Field Notes: Fall 2024

No clues required

I hesitate at the edge of the woods because a real-life national treasure hunt for a 24K gold sculpture has brought a lot of people to these woods.

But Asha has agreed to a trail we haven’t walked in some time (though not for lack of trying on my part and I don’t want to squander this opportunity). Plus I’m eager to walk on familiar ground after several days away.

As others search using maps and aerial photographs, I easily find priceless treasures. Gold falls from birch branches and gilds the edge of the trail. Dozens of rubies are set in Partridgeberry leaves. And pearls, tanzanite and lapis are scattered near the brook.

I win.

Every time the wind picks up

Gold, amber, scarlet dance
on the branches:
“Not yet, not yet.”

Ocher, copper, vermillion flutter
to the trail, to the brook
to the forest floor:
“Letting go, letting go, letting go.”

Color and breeze become a prayer,
opening my senses, my heart, my being:
“May I release what’s ready to be released
with autumn-leaf beauty and grace.”

Postcard to the Woods #4

Dear Woods,

I’m always grateful for you, and today it feels especially important to tell you that.

I’m grateful that you hold my grief and fears, my pain and anger, my tears — my heartbreak. That you respect my silence and allow me to take my time, moving at my own pace. Moving through what I think, and how and what I feel.

I’m grateful that you welcome all of me without judgment, without pressure to feel differently than I do. That you respond with quiet beauty.

Thank you.

With deepest gratitude,
Marilyn

Moonrise at sunset

A half hour before sunset, a semicircle of light emerges above the distant hills.

“Look, there she is!” I say to George, an unanticipated companion who had pulled over to photograph the view.

Asha and I have walked up the road to the edge of this field with an expansive eastern vista to watch the full moon rise. We’ve invited him to join us.

“Wow, she’s moving quickly,” I say.

The moon climbs higher and the sun sinks lower. We share our awe. The sky’s deepening blues and pinks. The purpling of the hills. The goldening of the moon.

We watch until George says it’s time for him to return home.

But Asha and I linger.

We glow with the moon and the shared delight.

Texts and birds

1 • Friday, 2:36pm
My cell phone announces the arrival of a text.

“Do you have a favorite bird?” Sarah asks.

“Ooooo,” I type, “such a hard question to answer. I love so many. My favorite may well be whomever I’m watching at the moment.”

2 • Saturday, 12:10pm
A large bird flies soundlessly above Asha and me and into the trees. I spot the well-camouflaged bird in the bare branches of late fall, then watch the rounded head rotate 180 degrees to face me, and I am honored to be in the presence of an owl.

After we return home, I text Sarah, “Today’s favorite bird (so far): the Barred Owl perched in a hemlock at the edge of the logging road.”

3 • Tuesday, 10:07 am
A flash of red catches my attention. A short while later Asha and I bump into Sarah and her dog Bean. “I was just composing a text to you in my head,” I tell her.

“What did it say?”

“I promise that I won’t send you a text about this every day. But today’s favorite bird is the Northern Cardinal I saw at the cemetery.”