220227 grateful ashamed sad afraid
Feb. 26
I am grateful for our home, safe and warm, as we watch war erupting so near. I am ashamed, because, though I have watched refugees around the world escaping war-torn countries, abandoning their homes, carrying their children in their arms, and imagined what that must be like, I haven't felt the deep fear and sadness that I feel now, as I watch what is happening in Ukraine. This feels nearer, in long-stable Europe; it is gut-wrenching, very frightening. May our prayers be heard.
*****
the creaking trees
the fallen trees
the creek in its small snowy gorge
running dark and cold
*****
The dogs at play:
Rocky went out by himself, to play with his friend who lives up the road, just as I did when I was five. I was struck by the visceral memory that surfaced of me as a little girl going out the door and my mother - a superimposed "memory" of my mother, large in the background, her mother-awareness of her child going out to play, her thought and emotion.
I remember how my older brother stood and watched out the window while my little brother played at the park. The park was right across the road and the children often congregated there. I wonder now if he looked out to check on me.
I didn't ever thank my mother for being my mother. I am sad about that. I have been deeply grateful most of my life for who she was and what she gave to us children, and since her death I have cherished my lifetime of wonder and joy that flourished because of her. She was and remains somehow my centre. I am sad too that the life of "wonder and joy" my mother gave me was so obscured, while she was alive, by my chronic depression and selfish angst.
Only recently have I come to experience joy and happiness unalloyed by negativity, or worry. The backdrop of these feelings is the rich, three-dimensional experience of life with my mother and father. When I watch the snow blow down the meadow, or kneel to look at the moss on a tree stump, or watch the raven fly across to the ridge, there is the awareness of how my parents looked at the world. The knowledge and understanding they taught me about the world around us, add texture and depth to every joyous feeling.
*****
There was a deer died (or killed - by wolves? Coyotes wouldn't bring down a deer unless it was injured or ill.) on the ridge last week. It was a temporary "cantine" for the scavengers. Coyotes and bobcats came and ravens, and then crows. Every last bit was eaten or taken away to dens and nests. Nothing was wasted. Rocky was more interested in the smells of the predators, I think, than the pickings, but he found a nice piece on the last day, before it snowed and covered over the scraps. That was the end of our walk; he wanted to go straight home with his prize.
No, not in the house! - Rocky tried a couple of times to bring it inside, and finally took it away somewhere and hid it. I never saw it again.
Today a reprise of Friday's storm enveloped us in snow again. I finished my commissioned project on Thursday night and took Friday off. Did nothing, was busy all day! There was the news to follow, the storm to watch, and adventures with Rocky. Saturday I went to Cowansville with Rain, to run some errands. Today, Sunday, Rain and the baby came for the day - we cooked, kept the fire going, and watched the snow.
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