Cloud Watcher

 

The sorghum plants are broken stalks,

dried, brown the color of sack lunches, 

and trampled in the yard like pick-up sticks. 

The wooden fence stained with pool water

-green now, overtaken, algae-conquered:

What was crystal is now made mysterious…

The plans we had, the vision laid out

like clouds are now misted over, rolled plum off the porch,

or rearranged themselves, perpetually shifting 

(storms a'brewin', coffee cold, kitchen a mess).

But the Cloud Watcher lies still, inured to empty threats.

And wind tosses pool-dried hair, quilt stained and rumpled, 

air-dried. The chimes clang a broken melody,

thunder rolls in the distance, a subtle warning

-or a roll call for cowards. 

She closes her eyes and hums, content.

Knowing that somewhere, light will break through again.

...

Sometimes I need to be reminded that the world will warm up again. I wrote the above poem, initially entitled, "Summer's End" in late August of last year. Of course, there was actually quite a bit more summer weather to come for Austin, Texas. But school was about to start, and we were luxuriating in those last days of freedom, of bliss, watching the natural beauty of summer age before our eyes, stretching out those last hours even further by moving eyes upward to sky, to cloud, to abyss. 

Identifying as a Cloud Watcher is a way of choosing to embrace the moment, refusing to fear the future, refusing to be bogged down by the incessant demands of life's so-called Important Busyness. The clouds, the clouds! I will look to the clouds! 

Sincerely,

Natasha

Partaking

In my own way, I partake; 

not like Lawrence of Arabia, 

not in the swirling sands, the blinding wind, 

not crossing a white expanse, 

caked in suffering and fortitude. 

I pull my sick body out of the house.

I sit down in the Adirondack, face South,

feeling the sun's magnetic warmth in January,

the cold biting at numb fingers as I crochet stitches,

counting into the silence, stopping to recount.

But then the sun ducks behind the telephone pole;

the cardinal noisily knocks the birdseed onto the logs.

And as the sun descends, the cold raises its voice

decibel by decibel, sun sinking by degrees, by stitches,

until I'm done counting, and I must go back inside again. 

It isn't much, not impressive. But important

in its own way. And at least I had my one small dose. 

Herb Fever

Every so often, my family gets slammed with a particularly bad illness. One Sunday morning, about a year ago, I happened to click on a YouTube video recommended by my friend. She insisted I would swoon at this video, and she was absolutely correct. More than creating an emotional response, though, the video changed my life.

The video was, Juliette of the Herbs. 

The old video of Juliette de Bairacli Levy changed my life in a way that felt something like an enchantment. There is something centering, grounding, and deeply moving about watching this little, wise old woman. I love hearing her talk about rosemary and southernwood, watching her eat nasturtiums (a plant particularly dear to my heart)... I love the way she loved gypsies, animals, and plants. I love the way she saw the world, through a truly unique lens that was founded on learning from others with compassion and openness.  

How often are you inspired by someone else's life? How often does that introduction spur you toward better life choices? 

With any luck, Juliette has made me a better, more tenderhearted person. My relationship with nature has changed. I have started to see the natural world with more gentleness and more sensitivity. She awakened me to something...to seeing, hearing...to loving that same world. Children are naturally fascinated by and drawn to the natural world. But our adult selves are often too busy, too hurried, doing "important" stuff. Juliette didn't fall into that trap, that delusion.

The world was always there for me- it never went anywhere. The world never grew up or became cynical. The natural world, created by God, has always been full of marvelous things, of enchantment and wonder, of secrets and the power to heal. 

When I was a child, I would look up at the underbellies of trees and marvel at the way sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating moving patterns, different shades of green. I collected bean pods and fanned them about, showing off my wealth. That magical world of textures and smells, of layers and constant movement...that world didn't grow up and leave. It is still there, waiting for us to return. And yet, it is always changing. Today's world won't be the same tomorrow. Tomorrow's sunrise won't be the same as today's.  

When my household gets hit with an illness, I am immediately reawakened to the joy of necessity, the calm and necessary art of seeking healing from the elements. I roll up my sleeves and go to my reserves. I inventory my herbs, my teas, and my essential oils. I "touch base" anew with the old healing arts, though my own experience and knowledge remain woefully shallow. I am at the beginning of something yet. I'm at the brink, the precipice, still. But I am marveling at my view of the path ahead. 

Now that resolutions are delightfully out of vogue, I feel more invigorated than ever to take this quiet month to reevaluate and re-calibrate my focus and energy, to re-center. No stranger to failing to achieve my own goals, I delight in setting in view new ideals, summoning new energy for a challenging task. After all, missing the mark usually means making progress- and that is always the real goal, isn't it? Even slow progress is progress. Even disappointed hopes involve learning something new. 

This year, I've set for myself the intention (dare I say "goal"?) of completing an herbal course each month, growing something, and trying out new remedies. 

Rather than waiting for the next medical event to occur before spurring into action, I'd like to make herbalism a more constant part of my lifestyle. Rather than getting sudden bouts of “herb fever” and wishing I’d learned more throughout the year, I’m planning to cure myself with slow and steady herbal education.

It's my delight to share with you Juliette's video below. 

Swoon away.

Sincerely,

Natasha 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3AB9CB55FC33B536