Winter Solstice

Among several tribes on the northern plains, the passage of time from one summer to the next was marked by noting a single memorable event. The sequence of such memories, recorded pictographically on a buffalo robe or spoken aloud, was called a winter count. Several winter counts might be in progress at any one time in the same tribe, each differing according to the personality of its keeper.                                                                                                                         Barry Lopez

Cold nights, beautiful clear days.  No rain -- the third-driest December on record.  The lemon and tomato trees are at their peak.

What would I choose for my winter count?  A number of events come to mind.  The death of a good friend stands out.  Other deaths and impending mortality of friends and family have colored this year.  And yet, not a sad year--just a reminder of the transitory nature of our existence.  A call to appreciate the beauty and camaraderie while it lasts.  I often have a vision of my friend up in the sky, smiling and waving to me from the beyond.

The day of solstice feels like a pause, a moment of stillness in the ongoing turning of the year.

December Full Moon

This cold winter night,

that old wooden-head Buddha  

would make a nice fire

                      Buson

 An early morning eclipse!  A small bite at 5am, by 6:00 the moon was a dusty red globe.    

I am often up at that hour but beyond going out for the newspaper, I don't experience outdoors at that hour very often.  From the deck the sound of the freeway is noticeable in our very quiet neighborhood.  I've often thought about how little I experience our yard during the dark hours since it is so rarely warm enough to sit outside comfortably.  I will try to get outside early again to watch the dawn. 

It has been very cold at night but no rain lately, just a hazy sky.  Many of the plants are confused and blooming--some roses this month, California poppies right now.  I don't feel my usual winter inwardness.  Busy with a computer project, paintings coming along.  By 3 o'clock the sun is low in the sky and I feel the evening coming on, and of course the vegetable garden is ragged and brown, otherwise could be almost any time of year.

November Full Moon

Ten thousand flowers in spring, 
the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.
If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life.

Wu Men 

Cold at night now but clear sunny days. Dampness and dew in the mornings. Daylight savings time has started so the afternoons close in earlier.  The vegetable garden foliage is drying up but lemons are starting to ripen. Succulents still flourishing. Lots of new bamboo in the last month.Trying to keep up with weeds and grass in the front garden. I'm going to plant tulips and iris today.

Flow in the studio.  Moving along from one collage to the next.  Working with limitations of size, color, black and white.  Letting it evolve, studying the details of line, materials, colors, and layering.

A feeling of lightness, of potential for change.  Unusual communications from people--past, distant and unknown.

October Full Moon

Spider season. Hard to walk anywhere in the yard without getting caught in a web.  Also raccoon season.  Matt chasing them off the deck in the middle of the night and battening down their hoped-for nesting places.  Unusual amount of rain this early in the season but some warm sunny days in between.  Still plenty of tomatoes and apples.  We ate the first winter squash.  Bidens goldilocks and lantana are the main show in the front garden.  Gazania doing a new round.  My favorite sunny sitting place in back is now in shade.

Settled on a painting program.  Making progress in tai chi--started a second class.  Beginning to feel some of the connections between painting and tai chi.

Feeling the fluctuations of dark and light in the weather, in my physiology, working with black and white in the paintings.

Swinging on delicate hinges

 the Autumn leaf

Almost off the stem.

Jack Kerouac

Autumn Equinox

Autumn slanting light and summer weather.  This is our Bay Area climate.  The vegetable garden is winding down.  Time to freeze tomatoes, pesto, applesauce.  Shell the dried beans.  Soon the sad day will come when I have to buy lettuce.  The peppers have been great this year.

Flowers winding down too, things starting to look overgrown.  Trying to keep the new plants going until the rain starts.

A feeling of unsettledness. Uneasy about the national and international news.  Family complications.

Getting back into the painting groove.  Aiming for "lightness".

Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.

Elizabeth Lawrence

September Full Moon

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, 

of gathering together.

For nature, it is a time of sowing, 

of scattering abroad.

Edwin Way Teale

I made the first batch of applesauce.  Tomatoes are starting to pile up and we had pesto for dinner.  In the last month the caterpillars formed cocoons--a green one on a green anise stalk and a dark one on the dark red lettuce.  The bean plants are drying.  Birds in the buckthorn, squirrels wreaking havoc on the apple trees, tasting as many as possible.  The sunflowers are almost finished but the Japanese anenome, lantana and plumbago are blooming.

A feeling of not-knowing. Gratitude for all I have materially and for the relationships I have, even with their difficulties.  Not knowing the direction ahead with family, with art.  A sense of waiting.  The sun is lower in the sky, the light is different, not as clear.

August Full Moon

It's still mid-summer in the bay area but somehow autumn and turning inward is in view. Still chilly and foggy in the mornings, clearing up a bit earlier.  Tomatoes ad zucchini are kicking in.  Swallowtail caterpillars on the anise plants.  Pincushions are nearly finished, I need to take them out.  Hibiscus is almost finished.  For some reason the blackberries weren't very tasty this year--maybe too much rain?

Suddenly back in the studio--a series of small collages.  Thinking of flowers in the wilderness--beauty that no one sees and is short lived.  Art can be like this.

The feeling is of consolidation, deepening.  Not reaching out but allowing the relationships I have to deepen, unfold, blossom.  Not of effort but of letting veils drop.  Relationships with people but also with art, tai chi and nature. This somehow feels somewhat overwhelming, stressful even, though it is about letting go.

This is just to say

I have eaten

the plums 

that were in

the icebox

and which 

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

William Carlos Williams

July Full Moon

It's been a chilly, foggy week.  Earlier in the month the weather was warm and beautiful.  Many days getting the garden into shape--pulling out poppies and love-in-the mist that had gone wild. Planted the succulents from Gordon's garden.

In bloom now--purple and white potato vine, honeysuckle, succulents, plumbago, pincushion, oxalis.  I counted nearly 100 ornamentals, what a surprise!  Roses still sickly.

From Matt's garden: strawberries, mustard greens, zucchini, peas.  Blackberries getting going.

A feeling of maintenance, cultivation, rest.  Letting go of things as they are.  Working with activities that I find difficult: tai chi, gardening, attending art community events. Taking a break from painting.  Catching up on household maintenance. 

Enjoying my quiet life.

Studying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose 
your Original Mind.

A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluable treasure.

Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking in and out of the clouds;

Elegant beyond words, he chants his song night after night.

Ikkuyu

Summer Solstice

The lillies!

The stems, just as they are,

The flowers, just as they are.

  

Basho

Beautiful clear, warm day.  A sudden heat spell yesterday and today.  We were able to eat outside last night. Many birds and bees, the sound of birdsong.

Highlights from Matt's garden: peas, potatoes, boysenberries, beets.

The front garden has peaked: poppies, gazania, geranium, bidens goldilocks, angel's fishing rod, crocosimia, alstroemeria all in bloom.  Roses don't look too good.  Maybe next year I'll know the names of more of the flowers. Oxalis, love-in-a-mist, fuschia in bloom in the side and back gardens.

A feeling of completion: of a series of work  and of outreach efforts.  Finished the first level of tai chi. 

A sense of abundance, effortlessness, ease.

Intention: more focus on the garden