Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. ~ William S. Burroughs
South Boulder Creek Trail. March 1, 2022
Now I know the things I know, and do the things I do;
and if you do not like me so, to hell, my love, with you.
~
I am overflowing with joy right now after finishing the latest round of revisions on my middle grade novel. One full day ahead of my self-imposed deadline!
July 15, 2021
I love this book. But for the next little while (two weeks, at the absolute minimum), I’m not going to think about those characters and their problems at all. I’m gonna soak up some of the life that takes place away from my standing desk and refill my well. Starting with our first camping trip of the season later this week. Woot!
Joyful tidings, indeed.
P.S. Did you know that a flock of magpies is called a “tiding”? Me, neither. So how cool is it that this morning’s oracle card drawing from my feathered messengers deck was . . . MAGPIE!
Standley Lake. April 12, 2022
Avian still life
evidence of flight or fight
beachcomber’s delight
As previously mentioned, I’m having vision issues and haven’t been taking photos because focusing is a real struggle. However, earlier this week I took my camera with me to Standley Lake where I walked with a friend. The day was windy. So windy we got sand in our mouths. So windy, I didn’t want to take time to mess with camera settings. So windy, the gusts buffeted my camera as I took shots. So windy, I didn’t really worry about photo quality. And it shows.
These are American Coots, riding the waves. Standley Lake doesn’t usually have whitecaps, but it did that day.
April 12, 2022
Here’s a coyote my friend spotted across the lake. We’d kept wondering why the coots chose to stay out in the rougher water rather than sheltering in some cove. Maybe they knew this predator was roaming the shore.
We heard a Western Meadowlark and turned to see this perching bird. A quick snap of the camera before I ducked my head against the wind again. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized it was an American Kestrel.
Lastly, here’s what I believe is a Bald Eagle. This photo is garbage, but I can still remember the thrill of standing there on the sand as it flew directly toward us before veering off over the trees.
All in all, a successful outing. A nice walk-and-talk with my friend, nearly 4.5 miles of walking, and some wildlife sightings. (Not to mention the free microdermabrasion treatment as sand blasted our faces).
Despite the scattered evidence of beavers’ handiwork, I recall the tranquility of this spot. We didn’t see any beavers that day, but their lodge is visible where the water comes to a V at the center of this not-great photo.
Uncompahgre National Forest. July 29, 2019
That was a good hike and beautiful day with Zippy and Emma, and I’m grateful for the memories.
I won’t be forced to commit a crime against the new neighbors who let their Hummer idle for a minimum of ten minutes every weekday morning!
Day lilies exploding like fireworks. July 3, 2020
Their kids just came over to sell us chocolate for a school fundraiser and in the ensuring conversation with their dad, we learned they’re only renting that house for two months. Hooray!
I can handle two months of roaring, rumbling, exhaust-spewing activity across the street. I think. And if not, I will initiate a conversation. That conversation may or may not be well-received, but it’s not gonna be a forever kind of relationship, so . . . oh well.
Right now I’m just celebrating the fact I won’t always live across the street from people who believe it makes sense to drive their kids to school in a gas-guzzling assault vehicle. Oh, happy day.
August 15, 2019
Cruisin’ down the street
hoops spinning, scooter rolling
zero carbon mode
Austin T. Blakeslee Natural Area. August 18, 2019
Today the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) issued what is basically its final warning to governments (“it’s now or never” regarding greenhouse gas emissions), and my heart is pounding as I type those words. We the people need to rise up and demand radical action. Unfortunately, here in the U.S. our so-called leadership is actually talking about ramping up fossil fuel production. It’s insanity.
And when reality gets to be too much, I turn to nature. Today, it’s birds. Here’s a Limpkin I had the honor of communing with at Kapok Park in Florida:
May 6, 2019
Here’s a petite Bushtit outside my Colorado window:
September 24, 2021
Here’s a Turkey Vulture doing its important clean-up work in Cave Creek Canyon in Arizona:
May 15, 2019
Finally, here’s a Common Grackle singing its song in Nebraska clover:
June 2, 2020
And now I’m going to use the energy I’ve borrowed from those wonderful birds and head out for a run on the trails where I’ll drink up more of this glorious world.
You can observe a lot by just watching. ~ Yogi Berra
October 9, 2021
Marcel takes Yogi’s sage insight to heart, watching out the window as his brother Loki naps beside him, oblivious to the birds on the awning.
Barr Lake State Park. April 8, 2021
watery canvas
tree and sky painted surface
framed by rock and mud
Earlier this week, I wore my Marmot raincoat while walking in the rain and by the time I got home, my shirt collar was soaked. Turns out the inner coating is deteriorating. Bad news.
Good news: Marmot has a solid warranty policy.
Bad news: despite my obsessive habit of keeping ALL receipts (which came in handy several years ago when the tent we purchased from REI in the early 90s had a broken zipper and REI fixed it at no cost), I have no record of the Marmot raincoat purchase. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Not on paper or electronically.
Good(ish) news: I’ve narrowed down the year of purchase by locating a photo of me wearing said raincoat while camping on June 11, 2019. And while that photo was low-quality, this one was taken at the same time:
State Forest State Park. June 11, 2019. (Photo by Zippy)
I may or may not get my raincoat replaced but, in the meanwhile, can gaze at this lovely image and relive some happy memories.
Update: Bad news…looking for that raincoat photo was too much focusing activity for my eyes and I’m now feeling sick to my stomach. The good news is that despite this setback, I am making progress with my various therapies.
Spotted from South Boulder Creek Trail. March 1, 2022
This morning, I ran on the trails for the first time in a while and my heart soared. A Red-winged Blackbird sang its song as I chugged up the first hill, but from then on out it was a magpie-rich experience. They raucously called from trees and flew overhead. One perched on a bush next to the trail and I watched it as I ran closer, regretting that my approach would startle it away. The regal corvid remained there until I was nearly within arm’s reach before flying across the ravine.
Black-billed Magpie out my window. September 1, 2019
Just up the trail and around the corner on the approach to what we call the Bunny Run (because, you know, bunnies frequently seen there), two more magpies perched on either side of the trail, silhouetted against the sky. That sight prompted me to open my arms wide and proclaim out loud, “I receive this. Thank you!” And as I did, another gift appeared.
Photo by Jim Kennedy (Metzger Farm Open Space)
A coyote about 50 feet away, loping through the brush behind one of the magpies. The dark-faced coyote* stopped to watch me. I stopped and watched it, speaking in a low voice. Reassuring it that I came in peace. Then it took off again and I resumed running. When I reached the top of the Bunny Run, I stopped to look back. The coyote had also stopped to watch me. I waved, shouting my thanks and good wishes, and resumed the run with a smile and a little more pep in my step.
Farther up the trail, I saw two people. As I got closer, I realized one was sitting. In a chair? And then I noticed a hawk circling overhead. I watched the hawk as I ran, wondering at the flash of white underneath the wings. And just as it hit me that it wasn’t a hawk, I heard the loud buzzing sound. That non-hawk was a drone. Ugh. No more bird sounds. No more solitude. No more smile on my face.
But after grumpily running past the people and their drone, I reminded myself of all I’d already been gifted. So I less-grumpily continued up to the turnaround point at the top of The Slog (because, you know, never-ending uphill) and did my stretching. Then I raced down toward the people who sent up an even larger and louder drone right as I passed, and focused on the joy of movement. The only thing that mattered was being out on the trails again. Moving. Alive.
Thank you, universe. I receive these gifts.
* my search for images of dark-faced coyotes was unsuccessful
Another wildfire in Boulder, Colorado.
In March.
Following the Marshall Fire in December.
NCAR Fire on March 26, 2022
Zippy and I were heading out of a very windy Boulder this afternoon when he saw the smoke and exclaimed, “Wildfire!” As I drove, he took the above photo at 2:30 (about 30 minutes after it started.) At times, we could see the bright red-orange flames. As we continued driving south on Highway 93 with our windows rolled up, smoke odors permeated the car. The air was hazy. Our beautiful afternoon was suddenly filled with anxiety.
This was our first time in Boulder since the Marshall Fire and our appointment had taken us past areas devastated by that fire. Blackened trees reaching for the blue sky next to homes that were nothing but smoke-stained brick and concrete foundations. Rubble. We’d gotten emotional at those sights and then, an hour later, saw the smoke of yet another wildfire. It was happening again.
The climate crisis is a collective trauma for everyone, but especially those who just three months ago experienced a wildfire. My heart is with the people of Boulder. I’m not sure what it’s going to take for those in power to make radical changes to avert the worst of what’s to come. So far, the crisis has accelerated to wildfires any time of year.
These are incredibly hard days on the planet and I’m overwhelmed. But as I revised my middle grade novel this morning, I felt a renewed sense of purpose because this story matters. It’s about community, friendship, mass incarceration, and taking one step forward on the long road to abolition.
This story matters and my voice matters. I cannot crawl into a hole and give up.
March 13, 2022. (Photo by Zippy)
I am on this earth to shine my light and lend my voice to the fight for a better world. This post is a reminder for when I begin to falter again. 💓
When the brothers began a joint grooming session this morning, their synchronized licking (back legs held high) made for a great photo, and I hurried to grab the camera. But by the time I returned, the session had come to an end.
Loki & Marcel. March 22, 2022
They’ve been napping there for hours (surprise-surprise) and the entire time, Marcel has kept watch over my project notebook. When I gently removed it from beneath his sleeping body just now, the pages were warm. I choose to interpret that as a positive review for my latest middle grade novel.
It’s snowy and gray out my window, so I went in search of a little color and warmth. Enter the Queen’s Crown.
August 28, 2019
I photographed this on a hike at Square Top Lakes and am warmed by its colorful and intricate self. My identification research tells me that the succulent leaves turn red in the fall and you can just see the tips beginning to turn. This wildflower is very lovely, but I’m glad we’re currently headed into spring rather than autumn.
Late Wednesday night, my brother-in-law died peacefully after a six-year battle with illness. Bob has been in my life since I was 12 or 13 years old — the vast majority of my time on the planet — and I’m struggling to adjust to a world without him. I last saw him in person in March 2020 right before the pandemic hit hard and while I don’t remember specifics of any conversations, I’m positive there was much laughter. Bob and I always laughed.
Well, not always. Back when I was still a kid, my younger brother and I took the train from Wisconsin to Minneapolis where Bob and my sister were living at the time. Within minutes of our arrival, I managed to knock the tea kettle off the stove and make a big mess. When Bob pretended to be mad, I took his gruffness seriously and withdrew into myself. It took a while for him to convince me he’d been joking and throughout the rest of our lives, he’d tease me about our Teapot Dome Scandal.
I found ways to get back at him, though. During one of the many trips he and my sister and sons made to Colorado, I snuck a random item in Bob’s luggage right before he left. Ha, joke was on him! Except the next time he visited, he returned with that random item and locked it to the rod in our coat closet. Eventually, he gave in and provided the combination.
Another trip, he caught a later flight to Denver than the rest of his family and while someone distracted Bob at the baggage claim area, I grabbed his duffel bag off the carousel, removed his contents, and replaced them. When Bob unzipped his “oddly light” bag, he discovered a plastic pig mask staring up at him from a bed of popcorn. (Full disclosure: Bob wasn’t quite as enthused by this prank as the rest of us.)
While our relationship was laughter-based, it was deeper than that. Bob was my safe refuge. Our interactions were stress-free because Bob accepted me for who and what I was, without judgment. (With the exceptions of giving me shit about wearing socks with my Tevas and never ironing my clothes). I gravitated toward him whenever we were in a group setting. Bob was friendly and easy to be around.
He could also be intense, as in his commitment to health and strength. We frequently ran together (Bob easily transitioned from sea level to exercise at Colorado elevation) but that wasn’t enough for him, not even on vacation. He’d also lift weights, do yoga, push-ups and sit-ups, and climb 14ers. Bob was lean and mean his entire life.
Bob mid-yoga pose in August 2007.
Bob was devoted to his family. Here he is with my sister and their sons in 1994. They came to Alaska to visit during the summer, but didn’t think to pack for winter. 🙂 (My sister and nephew are each wearing one of my hats, the other nephew is wearing Zippy’s hat, and I think that’s my oversized jean jacket on Bob — but note that he’s bare-headed and impervious to cold!) Two vivid non-Bob-specific memories from that visit: the younger nephew, who was only six, carried his own pack the entire steep hike up to the Harding Ice Field AND that hike included my only black bear sighting of the six years I lived in Alaska.
A chilly tour of Kenai Fjords
Bob loved kids — his own and everyone else’s. Here he is conversing with Zebu. 
And patiently enduring the construction of a stuffed animal tower on top of his head.
Bob was also a fierce advocate for people he’d never met. He was a lawyer who used his powers for good. Even while undergoing treatment, he led tenant meetings and fought for housing justice. In myriad ways, Bob worked to make this world a better place. I admired him greatly. And loved him even more. A quick search didn’t turn up any photos of the two of us and I’m too raw right now to dig deeper. But that’s okay because his smile and voice are imprinted on my heart.
Rest in power, Bobaloo.
This is Joe, the horse we met while walking on South Boulder Creek Trail a couple weeks back. Despite sticking out his tongue as two women approached, Joe was exceedingly friendly. And quite handsome. Not that I’ve ever encountered a not-handsome horse.
March 1, 2022
A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves – strong, powerful, beautiful – and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence. ~ Pam Brown
Note: I’m still experiencing vision issues and have cut way back on screen time which means I haven’t been reading and commenting on posts. I hope to be back and caught up soon. Stay healthy, all!
We had a corvid-rich weekend. It began on Saturday with lots and lots of crows as we walked around a unfamiliar neighborhood (after Emma was too agitated at sight of other dogs in the park we’d gone to for a walk). Multiple flocks of crows flying overhead then perching in various trees. They brought many smiles.
Then yesterday morning, we were in our front yard when a flock of crows flew past. But that wasn’t all. Moments later, this raven perched in the tree across the street for several minutes, making its croaking sound.
Photo by Zippy. March 13, 2022
Today is the first day of a new week. My goal is to embody this raven’s energy, looking ahead to new opportunities and experiences. Courageous in the face of whatever life brings.
John Prine in 2006. Photo by Ron Baker
Nearly two years gone
yet still can’t listen to you
overwhelming grief
Despite today’s frigid temperatures, spring is around the corner, and I’m warming myself with memories of a hike in the open space last June. We’d gotten lots of snow last winter and so the flowers were magnificent.
Here’s a burst of color from a type of blooming thistle that’s probably invasive and somewhat annoying when it scratches my legs as I run past on the trails. But pretty, right?
June 24, 2021
I don’t have the time to identify these yellow wildflowers because, well, there are sh*t-tons of yellow wildflowers. But it’s a lovely little wheel, isn’t it?
Here’s another probably-invasive thistle which is also scratchy-scratchy when I run past, but right now reminds me of a burst of warm, pink sunshine.
Lastly, here’s a delicate specimen that, despite its straight-forward appearance, defies identification. White and yellow wildflowers definitely test my skills.
This latest snowfall is priming the ground for another glorious wildflower display and I look forward to exploring with my camera in a few months.
It’s cold and snowy outside, and toasty-warm in my home. For this, I am grateful. We’ve replenished the various bird feeders and cleaned/refilled the bath for the many feathered visitors doing their best to keep warm and healthy during this latest snowstorm. This Woodhouse’s Scrub Jay visited the feeder last month and maybe has shown up again today. Hello, is that you?
February 2, 2022
And I’ve seen Dark-eyed Juncos out there today. Perhaps this one is also a return visitor?
February 2, 2022
Right now, I’m reading-reading-reading a critique partner’s manuscript in preparation for our group’s zoom session this evening. It’s a wonderful story and I’m happy to be part of the process and glad to be connecting with my friends again. And that’s not all. Tomorrow evening, I’ll be on a call with our local Sunrise Movement hub to reboot the group. Two social events in two days!
Okay, just wanted to pop in to say hello again and to say I’ve missed interacting with people here. When I’ve caught my breath after my whirlwind social life, I’ll try to catch up on what I’ve missed. Stay warm! Stay healthy! Remember: March is when we really start gaining daylight! 🌞
Tracy Abell 