Continuing with the season of reflection and looking back to older posts these past weeks, and in honor of the pagan sabbat of Samhain (Halloween), something from my England archives (2010): All Hallows Eve. It feels as if the entire day has been lifted from a spooky, storybook tale with ghostly trees draped in mist
I drive a short distance up into the western front of the crumpled, arid mountains that always feel like home. From the wide valley floor at seven thousand feet, the squat piñon and fragrant junipers slowly yield to tall ponderosa pines and shimmering aspens that crowd the higher elevations. There, overlooking the endless painted horizon of New
This week, gentle reader, a shortened reprise of an older post that I feel called to share once again. My dear beekeeping mentor on Maui, a keenly spiritual man with a generous and sensitive heart, once said, “There is nothing like being reunited with the beloved.” So true. In the long stretch of years of
Overnight, summer returned to the Monterey Peninsula, meaning that temperatures plummeted and the offshore “marine layer” rolled in, creating a foggy, cool world requiring me to don a jacket to keep warm. In the quiet of the morning, I found myself feeling blue in spirit, partly from the return of grey weather when my chilled
Beyond the front windows of the cottage, the evening sky slowly shifted hues, fading from soft blue to a purple shawl of silk wrapped around the gracefully spiraling arms of the Grandmother Monterey cypress. On the table nearby, a pair of golden beeswax tapers flickered and danced with flame as I sat silently, listening to the music.