Nothing ambiguous about this work; the spirit and attitude in the piece is, uh, easily discerned. And I didn’t even show the NSFW element. And the workmanship! Kudos!
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The March full moon is commonly referred to as the Worm Moon, for the earthworms who tend to make their way to the surface around this time. And lo and behold, I saw a robin out in our garden today, tugging on something.
Down here near the coast of CT, the robins tend to stay around all winter. I’ve noticed that they save the red holly berries until January, and then a whole flock will clean out the shrubs over a few days time. They won’t touch them earlier in the winter, and the same goes for other red berries in our neighborhood.
It was interesting to be out after dark on the river. Though I was only about a hundred yards away from the nearest homes, I felt a bit uneasy, like I was out in a wilderness far away from civilization. There were coyotes howling some distance away, and the intermittent calls of waterfowl settling in for the night. But mostly it was quiet, and in the end peaceful, with an occasional lap of waves on the shore.
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That’s the Lynde Point Lighthouse, one of two on the western side of the mouth of the CT River.
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We’re now in the back end of winter here in northern New England, and signs of spring are beginning to emerge. One of my favorites is a more expansive dusk; a month ago, it came and went quickly, now it just lingers, not wanting to miss a thing.
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Here’s another shot of my grandfather, with whom we lived, and who helped raise us.
He emigrated from Poland circa 1906, after (as the story goes) his commanding officer in the Austrian army suggested it was a good time to do so, as all hell was about to break loose on the land. He learned the English language early on, and became an American citizen in 1920. He loved telling stories; my older sister remembers hours upon hours of tales that were uniquely his, usually weaving in themes from the Old Testament, the politics of old Poland, and the natural world.
He was a community/union organizer, and an accomplished gardener and mushroom forager. I remember many long walks in the forest behind our home foraging for a certain type of Russula mushroom (called “Pravdzive” in Polish), which would be dried, and given to friends and family to use as a base for holiday soups at Christmas and Easter.
He had a strong faith but also a big love for his family and friends, and he seemed to be as comfortable in social situations as in the out of doors. I never did get a chance to thank him for all that he gave me, particularly the knowledge and presence that he so freely offered, every day of his life.
And on a side note, it might be time to once again read “Report To Greco”, the wonderful memoir of Nikos Kazanzakis (Greco being his grandfather).
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A meadow? Moor, savanna, pasture, heath, grassland, shielding, veldt? A public golf course?
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“Supreme Father Kirpal gave only this message, and even the wind also teaches us this: if you keep walking while doing the Simran, the destination comes to you by itself.” Sant Ajaib Singh
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