June 20, 2019
Here’s Marcel watching a scrub jay through the window screen, flowers blooming in the background. A photographic reminder for me on this January day that no season is forever. Soft spring air is in my future.
Flowers plus a note
yellow roses mean friendship
hiking mystery
Image via Zippy’s phone. January 22, 2021
eta 1.25.21…flowers and note still there
eta 2.2.21…flowers and note still there
eta 2.9.21…flowers and note no longer there
Clear Creek. January 12, 2021
I cling to the sunshine each day and when the sun drops behind the foothills, my heart immediately feels dark and heavy. That abrupt loss of warmth and light is incredibly demoralizing.
January 5, 2021
January isn’t my friend.
Not sure why it is, but if I miss posting for a couple days it becomes increasingly difficult to get back in the habit. So here I am at ten o’clock on a Monday night, feeling the need to post something. Anything.
But what?
Common Grackle. Grand Island, NE. June 2, 2020.
Ah, yes. Now I remember. When in doubt, go with grackle!
Clear Creek. January 12, 2021.
This moment in time
splish-splashing shades of wet blue
now dancing downstream
My Writing Roosters critique group had our zoom meeting last night to discuss my work-in-progress. As mentioned here and here and here, I was paralyzed with indecision for several weeks because I’d become convinced my story was an irredeemable hot mess. Guess what? It’s not! As one member said on our call, “I think maybe you were getting inside your own head.”
Me? Inside my own head? How could that possibly be?! 🤣 🤣 🤣
I’ve got some plotting issues to sort out, but the two main characters got a thumbs-up from the group. Whew. Color me noodly with relief.
Poppy blooming in front garden. May 16, 2020.
I chose the poppy image for this post because (1) it’s a very cheery and vibrant color and (2) last night one of my critique partners caught a reference to a previous manuscript about a girl named Poppy Valentine.
January 12, 2021
Did the healthy thing today: got up and out of the house. After walking Emma in our neighborhood, Zippy and I went to Clear Creek in Golden. This time, I brought my camera. We sat on the boulders lining the creek to eat the lunch Zippy prepared, listening to the rushing water and the geese honking as they flew overhead. An absolutely stellar mental health strategy. 10/10 recommend.
Ice, snow, and water rushing over a rock in Clear Creek. January 12, 2021.
I’m going to make Clear Creek a habit.
I feel a kinship with this robin peering out from the vegetation and wish I could hunker down in a like manner. I dread what comes next. Neoliberalism cannot defeat white supremacy because the two are deeply entwined. I believe this is what’s known as a recipe for disaster.
American Robin in Grand Island, NE. June 2, 2020.
I wouldn’t fault anyone in search of a four-leaf clover right right about now.
Backyard garden. August 12, 2020
When we try to pick out anything by itself,
we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.  ~ John Muir
I just spent hours working on a manuscript critique and after hitting SEND, I’m stunned to find myself still in pajamas and robe.
Black-billed Magpie. January 9, 2021
Where oh where did Saturday go?
Red-tailed Hawk taking flight. Nov 28, 2020
While a poor photo
stunning array of feathers
cannot be denied
May 29, 2019
This iris bloomed in my garden not quite two years ago, beautiful despite being battered by the elements.
Iris are hardy flowers and I look forward to seeing this one bloom again this coming spring.
I’m making a concerted effort to focus my gaze on activities and topics that bring joy rather than churning anxiety. Today, along with Zippy and Emma, I went out in the BLOWY sunshine to hike/run on the trails. I felt so much better as a result, even if I did have to carry my running hat that would NOT stay on my head.
Yesterday’s act of self-care was to photograph lovely shadows on the patio. Here are two of my favorites (the one on the right also contains sunflower stalk shadows):
     
So much going on in the world demands our push-back, but sometimes I need to lower my gaze and focus on the small stuff. Sunshine, wrought-iron patio furniture, and shadows. Who knew?
Wildebeest was with us for a little over two months, helping out with his grandma, before he left to spend time with friends in Denver. This morning, he made one more stop here where we had a socially-distanced visit outside in the sunshine. Then he went out through the gate.
January 4, 2021
He’s heading back to his home in Durango.
Common Grackle. Grand Island, NE. June 2, 2020
As an artist I come to sing,
but as a citizen, I will always speak for peace,
and no one can silence me in this. ~ Paul Robeson
Limpkin, Kapok Park. May 6, 2019
First post of the year
laying down some attitude
won’t go quietly
March 26, 2020
Uncompahgre National Forest, July 30, 2019.
When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty. ~ John Muir
It’s cold, gray, and snowing right now. Ten days ago, it was cold, gray, and snowing when this Northern Flicker posed on the wire.
Northern Flicker, December 18, 2020.
Today I’m battling indecision and feelings of overwhelm as I work to instill a semblance of structure and order to the draft and memo I need to send my critique group in a week. Ten days ago, I battled indecision and overwhelm as I worked to instill structure and order to the materials for my critique group.
I guess I could take comfort in the consistency?
Bee and Fern Bush, August 4, 2020
The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them. ~ Saint Francis de Sales
December 26, 2020
I was just in the basement, tending to the worm bin, when I heard a sound I assumed came from the dog and/or cats upstairs. Nope. It was Marcel, shifting position in his sun-soaked napping place.
Glad someone’s getting use out of the treadmill.
December 13, 2020
Squirrel unaware
big lens caught him from afar
damn paparazzi
This morning I met my pal Laura Perdew in Golden where we walked the paths next to Clear Creek. It was sunny, but cold and windy. After we adjusted, though, it was absolutely beautiful. We walked and talked. Walked and took in our surroundings. Laura spotted a duck on the water, a species neither of us recognized, and I lamented that I’d forgotten my camera. Later on, we circled back to where we’d started from and there was the duck again. These photos were all taken with my phone. I had on my prescription sunglasses that are polarized and couldn’t really see anything. Basically, I held up my phone and optimistically clicked away.
  
The above image on the left shows two mallards on the ice while the duck we didn’t recognize paddled about. (We later identified that paddler as a hybrid Common/Barrow’s Goldeneye, a perfectly stunning specimen). The Goldeneye is also in that photo on the right which was captured as I blindly clicked away.
These ice photos were taken from where I sat on a boulder in the sunshine, so very happy to be out in the natural world. I swear I could spend hours looking at ice formations.
   
It was a glorious morning and I’m going back there soon with my camera. Clear Creek is balm for my soul.
(Note: Right before waking this morning, I dreamt I was out in public and realized I’d forgotten to wear my mask. As I fumbled to put it on, I realized the throngs of people around me were all mask-less. I called through mine in a panic: “Where are your masks?” I was ignored. Fortunately, I’m pleased to report my real life experience was totally different and probably 95% of the people I saw today wore masks.)
Tracy Abell 