Tag Archives: beauty

Look Higher

Carol A. Hand

Little Ovenbird
resting on a wire
raising his head in song
urging me to look up – higher

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Ovenbird (Seiurus aurocapilla) – Butterfly World, Florida, by Dick Daniels, 4 February, 2011, Wikipedia

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Teacher-teacher-teacher
see the pale waning westward moon
barely visible in a hazy sky this noon
circling earth slowly in early June?”

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morning moon – June 2018

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“Please remember to give thanks for nature’s wondrous beauty”

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Reflections about “Art”

Carol A. Hand

Approach the art of creating
as a sacred ceremony
emerging from spirit
as a path
for honoring and celebrating life
knowing deep in our hearts
intentions matter

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Raindrops And The White Rose, by Audrey from Central Pennsylvania, USA (5 August 2006) – Wikimedia – Creative Commons

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Loving thoughts will vibrate
in whatever we create
long after we are gone
as the essence of light and new possibilities
like the scent of rain and roses
and the peace of sun-kissed pine
blessing all those who follow

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Endings are never easy for me. They signal times of transition. Yet, as I walked to my car Saturday after my last class of the semester, I had a sudden realization. Regardless of my circumstances, I have always found ways to express creativity. The subjects and media changed based on what was close at hand. Sewing, singing, drawing, studying pond-life under my microscope, making pottery, hooking rugs, tying macramé art, knitting, gardening. Learning about life and crafting useful things that were colorful and well-made proved to be a form of peaceful meditation. I could daydream and reflect. My spirit needed to express creativity. It gave me a quiet space to think and time to breathe love into being.

Under different conditions, I worked with people, developing innovative programs and experimenting with different ways of supervising staff, evaluating programs, conducting research, and teaching.

Creating living art, if you will, is like building sand castles that dissolve in the waves of time. Gaining fame and fortune was never the goal. The only legacies my “art” left were the interventions and projects others believed they had created (and in reality, they were essential and made it possible) and the memories for me of what had been possible to create in the past.

During times of transition, I have learned to ask myself a crucial question. Why not create again, and again, in each new now with whatever opportunities and media are available? There are grandchildren to love, gardens to revitalize, and endless issues to ponder and thoughtfully address in creative ways.

The privilege to dream of possibilities is accompanied by the responsibility to work toward their realization. I don’t claim it’s an easy choice. I have no power to change others who don’t seem to be able to see and honor the wonder and beauty of life. Despite the deep sorrow that accompanies witnessing disrespect and destruction and the seeming futility of giving voice to the art of change, I still believe simple caring actions matter. I’m just not sure what form that will take for me in the coming days…

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Sun-Kissed Pine – May 11, 2018

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A Drizzly Dawn

Carol A. Hand

The day dawns drizzly
as     the     weeping     willow     waits
welcoming        the        end        of        struggle
living         too         long         alone      –      her         fate
the    tree    surgeons    soon    arriving
finally  she’ll  join  her  mate

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Greeting a Drizzly Morning – May 8, 2018

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Her passing will
leave a void
in the
neighborhood
she graced
standing strong
but supple
despite the many
storms she faced
Birds sing as her
budding branches sway
kissed by warm
gentle breezes
on her final day

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May 8, 2018 – A Different View

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Chi miigwetch for your presence, beloved willow

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Simple Moments

Carol A. Hand

 

Sometimes, I can’t resist photographing the night sky.

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May 2, 2018

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The moon highlighting the church steeple

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May 2, 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Perhaps I post too many photos of

the moon and everyday landscapes

exposing the limits of my old hand-held cameras

 

Still, I prefer to believe that

capturing the beauty of a simple life

is an act of gratitude –

and a special kind of art

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May 3, 2018

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Like the view from across the street

of the long-lived willow tree

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May 3, 2018

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a solitary sentinel gracing an urban neighborhood

greeting her final spring

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May 3, 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The winds and weight of her branches

finally proved more than she could bear

Photos will help me preserve poignant memories

of her beauty and my enduring gratitude

for her comforting presence in my life

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Choices

Carol A. Hand

 

Awakening to dystopia
Mainstream media yet again
trumpeting the offensive
buffoonish reality show
“The Donald Playing President”

 

It would be amusing
if not for the very real dangers posed
by gluttonous (glutinous) mean spirits
discriminately devouring lives
to feed their rapacious need for power

 

Yet the morning sun beckons
with promises of coming spring

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March 16, 2018

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The choice simple –
to wallow in fear, anger and sorrow
or gratefully witness life emerging anew
and find creative ways to sing
wiser, kinder possibilities into being

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A Snowy Morning

Carol A. Hand

“Rat-a-tat—Rat-a-tat”
rings through the air
from the pileated woodpecker
perched atop the power pole
hammering
A shrill cry follows
“kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk”
“Caw-Caw-Caw” echoes in reply
from a neighboring tree
as a lone crow
adds greetings
on this snowy morning

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Snowy Morning View – February 18, 2018

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Photo by Felicia Johnson (Wikipedia)

The photo I wish I could have taken, but alas, I didn’t have my camera until after the moment passed…

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Reflections about Life

Carol A. Hand

I walk on my home world

the place of my birth

perhaps just for this life

perhaps only for this incarnation

not knowing where I came from

or where I’ll ultimately go

when I leave this place and a life

that has sometimes felt too long

and other times, so fragile and fleeting

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Photo of a Hawk’s Feather –  A Gift from a Former Student

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But while I am still here

let my spirit shine its song

Let me walk with peace and beauty

in my heart

as long as it continues beating

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Note:

This poem was inspired by a comment on my previous post from Maria KethuProfumo at Eternamenta.  I encourage you to visit her thought-provoking blog.

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Cold

Carol A. Hand

Cold-compressed

wind-sculpted snow

sparkling

beneath sun’s winter glow

frosty views

as I peer below

so-o-o-o grateful

there’s no place

I need to go

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A view from above – December 30, 2017

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Note:

We are still living with frigid temperatures and wind chill warnings. Today the high is -6 F (-21 C). Tonight, the forecast is – 18 F (-27 C). Until I moved here, I didn’t really pay attention to wind chill warnings. But the winds are fierce on this side of Lake Superior. Now, I listen to the warnings.

“Dangerously cold wind chills are expected. The dangerously cold wind chills will cause frostbite to exposed skin in as little as 10 minutes. Expect wind chills to range from 25 below zero to 45 below zero.” (National Weather Service)

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Winters Past Revisited

Carol A. Hand

It’s hard to believe almost three years have gone by since I posted my reflections about past north-country winters. I still have my Sorel boots after 27 years (pictured below), although they are now beyond repair. The rubber is cracked and not even gator tape will stick to keep out melting snow. The smooth-worn soles are covered by yak trax, metal springs threaded over elastic bands that keep the boots from slipping on ice. Perhaps this will be their final winter.

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Reflections on Winters Past

New Year’s Day, 2015. I know there’s much work ahead of me as I embark on the serious business of finishing books I began last year. But today, I remembered past winters while I took time to refurbish my old Sorel boots with oil and new liners for yet another winter. My boots date back to 1990, the first winter I spent in the northwoods of Wisconsin. I had accepted a position as deputy director of health and human services for an inter-tribal agency, but the clothes I brought with me were meant for a different climate. I needed more practical, warmer, clothes.

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January 1, 2015

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My first winter was spent in a tiny hotel room above a bar that often had live performers belting out off-tune country and western songs until the wee hours of the morning. I could walk the two blocks to my office in downtown Lac du Flambeau, but the days I had to drive were challenging. My old car, with 190,000 plus miles, didn’t like to start or keep moving in the winter cold when I first started out. The pack of stray dogs that called the downtown their home loved to chase cars, but they quickly learned that chasing me was not a contest worthy of their time and effort. As my car sputtered and bucked and stalled down the road, they grew bored. Eventually, they didn’t even look up when I chugged by. But that car, like my boots, lasted many more years. I was sad when I was finally forced to replace my car, but my boots lasted despite the many miles they’ve seen and the many places they’ve traveled.

But of all the places we’ve traveled together, these boots and I, there is one place that remains golden in my memories. It’s the cabin I moved to after that first winter above the bar. Before the winter even began, I knew that I couldn’t live there forever, so I decided to see if I could find somewhere to move that was affordable. You’d think that would be easy in the northwoods, but that’s not so. Long ago, it became a favorite spot for wealthy urbanites who were able to buy up the lakefront properties that were lost to the Ojibwe people despite a series of treaties that guaranteed tribal ownership of land within reservation boundaries in exchange for ceding the northern third of Wisconsin to the federal government.

I was fortunate to find a local realtor who knew how to find the best deals and we spent many fall days exploring such interesting fixer-uppers. We became friends. One day in mid-November, she called me at work and asked if I could take some time off in the afternoon to see another property. I said, “Sure.” (It was interesting to see so many houses in need of loving care.) She picked me up and we drove, first down the highway, then down a narrow winding country road through a national forest, and then on a dirt road. We turned about a mile later onto what I can only call a rough rutted path that could just accommodate a car, again, winding down a little hill and into a forest. When we emerged in a clearing, I saw the small brown cabin, but what caught my eye and made my heart sing was a vista of the lake and wetlands glowing in the afternoon sunlight. I knew I was home. I had no idea how I would be able to afford it, and I had no idea what it meant to live without electricity, or heat with wood. I had no idea how I would be able to get in and out during the winter, especially with my car, but I did have my boots (and later, snowshoes to attach to them.)

Amik Lake Lane

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Living down a series of country roads, some of which were unpaved, presented both benefits and challenges. I had an opportunity to witness nature up close – the bear, deer, beaver, otters, rabbits and porcupine. I heard the powerful rhythmic pounding of eagles’ wings as they flew just over my head, the hauntingly lovely song of the loon echoing over still waters, and the howls of coyotes in the quiet winter night. Winter was my favorite time, even though it was often cold and snowy, and even though it meant a mile hike to my car when I had to make the trip to some distant city to go to work, attend class or travel for a speaking engagement or consulting job. The hike was easier in the winter. The path through the snow was easy to follow, even at night, and the mosquitoes, sand flies, deer flies, horse flies and ticks were nowhere to be seen as they bided their time for the spring thaw. Spring – mud season – also meant hiking. But I was younger then and used to the grueling physical labor living in the woods required.

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Amik Lake Lane

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Of course, living in the woods meant warm clothing in the winter, and a bug suit during most other seasons if you wanted to do serious work outdoors. I don’t have a picture of the bug suit my daughter gave me as a gift, although given the ubiquitous northwoods’ mosquitoes and sand files, I often wish I still had it. I still have the coat in the picture below. It’s the only thing I ever purchased from Victoria’s Secrets – it was incredibly cheap in their annual clearance sale. (I don’t think it’s any mystery why it hadn’t sold for full price.) The coat is a few year’s newer than my boots, but it got me through the polar vortex last year and with new loops for the buttons in lieu of the zipper that finally gave out, it will continue for many winters more.

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Fashion Statement – Amik Lake Cabin 1994

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As I unclutter, some things will remain because they are still useful. Who needs the latest fashions when old things were built to last and carry such rich memories? These old clothes remind me of quiet, starry winter nights, of the sanctuary where my grandson spent many of his childhood days.

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Aadi’s Amik Lake Christmas – 2001

 

Aadi & Ahma Blowing Bubbles – 2002

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They were simpler days of hiking, hauling wood, and clearing the beaver-culled trees from the road. Living in an urban neighborhood now, watching the plumes of toxic exhaust from the factories that block the sunlight on the few winter days without clouds, I feel the loss of times past. Not just my past, but the past of my ancestors. Strange though it may sound, as deep as the grief of those lost times often is for me to face, it’s what motivates me to do what I can to touch people’s hearts for the sake of this wondrous earth and future generations. And now, my boots and I are ready for the challenges ahead.

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Funny how attached I grow to tools that have served me well. Once upon a time, my boots were strapped to snow shoes as we walked through the winter woods where my ancestors lived for so many generations. Now they help give me traction on the icy sidewalks of my home in a little northern city.

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Morning View – December 27, 2017

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I try to conserve useful resources like my boots for as long as possible. I shall miss these boots. They slip on easily and fit comfortably. Their replacements are stiff, like my aging body, and take more work to put on.

And speaking of work, I have still not finished editing and revising the manuscript I wrote about my experiences as a researcher studying Ojibwe child welfare. I have had to put it aside to teach college classes. Life has blessed me with teaching work to do, and given the austerity years ahead, I know I will need to keep working as long as I can.

Hopefully I will have time to return to my manuscript in the all too brief northern summers. In future winter weather, I will need to rely on my newer boots for my journeys.

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Newer Boots

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