The Note

One of my favorite stories from the Trail happened during a low point in my life. I remember the day — I decided to go out for my usual walk that afternoon.

As I rounded the first bend, I spotted what looked like a card sitting at the base of a flowering tree. I strained to see exactly what it was, but it was a bit far away. It was too tempting to pass by, so I walked down the embankment towards the tree while my mind chatter went something like this: “I wonder who it is for? Wouldn’t that be funny if it was for me? Oh no it can’t be for me, that’s ridiculous! But, you know, I think it may have my name on it!... “

This went on till I was inches from the tree looking at a card with “Karrie” on the envelope. It was damp from a little spring rain, but still readable. With the spelling of my name being somewhat unusual, I decided the card had to be for me and opened it in a bit of disbelief and delight.

Sure enough, it was from a Trail friend. In the note, she said: “I noticed you seemed a little down lately, so I just wanted to send you my good wishes. Hope you are feeling better soon.”

I later saw her and asked how she knew I would find the card because it was so far off the main path. She said, “You photograph all the flowering trees, I knew you’d find it.”

The gift here is of having been so fully seen.

~ KB

Leaf Spirals & Scarlet Tanagers

It wasn’t until I got home to enlarge and crop this photo of leaves that I noticed one had a curl in the center. The leaves intersect each other in the midst of a perfect spiral. Exactly how did they get intertwined?

I often ponder that so much in nature I will never get to touch. I will never get to fully understand. The forest is too wide, the world too vast.

But in moments like these I get to hold something close because of my camera lens. It can bring something to me that I can examine almost microscopically with the aid of computer software. Something that may have been beyond my reach.

I know I will never witness exactly the same scene again. Even if I come upon the same kind of leaf, it will have variations. But the forest is full of surprises, as is life.

Once when I was out walking I encountered a crowd witnessing a scarlet tanager preening deep in the summer woods. The group was in awe so I stopped to watch along with them. “This is a very rare and secretive bird,” folks told me in a reverent and deeply hushed tone.

Years later on my daily walk, I remember saying out loud to myself, “I bet I will never get to see the tanager again. What a beautiful bird it was….”

At that exact moment, one flew in front of me and landed in a nearby tree. A part of me thought I was dreaming. But I knew in my heart it was real and it was Spirit’s way of reminding me not to make any assumptions about what is possible. Ever.

Remember the amazing beauty of what you love, and...behold the miracle when it happens. Leaf spirals, scarlet tanagers, I wonder what is around the next corner.

What will you find?

~ KB

Hold Steady

There are hundreds and hundreds of butterflies just beyond the edge of this image in a multitude of colors, shapes, and sizes, bejeweled and bespeckled, with a dazzling array of patterns. Quite a few have broken or damaged wings, though they act as if they do not know or care. It’s late summer and the butterflies are feeding on the flowering bushes all around me. They are not butterfly bushes, or Buddleias, although I initially thought they were. They are thistles, of which there are many species, and they are everywhere!

I am remembering the summer, the day...the brilliant sun, the people all around me with their phones and cameras, wanting to get the perfect shot. Most of the time, I am not quick enough and then when I have it all together, the butterflies flee. I keep moving my tripod around, chasing them in hopes of getting just the right photo, but my motion distracts them, and all I get is to watch them flutter on by.

Finally, I decide to plant my tripod in one spot, in the middle of the action, and leave it there. I make only small adjustments to the angle of the camera. This seems to work. No grand gestures or flailing limbs. No chasing or noise-making or sudden movements. Instead, I use it as a test of patience and breath to see if I can sync with the rhythm of the butterfly in front of me. To see if I can click the shutter at the moment it opens its wings...and quickly enough before it closes them again.

Sometimes the best things in life are like that. They come to us once we merge with the rhythm happening around us. It’s a practice, after all, not grasping, but learning to reach out a hand and let the wings of life touch you. To trust that just the right thing is on its way, around the bend, fleeting and delicate, yes, but the encounter, everlasting.

~KB

Solstice

Today is the shortest day of the year. And the longest night. We are in the dark, or are we? When the light around me fades, I am called to bring more of it forward from within. That is the challenge I give to myself. And sometimes that can be a big challenge!

This year I am sending out holiday cards for the first time in a very long time. It feels good to bring forth some light and not be at the mercy of this darkness at this time of year. For too long I have felt at the mercy of the darkness.

I came across this photo/card I created years ago with an image from the Trail, and it spoke to me. The branches were a perfect place to hang my word ornaments! So I decided to use it once more for the holidays. At first I thought — you can’t do that, too many folks have seen it! So I changed the greeting to give it a bit of new life. And I am sending it out once again into this world and sharing it with you. We have all been told not to repeat ourselves. But I have learned, sometimes good things are worth repeating.

You are the light. May you bring forth all that lives within you.

You are the light. Happy Solstice!

~ KB

Bella Luna

If the moon was out in the past three months, I have seen it.

I am in a rare window. Made possible by my momentary sleeplessness due to physical pain I am healing. When tired of the house, I hit the streets. Well, the one in front of me since I live on a cul-de-sac. At various hours of the night I could be seen pacing, if you were up. And few people are. But that doesn’t stop me, or the moon.

The other evening was no exception. This time I was rounding the bend on the Monticello Trail at sunset. The moon was sitting in a tree over my right shoulder. Luscious, gorgeous. With the moon this close, all things felt within reach.

It was 11/11, an auspicious date and full of significance according to astrologers. As I write this I am listening to Max Richter’s gorgeous music, “Dream 13” and I cannot remember the significance. Except that energies are moving, shifts are possible. We are all going home one way or another. To love.

That is cliche. But I felt the difference the entire length of my Trail walk. It all comes down to love or fear. True what they say, and I forget daily. So, I am leaving the fear in the limbs of trees to send back to the earth’s core. I visualize this now.

Visualization is all we have here. I have no photos to show of my moon moments as I am lacking the proper equipment. Some of my best spiritual moments are like that. I once encountered a hawk on the trail sitting on a tree branch a couple yards away almost at eye level, and it did not budge for over twenty minutes. We had a conversation like: “How is that you are here and I have no camera?” A friend said, “Well, maybe you weren’t supposed to. “ Hawk is messenger in the Native American landscape and I guess it is best to receive the message if you can.

Yes, to receive. To receive the beauty.

Some of the moons have shocked me. I remember gasping out loud when it was a golden lantern in the middle of a quilted night sky. The sky could have been the sea with the lights shining on a thousand jellyfish. The puffs seemed to go on forever.

I could have missed this. I have missed this for years.

Funny, there can be grace in the midst of an odyssey. I usually forget. A hawk, or a moon in the night sky can be enough.

At least for a moment. And we are all working to trust the next moment takes care of itself. Takes good care of you. And me.

~ KB

Pond Reflections

I remember the day and that split-second decision to veer from my normal course. To walk down to the pond at the Saunders-Monticello Trail instead of heading up the mountain. As I turned left along the water’s edge, I noticed the trees looked like line drawings of gesturing arms and dancing limbs. I kept looking. To see, to really see. That is what stops time and makes an instant live on. And it gives us some relief. The moment turns to a meditative pause in our continually moving and changing lives.

I realized the day was a rare occasion. The water was calm and clear and provided a perfect canvas for reflections. And I noticed something else. I was seeing three different perspectives in front of me — the reflection of green trees from the distant shore, the actual trees before me, and the muddy, orange sediment beneath the water. I tried photographing the scene with each layer in sole focus. As I did, it became clear the branches wanted to take the lead. Though both of the other layers render this image more beautiful, what lies before me is seeking focus. The actual branches. Not the reflections, or what is underneath the water. But what I can reach, what I can touch. What I can hold now.

It can be a challenge to stay in the moment and not miss something new based on what we expect to see, what we bring to any given situation based on what we have seen before. From other moments, other places. Older versions of ourselves. I remind myself of this truth when I need to hear it most: I can choose to see with new eyes the beauty of what lies before me even in sorrow or pain. I choose to receive the good that only this precious moment can offer.

~KB

Surrender

Surrender. I am not exactly sure how to do it.

But this butterfly sure seems to know how. Opening to the moment, fully accepting and allowing the Divine to enter.

I want to follow its lead.

I am healing a painful leg injury that has allowed me to walk only a little ways on the Trail for the past month. I want to go further, but my body decides the distance I may travel right now.

Looking for the doorway out from where I am at, this image of the butterfly spoke to me. It is one I took this past summer when the flowers were in full bloom and the butterflies fluttered.

Lately, I notice I keep trying to get better before I begin to write or photograph again. I want to give a polished presentation rather than reveal myself, raw and shattered by the duration of this healing episode. If I wait for perfection though, I might sit this dance out and wait forever.

This moment is all we have, as the guidance goes.

I am an artist, and I want to share beauty. But more deeply, I am a writer, and story is the container that holds me, my life, and all things together — it brings me back to my heart. It all started when I was young, telling it like it is (a mixture of fear and excitement) to my mother who was my best audience while she was here. https://streetlightmag.com/2018/04/23/listen-carefully-by-karrie-bos/

I am a writer for the same reason I loved figure skating in my youth. One edge, one line, and then another, becomes an idea, flowing, turning, gliding, soaring, freedom. The pen can make all the same marks as a skater’s blade. Three-turns, crossovers, forwards or backwards, you can move in whatever direction you choose. Oh, the places you can travel. And you can twirl, too.

Yes, the blank page is a sheet of ice, a bit slippery sometimes with all that open expanse and no road signs, but there is no true freedom without exposing our core, including our painful foibles and falls.

Especially our falls.

And I know this to be true: That in her falling, she flew.

~ KB

Frog in the B(l)og

It has been a little difficult to motivate lately now that the summer heat has arrived. The blank page can either be solace or, as in my case, an expanse too vast to contemplate.

The Natalie Goldberg part of myself says: You have to show up even when you don't want to, it is a practice, after all; the Julia Cameron part of myself says, you gotta do the morning pages to clear the slate, and clean out the rafters of your mind.

You get the drift: No excuses.

And in the past, this would have worked.

My inner voices would summon me to the chair. No ifs, ands, or buts, except the one that is supposed to be on the chair.

But not lately.

The only thing I have been able to muster has been a visit to the bog on the Trail. Years ago, I started taking portraits of the frogs and noticed they have different personalities. Some leap into the water the second I get close, and others sit still at my feet for twenty minutes while I snap away. Some even seem to be posing.

Something about the frogs helps me to ground. After all, that's as grounded as you can get. Nestled in the mud awaiting a dragonfly to get just a little too close.

But even with the best of intentions, sometimes the frogs still fail. One frog keeps throwing himself at the blue-winged butterfly only three inches away, and it is of no use. The butterfly is always a flutter away, the frog too urgent and grasping.

All of nature is a teacher.

Claim your branch. Take your place in the sun. Dodge the snakes. Sometimes you'll catch a wing. Not always. But it’s worth trying.

Even so.

~ KB

Listening

I walked the Trail today under thick cloud cover. After making it all the way to the top of the mountain the sky opened up and greeted me with a few sprinkles. I better hurry, I initially thought to myself, as if the rain would surely pick up and get heavier. One drop always equals more, and then a downpour, doesn’t it? I remember this is not necessarily so. Today the rain starts and stops, but never amounts to much.

I have gotten caught in my share of storms on the Trail that have come up suddenly, enough to induce a bit of fear. These days, however, I try to let go and trust I won’t get soaked — that I will be guided to turn around in enough time to get back to my car before any deluge. I can usually get a sense of things if I am paying attention.

Out here, I try to do just that. To listen the way the animals do. This is the path of Thomas Jefferson after all, his trees and woods and Monticello, but it is also the path of metaphor and spirit, and — pay attention it says — we are speaking to you now. Nothing is chance, take notice. 

A cardinal flies from limb to limb, swoops down and lands. There is a sudden rustling like the sound of a woman rushing by in a taffeta dress, then silence. A nearby branch bounces up and down while the cardinal rests on his new perch, his calls contained within. All noise and interference have been cleared.

Nature pulses with Truth.

I try not to turn away.

~ KB

Sweet Tweet

Walking on the Trail the other day, a friend and I were deep in conversation about creative process when a small bird with brown markings bounced down on a nearby railing.

He looks a little tired, said my friend, Kind of like he’s a baby and learning how to be a big bird.

Yeah, tired out from schooling and life lessons, I thought. Like all of us!

The bird sat for so long, we started to wonder if she was hurt, or if she was waiting for her mom.

Are you my mother?! my friend grinned, though a bit worried.

Suddenly, my friend locked a gaze and a focus so powerful, I was reluctant to interrupt her. I’ve been sending out love to her heart! she confided after a few minutes. What a good idea. We don’t want bird heart failure in the middle of our nature walk. And it had been seriously panting, its puffs of air, irregular. I have witnessed dying creatures out on this path, and it is painful. I want nature to be invincible.

As we stood by, wondering if the remote-bird-reboot had worked, the silence seemed to create a cocoon. All at once, noise from approaching walkers surprised us, and the bird took off to a nearby branch.

We felt relieved and cheered it on. Satisfied the bird could fly we said good-bye to our new friend, albeit a bit reluctantly, yet grateful for our encounter.

. . .

What kind of bird has a speckled belly?

Thrush and Thrasher and up they popped two hours later in my internet search. The two birds look like they could be related. One is a little smaller and has dots, and the other has dashes! Dots and dashes? These birds are delivering some code.

And the code was? T-H-R-U-S-H. At least for today.

Thank goodness.

I see everything as sign and symbol, especially in nature, and I don’t want to be a thrasher! True confessions though, this sometimes happens to my thoughts when I get inundated with too many life lessons at once. My mind becomes a giant tree with thoughts swinging and flipping from branch to branch like a trapeze artist.

And a thrush? Well, it’s a bird; but it is also means spotted white dots in an unhealthy throat. Oh my! So, how are we going to make it through?!

Breath by breath. Drop the code. Don’t try to decipher things. At least for now.

Got to keep on moving and sing your song! Don’t let the life lessons get you down—that’s the most important lesson of all.

~ KB

With thanks to A.B. for the nature walk!