It was destined to happen.
In the 31 years that I've owned my home, I have quite a few times buried in our yard, primarily under the corner forsythia bush, the few tiny, deceased animals that I've found outside our fence or within the confines of our yard, a few maimed and killed by our late but great miniature dachshund, Jeffrey (1995-2012). One frigid morning, I noticed from our deck stairs a sparrow laying beneath the above-mentioned bush. I cautiously walked upon the ground covered with frozen snow and checked it out. The bird was motionless, its eyes still open. It had indeed passed on. When it comes to me and times like this, there are those few moments where you just continue to look, wonder what happened (I suspected here the bird had possibly frozen to death), and wish that things could be different. Just a few hours earlier, this bird may have been, along with the others, enjoying the food I place in the feeder every morning. Now, as its companions chirped and hopped from branch to branch in the nearby bush, it was gone. It was my first "winter burial" and, this time minus a shovel when I truly needed one most, I summoned the aid of one if my daughter's beach shovels from her childhood and dug a 4" to 5" hole, gently put the bird inside, made a cross out of two ice-covered twigs and placed them on the bird, blessed (like I have many times) it with prayers, and covered it with the frozen soil. From that day forward, when I fill the tiny birdbath near the burial spot with water, I ponder how the overflow nourishes the ground, perhaps is even reaching the bird's resting spot, as well as that of the other birds and bunnies that rest beneath this spot of land. Fast forward a month, and winter has turned to spring, the weather is warming, and now fresh, new greenery - grass and weeds - is sprouting out of the ground. This birth (rebirth, if you will) reminds me of a book I read when I was a child, when a young girl's rabbit had died and she was dreading burying it, the separation much too sad for her to bear. Her mother explained to her that the rabbit had done its job on earth, bringing the girl much happiness. She then said that rabbit's job now was to show love to other existence, for when buried it would join forces with the soil, rainfall, and sunshine to produce beautiful growth in the form of flowers, and continue to bring happiness to their home and passersby. The bird in my yard is now living that love. Steve
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Creflo Dollar, an evangelist, once stated (not verbatim) in one of his many excellent books, "Stop starting over."
I forget the context in which he used it - no doubt it probably had to do with righting oneself spiritually or religiously - but the words have always been in the back of my mind, resurfacing when I embark on a worthwhile goal and then sputter, asking myself, "Okay, where to from here, and how?" I've made it a point not to head back to the starting line, instead continuing my journey and repairing what's fractured slowly while maturing towards what I desire. I do realize that a fresh start, kind of like New Year's Day, is a welcome thing; it gives one encouragement. But what happens when that "start" is a nice take off, but soon the process slows, sputters as previously mentioned, and halts entirely? Well, creatures of habit may begin again, while realizing that behind you is an endeavor that languishes, especially in the back of your mind ("Why couldn't I do it?".) If starting over remedies your situation and you march forward living with and besting issues that might derail you and instead attain what you sought in the first place, congratulations. However, if stopped again, you maybe revert back to the starting line, again facing a new beginning. Here's what is working for me. In late December, I began a 12-week workout program that has "seen" quite a few missed workout and poor nutrition days. Rather than "starting over," what I've embraced is evaluating where I've been, what needs to change, and a continuation of said program. Week 8 went into week 9 instead if back to week 1. Set 2, and weeks 5 through 8, ended, Set 3 and weeks 9 through 12 commenced. And yes, I do realize that beginning a new set and new four weeks is "new," but it's not starting over. - at least not according to me. No new journey; the same one with a sunnier outlook, and no wear on the mind regarding the great thing I started and what was. Improvement and going forward, not reverse. Steve I don't describe myself as a "nature writer". I do enjoy nature and writing about it, but don't study it, instead searching for things outside that pique my interest and encourage me to write my thoughts about it. Consider this piece of bark which for a few months now has been in our backyard and has not moved. A few trees in the area has been cut down, but the thought here is that brisk winter winds dislodged it from the branch or trunk it called home, age perhaps a factor as well in its separation and eventual descent. It rests now, part of the season scenery.
Most fascinating is this tiny holly shoot which has poked out. So near to our house, no feet will trample it, only the birds and squirrels can peer at it eye level. Ironic it is that it - this nature - reigns so close to a grounding wire and cement structure. As beautiful as it is, it has been "touched" by Autumn's "palette of brown paint," and also one of the leaves "chisled" by a critter of some sort. All of the above raises a thought. Spring being as welcoming and beautiful as it is, even the off-seasons can present worthwhile visions for the eyes. If those visions cause us to ponder and rest and wonder, perhaps we're all the better for it.
Steve Regular visitors to this blog - and I hope it is visited far more often than I post here, which is a reminder I must visit more often - know that this forum is my spot for transparency. So, this weekend I'm declaring my sometimes slug-like pace at getting things done, and my reluctance to venture into domains unknown or foray beyond my comfort zone to secure a goal.
For example, I was recently tasked with writing 10 articles in a seven day period (this serves as a hint for those who think the writing life is glamorous; it's work), and to accomplish this feat, I had to carve extra time into my toils, and I did this by rising at 5 a.m. Monday - Friday and writing and submitting 1 -2 articles prior to 7 a.m. So, I've proven that, when I need to get things done, I complete them. I read recently that you should not tell someone, anyone, a goal that is important to you. I forget the reasoning beyond the advice, but I think it had something to do with keeping it to yourself, cherishing it as part of you, don't share the goal which could become a personal accomplishment...whatever. Anyway, it got me to thinking about a book idea I've had on my mind for a while, which I toyed with by writing a few samples chapters last year, and then left it to rest. Those written chapters were completed due to an online writing group challenge, where on a daily basis effort one participant was rewarded with a prize. I was a recipient of one of those rewards, and after 5 days I looked at my effort, proudly basked in it, saved it to my hard drive, have not worked on it since, but have not forgotten it. There's a reason things stay on our mind: they're important to us for one reason or another. That's why this book idea, and some its already completed foundation, refuse to depart; it's important - to me. Why? It's an escape from the normal realm of writing life for me, which includes daily marketing, article writing, and conversations with editors. However, while I realize that it, much like this weekly blog post, may allow me a peaceful traverse from daily duties, the idea is sedated still. My writer's group knows about the book, and now you the reader are aware of it due to my "spilling" of it here, therefore the advice in the article read I've not adhered to. But that somewhat accountability is not the reason I should, want, need to resume it. I need to continue the journey because it is a part of me, no matter the "other" homes it may find, although that is in itself worthwhile. First and foremost there are thoughts, feelings that need an escape, which once on the page will come back to me in spirit-filled remembrance, which for me would make life fulfilling. Also, It's not about possible publication of the book, either. I in the past wrote a 192-page work of fiction that never left my PC, and once I got those words, that story, out of me, I deleted the document. Perhaps a late editor I knew said it best. "Always remember this: it's about the writing. That is what's most important - the writing." Steve Those who know me well know I am a snow hater. I'll rephrase that: I dislike snow when it falls and sticks to the ground, causes havoc to roadways .and forces sidewalk, front porch, and back deck shoveling.
The above being said, I must admit to finding this past Wednesday's 45-minute snow squall both fascinating and lovely. Fascinating because, the moment I received the alert on my Smartphone about the impending squall, it started right thereafter, and it reminded me of the one and only time I drove in whiteout conditions. Lovely, because it was interesting watching the atmosphere outside the basement library window go from cloudy to cotton, hearing the wind howl and see the driving snow eventually totally blanket the airspace in white. Yes, it looked fascinating and lovely...from behind the screen window. I was "buried" in the basement library all day, churning out articles and doing phone interviews amid stacks of books as the world passed by, changed rapidly by Mother Nature. I was thankful that, on that particular day, I didn't have to drive anywhere for appointments, that I have a job that allows me election of when and where to work. This morning, as I type these words, it's a chilly 15 degrees outside, but sunny. Tomorrow the temperature will rise to near 50, and this upcoming Tuesday to just about 60. If only it can be that temperate year round. Still, the snow squall was an interesting to observe, and I wondered as it lingered how the sparrows in the side yard bush fared. Did they huddle together on branches to stay warm, take shelter perhaps under the many fallen, rusty leaves that fell from nearby trees to the ground this pass fall? Steve When 2018 began, I created for myself an aggressive book reading plan of three to four books per month, which would mean, if followed, I would read completely 36 to 48 books by year's end. The goal was not met; in fact, I didn't come close to the lower amount, and even half of that lower amount. I often wonder how people can read 100+ books a year, a supreme effort I applaud. In fact, a friend of mine reads 350 to 400 per year! I wouldn't think of or consider that number, nor half of it, or even 100. So, as 2019 was fast approaching and I knew that, for me, I both wanted and needed to read more, I set the bar at two to three books per month, which over the course of the year would be 24 to 36 books. Somewhat aggressive for me still, but something that if I planned well could be accomplished. As January comes to a close, I am finishing a second book for the month, and on Thursday evening headed to Montclair State University's Sprague Library, checking out and taking home with me two offerings to meet my February quota. The smaller amount has fostered in me a feeling of accomplishment: I'm getting it done, and I'm enjoying the reading more. Pictured below on the left is the book I'm finishing up, and the books in the middle and right are my February "victims." The reading plan, or the fact that early on it has been a small win, has also lent itself to my freelance writing life. With a deluge - yes, you read that right - of assignments, reading more has encouraged getting more done, a more positive work effort. Not that the effort wasn't there, it's just that it's been strengthened by a self-used maxim: "Someone wrote this, and they finished it. As a professional writer, I'm going to do and I am doing the same thing. I contribute to a reader's world."
Then, at the end of my writing day, I'm anxious to bear down on my reading, my writing fueling the experience. It's nice how that works. I hope to report back next December that I am on target with my reading goal. I also realize that things happen that blitz or curtail even the best plans, but having an initiative set down and working it gives me an extra, positive outlook that has (currently) made both my reading and writing exciting. Steve There are times when, my life being overly busy and sometimes discouraging, I seek an escape that avoids the mirror of my every day writing life. Please don't misunderstand. I love what I do for, but occasionally needed is a trek that more than trounces the daily trip of 10 yards to the corner bird feeder, that a reprieve in itself. I had just twice before been to Island Beach State Park; once with my wife and daughter, the other walking the ocean and bay side with a naturalist. This time, on a blue sky, 45 degree December day, my wife and daughter were with me again, over 20 years separating our last "voyage" here together, Crystal doesn't match the beauty of this serene 9-mile piece of calm. Everywhere we looked there was something to be learned, something to be studied, something to be met, but most of all, something - whether it be a blade of grass, errant driftwood, or grain of sand - to be indulged in and thanked for its peace.
Lucille, Stefanie and I did our twice-weekly prayers and scripture readings as the sun started to set over Island Beach State Park, it the idyllic setting for such a task. Saying our final "Amen" was appropriate. On Island Beach State Park, the sand is whiter in color, the air clearer, the view - no matter what you're looking at - more splendid.
Yes, a true escape. Steve During a recent Saturday morning cardio walk, I noticed an elderly gentleman in my neighborhood removing from his SUV and placing in his garage items which tots or young school age children might use to clutch on to when in the water, such as a pool or even the ocean.
Obviously, since school had started a few days earlier, remnants of the summer were returned to storage until the next Garden State shore season returns. As I walked, I pondered what that meant to me. I have always welcomed the off-season beach trips where oppressive heat is no more and chillier temperatures and sometimes gusty winds reign. Partner that with absence of crowds, and an opportunity for true peace enters the picture. Regular readers of the "Some Thoughts This Week" blog -- this version and its predecessor from 2009 - 2015 -- know I value that peace and all it encompasses: vegetation, whether in fall or winter bloom or off-season decay; birds of all colors and sizes, and anything else that falls into the category. You see, I am not the type to embrace the summer season, heat, crowds and all; I prefer quiet and space, freedom to roam the dune trails, stand at the shoreline and watch the waves crash and recede with a rush from whence they came, the screams of families and children absent. All are entitled to the joys, and their parcel of beach sand. If frolicking in surf during the tourist season finds your favor, I won't be at your elbow. Value is find during all seasons, all relative to the individual, and I certainly respect the choice to tan in the heat. But there's something special about a brisk, cold wind in your face, and sharing it alone with a shore bird, its plume blown in beautiful disarray. Steve Sometimes you'll notice something, and then you'll question whether or not it's probably happened before and, like many who roam through life being busy, you weren't still enough to take notice. It's sometimes a reminder that reprieves are needed. A few days back, during a very warm, humid afternoon, as I sat in an empty lot, I was a spectator to an amazing site: a wealth of leaves on a tree appearing to "clap" in unison. There is no benefit of video here, but the below photo shows the tree to which I refer. Truth be told, a warm breeze kicked up, and the greenery was all at once sent into a tumultuous "flapping," the tree appearing to dance as each leaf was blown to extreme by the breeze. It was not only interesting, but amazing, the sounds heard roughly about 50 yards away. Close your eyes; just imagine it. As I continued to sit in the car, bolstered by the sight just seen, I decided to focus on nature that was a bit more subdued. Next to my car, I found the following, high grasses and weeds unaltered recently by man, nature permitted the freedom to grow to current extreme. I envision beneath the ground the roots of the growth perhaps wrapping around the bottom of the posts, and maybe the footing for the fire hydrant. Obviously the parcel of land needs a manicure, for aesthetics as well as use of the hydrant if needed.
I post this brief reminder on a wet, rainy Saturday: get out and enjoy, embrace nature -- no matter where and how seemingly insignificant. I'm certain nature doesn't always wow us, and maybe it doesn't have to. But it should still us, deliver peace enough to get our mind off of other things. Steve After a week of sunshine and blistering heat, I welcome the rain this morning. In fact, I've opened the window to the basement library where my writing desk resides, so I can hear the rain fall and the cars driving by my house slosh through the many puddles on the street.
Earlier, when the rain was falling very heavily, I exited the back door of our home and stood on the back deck under the awning, watching and listening to the rain patter above my protected head, the birds flying quickly to the nearby bushes and trees. I wasn't thinking much at that moment; I was just looking and listening. As I type this post, I'm thinking of the dead bird that I buried yesterday under our corner forsythia bush, the latest of many birds and rabbits that have met perhaps untimely ends in my yard and the immediate neighboring area. I recall how warm it was yesterday when I dug that hole, placed the tiny bird into it, laid a cross made from twigs on its body, said a few prayers, and moved the dirt back upon the bird and into the hole. The rain this morning is firming that spot, nourishing it, and soon grass will grow over the spot where the tiny bird lay, as it has with the others. So, rain, perhaps others may curse you this morning, but you've brought a little something special to my day. I thank you. And DON'T go away. Steve |
Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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