Awesome August 2014 Number Five

I like to write, and I like words. I search out words in an almost obsessive manner, and will use spell check routinely to assure I am not going to wince at glaring errors in spelling and punctuation once I have clicked on the orange :publish: box in the upper right hand corner of this page. 
On Sunday, I was composing my Sunday Sonnet and the word exultation was the expression of emotion I wanted to convey. I had spelled it exaltation, and this just did not look right. I ran spell check, and there was no tell-tale yellow box around the word, which in turn made me curious. 
http://www.rhymezone.com is bookmarked on my laptop, my source for assistance on a daily basis in my writing. I searched for the defintion of exaltation and this was the result:

Definitions of exaltation: noun:   a flock of larks (especially a flock of larks in flight overhead) noun:   the location of a planet in the zodiac at which it is believed to exert its maximum influence noun:   the elevation of a person (as to the status of a god) noun:   a state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion

I then repeated the search for exultation and this was the result:

Definitions of exultation: noun:   the utterance of sounds expressing great joy noun:   a feeling of extreme joy

Our language is so beautiful, and full of serendipity. 
An exaltation of larks. In my mind I could see a sweeping wave of larks, floating up into the sky, reaching higher and higher, borne aloft on the air currents, their wings gracefully waving in concert, a moment of unsurpassed joy. That moment when the soul sings in silence, and the spirit is boundless. A slice of infinity inserted into life, to help us know the divine, and rise above the mundane. 
Lift your face to the sky. Pause, for a few seconds, and breathe. Close your eyes, smell the air, taste the sun, see the energy of life as it thrums through your veins. This moment is fleeting and eternal. It is all that has ever been, and the promise of what is yet to be. Life is stone and vapor, a moment in eternity that knows no beginning or ending. That which is so improbable that makes all things possible. 

Awesome Augist 2014 Number Four

I treasure my friends. This was on my mind at work today, as I drug my tired aching self through a nine hour shift. There are two women I met at my last job that are dear friends. We actually call one another sister of my heart. The three of us worked together for over four years, and have maintained our friendship for at least that long since I left that job. 

We were able to spend a precious few hours together late Sunday, and this tired body paid in spades today. But that is OK, because I had hugs and laughs, shared the mundane and sublime. And then had more hugs, Life is good. 

And I love Deb and Rae. 

Awesome August 2014 Number Three

Sunday Sonnet

The calm quiet of this sacred hour - a gift.

Transcendent exaltations rise aloft. 

Priorities that were once adrift 

On current with angelic song now waft.

Nature's  glorious elegance unfurl

Unfettered from shroud of storm and night.

Companions to the song now upward swirl

Attaining by grace and glory untold height.

Enfolded in Love's blissful, pure embrace 

These moments cherish in soul - unbroken. 

Not confined  by worry, unbound from place 

Hope, beauty, peace - divine truths now open

In sanctuary my roof is the sky

And with the larks my spirit now shall fly.

Awesome August 2014 Number Two

Roger, telling about his four years living in Zuni, Virginia.  Zuni is in Isle of Wight county, along the Blackwater River and part of The Great Dismal Swamp.  He was there for about 4 years, and during that time his bond with nature was really cemented. From what I have been told by his mother and sister, he was always a quiet, introspective person, preferring to be outdoors and while not antisocial, definitely not dependent on being around others constantly. He would "slip out the back door, quiet as a mouse when we had company, especially if it were someone he did not care for" according to his mother. 

Early one morning, about seven o'clock, I went down to the Blackwater River to fish. I used a cane pole. I had my line in the water when two otters slipped their heads up out of the water and just stayed there, looking at me. It was so quiet and still. I stayed calm, and looked back at them. They were swimming towards me because that is where the mussel bed was. They mate for life, otters do, and the male was the bigger one that stayed in front. Once we made contact they pretty much stayed there, for a long time. I took my fishing line out of the water and just sat there watching them. I really didn't go to catch fish, I just liked being on the riverbank in the swamp. You had to go early, though, because once it got into the day the deer flies would eat your ass up. 

Along the Blackwater River, Zuni, Isle of Wight County, Virginia 

It is more than forty years later now, and he sees how the time he spent in the swamp and on the river shaped him. We have a creek I named Little Beaver Creek after we saw a young beaver in the water following heavy rains the first year we lived here. He is so content on our little acre, and has spent countless hours making Little Beaver as healthy as he can.

His efforts have born fruit, because we have a thriving ecosystem now. He has removed an amazing amount of trash and debris from the creek bed. Car parts (including a fuel pump and engine push rods), batteries, a section of railroad track about three feet long, glass bottles, barbed wire, oil filters - the list goes on and on. 

Now we boast a variety of life in and along the creek - salamander, minnows, crayfish, non-venomous snakes, frogs, box turtles, snapping turtles, a blue heron visits often. There are dragonflies, moths, butterflies, fireflies, ladybugs, bats, many varieties of birds, and the occasional mole and shrew. We have seen or seen signs of raccoon, fox, skunk, coyote, squirrel, opossum, groundhog, deer, black bear and bobcat. 

And yes, I hear the call of an owl on a regular basis.

A section of Little Beaver Creek

We have a good life, which we are grateful for and celebrate this Awesome August. 

Awesome August 2014 Number One

I am continuing my personal challenge to write daily with Awesome August. These posts will be a potpourri, so hang on, you will not know from day to day what you will be getting. I am celebrating the awesome life I have, warts and all. You may get photos, a poem or two, some contemplative memoirs, tales from my childhood (or Roger's!), updates on my trials and triumphs. Because when all is said and done, I have an Awesome Life. 

Significance of August 1:

In Earth and Nature based religions, especially those who draw heavily on Celtic traditions, August 1 is Lughnasadh, also called Lammas. A time of celebrating the bounty and harvest, when the corn is in abundance, fruits and vegetables are ready to be preserved and stored for the coming season of cold and rest for the land. Joyous excitement begins to build, as food and beverage is in abundant supply and the weather lends to communal gathering and celebration. The wheel of the year has eight "spokes", four are the four seasons, and four cross-quarter days. August 1 (Lammas) is the cross-quarter day between the summer solstice (Litha) and the autumnal equinox (Mabon).

Something I am personally so excited about:

My beautiful daughter, Johnna, and her handsome husband, CJ, are going to be parents in about three months. Yes, I am going to have a grandson. This is a special blessing for me, because Johnna is not only my only child, but I gave her up for adoption at birth and we only reconnected in 2008 when she was 23 years old. I am grateful in ways I cannot express that she has allowed me into her life. So now the gray hair will be OK, because I will be Granny Smith Apple in real life. 

A Sonnet for First Harvest

August brings to mind an end of a task,
Memories of hours of effort and toil.
I submit today that harvests, like masks,
Can remove pretensions, like root from soil.
We reap what we sow has often been said
When speaking of the human condition. 
Whose, because of wrong choices, lives are led
Dangerously near fiery perdition?
We can choose to replant the fields of youth,
If we have learned a few hard taught lessons - 
Like the folly of choosing lies, not truth;
And when not to trust our first impressions.
Each day we sow hope and each day we reap - 
The choice was ours if in the end we weep.

A Post a Day July 2014 Number Thirty-One

Three Facebook pages on writing, a post a day on each for the month of July, combined and posted here as well.

Small Stone, July 2014, Thirty-first

Stop. Listen! What's that sound?

In the early hours, as darkness cedes to light and an unseasonable chill has settled on my room, the sound of my own breathing and the hiss of water heating in the coffee maker. Putting on my slippers, I walk in my groggy fog to the kitchen and pour a cup of that magic elixir. As I settle into my recliner and pull a quilt around my shoulders, the soft footfalls hurrying down the hallway herald the arrival of my morning companions. As the cats curl up on my feet, I open the laptop and hear the soft mechanical purr of cooling fans, whispering in the stillness. Soon, the click of my fingernails on the keys is added to the morning symphony.  Another day is upon me. All is well at Little Beaver Creek.

July Writing Project - A Poem a Day - Day Thirty-One

I shall not write the words that say

what lies upon my heart.

Locked away the teardrops stay,

nevermore to start.

Stubborn heart - refuse to weep.

Stoic in the task.

Dreadful secrets so to keep -

(determined not to ask)

Foolish girl! (whisper away

I hear it in my head)

Lest the thought will wander - stray

Or even dare be said.

I shall love you 'til I die -

Through truth and even lie.

Thirty-first Noticing, July 2014

Imperfect Ten + 3 

Day has come Night is done I lost some (Battles) Some I won

A Post a Day July 2014 Number Thirty

Three Facebook pages on writing, a post a day on each for the month of July, combined and posted here as well.

Small Stone, July 2014, Thirtieth

With each loss I endure, I fight the fear I will become a solitary old woman who clings fiercely to her past griefs, sorrows, and failures for cold comfort in the winter of her days. 

July Writing Project - A Poem a Day - Day Thirty

An Alliterative Airstream Activates Alternative Actions 



Winsome wind wanders wonderfully within woodland 

Lithesome lavender lightly leans lusciously left

Bored blue borage becomes broadly brighter

Petulant pink petunias preen prominently pretentious

Verdant violet verbena vacuously vibrates  

Riotous red roses rock recklessly right

Yellow yarrow's yawning yearns yearly
Green groundcover greets graceful gyrations
Delicate daffodils dance dainty duets
Weeping willows wave winged wands

Nature now notices  -  nods 

Thirtieth Noticing, July 2014 

The sun seems to shine with a wee bit less brilliance these past three days. An author who influenced me greatly, Margot Adler, passed and took a bit of it with her to the Elysian Fields.