Alexandersmap

    Category: seasons

    • Low Ground, High Places.

      Autumn is when most people flock to the high ground, searching for vantage points from which to take in the foliage. It’s a lovely thing, that foliage. What is less lovely is the flock of people. Foliage gridlock is the ugly phenomenon of fall. So those of us who live amongst the foliage tend to avoid the popular places. Beauty can be found in the quiet places too. A single orange and red leaf drifting to rest just so is all I need. But oh, those vantage points are stunning too.

      My bride and I went to the sea to walk the pup in the low tide surf. That’s just about as low ground as you can get in New Hampshire, and we reached the highest of places watching the pup play in the foam, chase seagulls, and giving the horses a sideways glance. In the offseason the horses return to the beach, riders splashing into the waves as they trot the long stretch of firm sand out and back from the state park.

      We also return in the offseason, favoring the relative quiet it offers. Late in the afternoon on a warm October day, we found we had plenty of company but still nowhere near what it must have been earlier in the day. With the surf up and churning its relentless song, the sun casting brilliant warm light as it drops to the west, there is no foliage to wonder at. Walking along the surf line to witness what the low ground has to say, seeing the joy that a beach walk draws out of my two companions, I can tell you that there is magic just the same.

    • May This Day

      After so many changes made and joys repeated,
      Our first bewildered, transcending recognition
      Is pure acceptance. We can’t tell our life
      From our wish. Really I began the day
      Not with a man’s wish: “May this day be different,”
      But with the birds’ wish: “May this day
      Be the same day, the day of my life.”
      — Randall Jarrell, A Man Meets a Woman in the Street

      The walks are colder now. Brisk. As in, I wish I’d put on a pair of gloves kind of brisk. But I welcome the change, even as I mourn for the things that will be missed as the earth tilts away from the sun yet again. Life is change, after all. Don’t blink: it will all change again soon enough.

      We each settle into a routine that becomes our life. We normalize the commute, the chores, the favorite game show we watch when we return home. What is all of this but the same day, repeated, to the end of our days? And so we look for different, while there’s still time, maybe with a little magic mixed in, just to feel like we found some wonder in our day.

      What do we wish for? It usually comes down to something different from the routine. But what is different quickly becomes the same too, when repeated. And so we chase different again and again. And there are times when different is the right answer. But not always. Sometimes the answer lies in gratitude for the rhythm of a beautiful life, built on the foundation of a routine that fits us like our favorite sweater. Just what would you wish for? May this day be savored for all that it brings.

    • Naturally Next

      “Remember that there is only one important time and that is now. The present moment is the only time over which we have dominion. The most important person is always the person you are with, who is right before you, for who knows if you will have dealings with any other person in the future? The most important pursuit is making the person standing at your side happy, for that alone is the pursuit of life.” ― Leo Tolstoy, The Emperor’s Three Questions

      What next? I’ve heard the question over and over again since summer ended. Is it because I’m asking it myself? Or because we reach the same point in life where such questions become increasingly important? I think if I ask one more question in this paragraph I’ll lose a few subscribers in rapid succession. What’s next is blessedly the next paragraph.

      We navigate our place in the world, run into obstacles we learn to get around or stall behind indefinitely. Habits are obstacles, and so is a closed mind. Sometimes we get so focused on the obstacle in front of us we don’t step back to see the many ways around it. When writing stops flowing I simply walk away for a few minutes, make a coffee or throw the frisbee to the pup and the obstacle drifts away.

      I think Tolstoy had it mostly right with his focus on the present moment, and the most important person being the one we’re engaged with right now. But is our most important pursuit making that person happy? I think this itself becomes an obstacle, for happiness is a fickle thing, and serving the whims of another’s state is slavery.

      We’ve all got to find our own path to whatever is next for us. Helping others to see is a fine thing indeed, but they must learn to reconcile their obstacles in their own life. Maybe that obstacle is us. To give space and time for others to find their own way may be the most generous gift we can give them.

      What’s next? The sky filled with migratory birds noisily chatting about the commute. Maple leaves turning yellow and orange and red as the sun gradually reminds them that their time is almost over. Montauk Daisies budding so very long after the rest of the garden fades. Cherry tomatoes bursting in the autumn sun because we cannot possible keep up with the harvest. Next is always right in front of us, showing us the way around whatever we imagined was impossible to get beyond. Dare I say we must pay attention to now? Or is that one question too many?

      Then how about this? Answers come from doing. Stop worrying about the obstacle and simply do what calls for attention today. Like writer’s block, simply doing something pulls us inevitably to possibility. Look around, it’s all around us—everywhere except that place we were stuck in. We may simply do what is naturally next, and see where it takes us.

    • The Dog and the Frog

      “A calm and modest life brings more happiness than the pursuit of success combined with constant restlessness.” — Albert Einstein

      Every morning I let the puppy out to relieve herself. Inevitably, she ignores her full bladder and makes a beeline for the pool to see who is swimming there today. Most mornings this time of year there’s a frog bobbing around with the acorns believing it’s found paradise on earth. And so the standoff begins. The pup will circle for hours if I let her, chasing something that she’ll never catch. The only way to break the spell is to take the net and rescue the frog from the pool, relocating it over the fence. Tomorrow it will likely be right back in there again, awaiting the pup. This would go on each morning until the end of time if the season wasn’t drawing to a close.

      Are we any better than the dog following the frog? We also run around in circles relentlessly pursuing some concept of happiness or success, as if either are tangible. Reach for either and we find it’s bobbing somewhere other than the place we just dove for it. Each are nothing but ideas of what we think we ought to be.

      The aim of life is growth. A tadpole or a mighty oak measures it’s time alive in growth, and so should we. We ought to break the spell of chasing happiness or success, whatever the heck those mean to us and focus instead on purposeful gain. What might our net gain be today with a change in focus? Knowledge or strength? Enlightenment? A deeper understanding of ourselves and our place in this world?

      Forget about running in circles with nothing to show for it but a wet nose. Break the spell of the chase and focus on incremental growth instead. Whatever moves the needle forward in a meaningful way towards personal excellence and growth are the true wins for the day. Stack enough of these wins together and we may realize a state of happiness and success.

    • Of Blossoms and Stars

      Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
      Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
      — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

      Here’s to the stargazers among us. We tend to walk with tilted heads, with eyes towards the infinite. Time is marked by the celestial dance. We are but brief witnesses—spectators watching the play unfold and yet knowing we are a part of it just the same. The masses are busily scurrying about, thinking the universe wraps around them. Look up on a crisp September night to find the truth of the matter. We are nothing but fireflies to the universe. And yet we burn brightly for our brief moment.

      The garden is fading rapidly, but some of its stars rise just in time to save the season. Sedum autumn joy blushes for all the attention it receives from the bees. Chrysanthemums, top-heavy with blooms, positively glow even as their neighbors bow with fatigue. The Montauk daisies (Nipponanthemum nipponicum) are just now budding, promising their own show in days to come. These are days we’ll remember, the garden reminds us, in the long nights of winter coming soon enough.

      Isn’t it strange how we feel most alive as the days grow shorter? Is it heightened attention or a building sense of urgency to squeeze more awareness into this brief fling with the sun? I think it’s appreciation for the beautiful dance and gratefulness for being a dancer ourself. To mourn the season coming to a close is to miss the sparkling rise of the next. We must be active gardeners in this life, no matter the season at hand. Look around, for magic is all around us.

    • See What Unfolds

      The Barred Owls have returned. There is a mating pair that moves through the trees, hooting it up to check in on each other while they each hunted in different places in the woods surrounding us. I’m told that Barred Owls hunt independent of each other, eat what they eat and catch up again later. “So how was work today?” “Fine, had hoped for a baby bunny but only caught a field mouse.” Romantic stuff.

      Also developing in the neighborhood, a large beaver has moved in to the stream, wading about just after dusk above the bridge. It’s been a few years since I’d seen a beaver in the stream, and I’m wondering if the drought had dried up its previous nest. Beaver will move on when their food source is used up, not unlike the owls. We’ve all got to eat. While the owls are big talkers, the beaver works in silence most of the time.

      We’re seeing yet another bumper crop of acorns this year, which explains the abundance of animals that feed on them moving back into the neighborhood (along with the animals that feed on the feeding animals). It’s been a hot dry summer after a wet spring. I wonder what that means for the fall foliage this autumn, but I don’t wonder enough to look it up. We all have the world at our fingertips, don’t we? We ought to let a few things simply unfold before us just to keep the magic in our lives.

      I’m finally reading a paperback version of Niels Lyhne by Jens Peter Jacobsen, based entirely on the recommendation of Rainer Maria Rilke, mind you. I’m at a point in my life when I look around and find most talking heads haven’t got much to add to the conversation, so I dig deeper. Don’t just stop with the work of an author or poet or artist—seek out the works that influenced them. What challenges and transforms us, collectively?

      Today’s world is unfolding exactly as I anticipated when the elections went the way they went a year ago. We are where we are because people believe what they want to believe, and feel emboldened to behave the way they behave because others do it so it must be okay. We too may choose how to react in such times. How do we want to navigate this world that we live in?

      My advice, since you’ve read this far, is to seek out the timeless over the trend whenever possible. Things will come and go in a lifetime. We mustn’t forget that the lifetime in question is ours. We must do the best we can with what unfolds before us. There is more to this world than the madness swirling noisily on the platforms of choice. Go deeper and see what unfolds.

    • For Now

      When is the last time you will ever do something? Sometimes we know in the moment, like saying goodbye to someone on their deathbed, or closing the door on an apartment we spend some notable time living in as we move out and move on. The weight of that last goodbye may hit us particularly hard, or barely register in that busy moment but whisper to us for years afterward. Last goodbyes mark transition points in our lives—points from which we know we’re never going back again.

      Goodbye, for nows are a less permanent but still notable closure on some chapter of our lives. Yesterday I went for a swim in the bay, the air a little crisp, the water warmer but clearly cooling off, and a wave of goodbye for now emotion rolled over me as I toweled off in the cool breeze. I may well swim again this season, but odds are it was the last one until next summer. Or maybe forever. We never really know, do we? So we must savor each experience like we’re turning the last breathless page in a thrilling novel. We may never pass this way again.

      September brings obvious signs that the season is ending. The cucumbers are fading rapidly now, and so are the tomatoes. Savor, they remind me, for you’ll be doomed to the supermarket variety soon enough (good god—no!). Venus and Jupiter rise in the early morning sky and Orion is more prominent again. The crickets are having a final, desperate word, the nut-gathering rodents play chicken with cars and frantic frisbee dogs. It’s all happening, right before our eyes and waiting for us to notice.

      Life doesn’t wait for us, we must experience the season we’re in before it’s over forever. Tempus fugit, friend: Time flies. So, if only for now, trap yourself in the amber of this moment a beat longer. Each day offers a goodbye. Be sure to look it squarely in the eye just once, that we may remember something of it.

    • Step Out

      Now I’m thinkin’ about her everyday
      On my mind, atypical way
      Are you a life force?
      — Caamp, By and By

      It must be the cold air in the dark hours. September offers more dark hours, and thus more cold air, than the preceding months. When we walk out into colder air, we feel we’re walking out into something. We learn to brace for it. We come to love it.

      As we pull on an extra layer and step out from the walls that surround us into the infinite truth, what comes to mind? For me, the music on my mind is seasonal. Just as I have my summer soundtrack, I have a soundtrack for autumn. It’s like welcoming an old friend back. Here we are again. So much has changed but we still have this.

      Are you a life force? In these angry, divisive and violent times, just what do we stand for? What walls currently surround us, holding us back from something infinitely larger than who we are? Step out and find the truth.

    • Seeing It

      “The world is full of wonderful things you haven’t seen yet. Don’t ever give up on the chance of seeing them.” ― J.K. Rowling

      Here on the home front, the acorns and crickets signal the last days of summer are closing in on us. And once again, we seem to have an abundance of each. Whether we like it or not, the clock is ticking on summer days, and that old back to school feeling is all around us (along with Halloween candy displays—why?!). The Final Countdown is playing in my head, and to be honest, I’ve never liked that song. Someone make it stop!

      When I take stock of what I’ve done this year thus far, I have no right to complain about not traveling more. But end of summer always makes me think about the places I haven’t reached just yet. Once a vagabond, always a vagabond. At least in spirit. We may be grateful for the places we’ve reached in our life while still aspiring for more. A mindset of kaizen (constant, never-ending improvement) includes never being truly satisfied. But there’s still time for a little more exploration and discovery.

      This blog began as a vehicle to write about what I saw in an active regional travel routine. Through deliberate lifestyle design, I’ve gone from 80% travel to 0% in my work. Work travel may satisfy the mind’s desire to see something new each day, but let’s face it, most Hilton hotel rooms are about the same. Travel is not the accumulation of points or the “free” bottles of water, it’s the revelatory experience of stumbling upon wonderful and taking the time to learn something about it.

      The thing is, we can discover wonder anywhere, in any season. We just have to be open and curious and willing to experience what is right in front of us. I can wonder at the explosive production of cucumbers growing in pots on the patio just as easily as I can about some roadside historical sign. Why did it take me so many years to give that a try? Just as the garden is where you grow it, gratitude is where you nurture it.

      This was a season when being home was more essential than ever. The end of life journey of my father, a brief summer reunion with old friends, and the time with our children as they each making significant pivots in their own lives, is time I would never have had if I’d been off checking bucket list destinations off the list. There is a season for everything in life. When we are forever looking for the next, we miss so much of the now. Being here, now, and seeing what is right in front of us all along is the true journey of discovery. Do we see it?

    • Our Quiet Proximity

      Oh good scholar,
      I say to myself,
      how can you help

      but grow wise
      with such teachings
      as these—
      the untrimmable light

      of the world,
      the ocean’s shine,
      the prayers that are made
      out of grass?
      — Mary Oliver, Mindful

      Yesterday I watched a skunk shuffle along in that skunky way, sniffing and moving through the neighborhood. Bad break for those of us with dogs, and a reminder for us to be more aware. Dogs have no problem being aware, and boldly curious, which is why they end up on the wrong end of skunks all too often.

      On that very same walk, I watched a snapping turtle glide underwater in the stream as I walked over the bridge. The turtle is an active participant in the stream—I’ve seen her before, seen where she had buried her eggs, and expect I might see her every time I walk. But sometimes I see the blue heron instead, or the river otter, or the ducks moving through the slow August current. These characters aren’t fond of spectators hovering over them on the bridge, so I’ve learned to ease up slowly and glance discreetly down. And so has the pup.

      On the day that my father passed from this world, I remained very much a part of it, fully aware of what surrounded me. That we should rush through life without noticing the blessings around us is the curse of a busy mind. If my long goodbye with my father taught me anything, it was to appreciate the gift of presence for all it offers. It’s not a eureka moment, it’s a lingering awareness of all that is and will be in our quiet proximity. The light of the world continues to shine through in unexpected ways, simply awaiting our notice.