I can't remember how many years it's been since I found this bottle in the woods. The things inside are whiter than they once were. It stays on my porch, a reminder that there is so much about the world I do not know.
This is just a rusty piece of tin. It may end up being a texture in one of my photographs. You can see pieces of a clay pot on the ground there. I have an asparagus fern in a pot that had a rough time last winter. I thought it was a goner. The fern has slowly grown back. The pot is barely holding together.
Here is one of my favorite places to sit and collect my wits. I was swinging here using my phone to film a slow motion video. The video turned out to be mostly a bore, save for two leaves I caught leisurely floating down to the ground in slow motion. I tried to walk around and film another one where the leaves were more prominent in the video. Mother Nature is fickle. I walked all the over the yard, standing and waiting for leaves to fall. I was in my slippers and the ground was damp from last night's rain. So all I got for my effort was wet feet.
And the realization that those two leaves will never fall again.
And that the light falling on my prayer flags pictured below will never quite fall the same way again.
Yet, new leaves will grow, and fall. And light will still shine. We can hold this hope in the dead of winter, and in the darkness of long nights.
This swing is a "gratitude spot" for me. The porch is attached to a room that was originally attached to my grandparents' old house. When I sit here, I feel very close to my ancestors who have gone on before me.
Today I thought about my great grandmother, who lost a son in the war. He was buried in France, probably in an unmarked grave. I never knew him, but he was my uncle and his story is linked with my story. My great grandmother, my mother, and I all have in common the loss of our sons.
One of my prayer flags is a prayer for all who mourn. May all who mourn find peace and comfort and hope.
