multi purpose, the dogs got to run about freely, in a somewhat “wild” area. They would run off this way and that, sniffing, digging, rolling in something smelly. I was always in sight if not they would wait until I was or comeback to look for me. What was I doing observing, observing the light, the shadow. That green was no longer just green it was every hue of green, emerald, forest, yellow-green. The leaves shaped like stars, or maples others of oak brown green, contrast with humus of the ground rich decay of many past season of leaves, wood in branches and whole trunks that had fallen over or uprooted by the weather. In those logs chipmunks flashed by making its chirping sound causing Muffin to go into a frenzy. All this time I am waiting for the view, the right setting, the shadow here, the light just hitting there, on a mushroom or a leaf, a twisted sticker vine, spying little blue flowers, violets, and Queen Anne’s Lace, Mountain laurel, all to be photographed.


Each season provided an never ending evolution of tree, plants, downed wood, fungi and mushroom popping up here and there, the rains made streams and puddles, created stick dams to hold things back, to wade over and to sit in. Seasons changed, the years have unfolded, progress took more of forest, years took Riley just this spring. Muffin who is now older stops and starts, would rather have attention than an actual walk, even though we manage at least once a day to get a full walk. There is always photography happening, I am never without my camera, Nature is my muse, she shines and dance, she sit gracefully, she changes clothes in full view of the world. Life is an impressive, expressive place. Look around, be present. View it from Here.

Riley and Muffin
Continue reading The View from Here.


Set small and gentle goals and meet them. Rules of the Road: The Artist’s Way


I have found myself searching for something, yet the search is unsatisfying within itself. For I am unaware of what I am looking for. Looking for a deeper connection with myself, my Higher Power? Trying to fill it with endless doing and instead of being present for what is right in front of me.

At the moment sitting in the yard, the morning is cool, 65-70 degrees, there is gentle breeze shimmering the emerald-green trees, there is a mocking-bird making riotous sounds, the dogs lazily laying at my feet, attentive but dozing, ready to move at the slightest stirring of chipmunk or squirrel or unrecognized sound. There is the fragrance of honeysuckle reaching my senses from across the yard and the earthy tang of try grass. The pages of my books flutter in the breeze as if silent guest where reading them, imparting the words on the wind. So what more could a person desire at this moment? Of course nothing.


I just looked over and the inside page of a book all blank except for the words in center on the top 3/4 of the page, The Artist’s Way. Nothing else, offering a symbol of an empty page, each day is an empty page, reading to be written, ready to be primed and painted, prepared to be photographed in is awesome glorious unfoldment. Each day we have those opportunity to create a new paradise, a new work of art, our lives. Yes of course, we can add to or take away from that which came before, yet beginning fresh is always the opportunity to be diverse, to try a new experience, to meet a new challenge, to discover new jewels to spark light all over your surroundings.

The emptiness of the search when there is no goal or object/subject to behold, to unwrap, to explore is an empty page, a blank canvas, an unfocused shot awaiting our attention, our patients, our language in whatever form that expresses itself would be futile if consciousness was not brought forth.

The consciousness said take your second walk of the morning in the form of Muffin, getting up, bringing her self over to me saying come on time to walk, nudging my hand off the computer. Camera in had, companion animals leading and following along the path we journeyed into the wood, cool dark yet illuminated by light glimmering through the breaks in the leaves of the trees creating pools of light along the paths like stained glass windows of a cathedral lighting the isles along the pews…

In those moments I began to feel fulfilled and moved once again, nature was calling, the muse was singing, and I had been to busy searching to truly hear her call, finally the song was to strong, the desire urging forth to be embraced and consummated.


Growth Question: What small and gentle goals do your set for yourself each day?