Scharmer's Presence

Otto's golden U
Bequest of divine Presence
at Hiawatha

Old Oak

The old oak stands, two years now leafless. She’s still the signature tree of all the farm’s timberland and a meditation point for Quiet Garden.  Returning visitors who recall her in full glory are keenly disappointed.  I suggest they sit with her and wait.

We have lost her cool shade and vibrant colors but are grateful that her starker beauty provides a perpetual view of sky. She invites us to look for new patterns that her bare limbs sculpt in every direction. Her naked branches allow unprecedented observation of birds at work and play. No leaves muffle their songs.

What creatures seek shelter in her ever-hollowing core? She’s become a giant switching station over pasture reverting to savanna. She’s a welcome tower of hospitality for all arrivals rounding the bend in the drive. She embraces us from the east porch at any hour- a most trustworthy handhold that never breaks. She’s steadfast even in death.

Paul & Don

Lander blood brothers

Big time cancer warriors

Joy reunited

Wyoming farewell

Thank you, Paul Petzoldt,

Visionary mountain man.

NOLS 50 years strong.

Wyoming rendezvous

Lander just ahead

The Winds call, the tribe gathers

Breathe deeply, Inhale.

What Pablo thought

Picasso brain flex
Value in fresh endeavors

All are beginners

Pablo Picasso said that every child is born an artist, the problem is how to remain one once we grow up. Something very primary clicked in me when I grasped my Crayola Oil Pastels on a September 2015 Sunday afternoon. I was at a drawing class at the Iowa Arboretum with Carla, a gentle, competent teacher. Although I sometimes say that I can hardly think without a pen in my hand, I haven’t considered drawing in years. My last art class was probably in junior high. But some part of me remembered enough to not be afraid.

Calling Emily

The rocks called to me,
“Check me out.”
“Pick me up.”
“Take me home.”

I waded awash in cool polishing water
Slipperiness undermining balance in one breath
Counterpoint with solid comfort each tread.

Ledges Canyon a long shallow version
Of Harimau Cave
Half a world away.

Where Emily and I dipped
And glistened and exclaimed over rocks.
Selecting one, tossing another,
Unspoken criteria for the keepers.
We paused to admire the other’s prizes without coveting.
Then dove again for beauty.

We were younger then
By a long shot.
So were the rocks
Albeit only by a planetary blink.

I brought my smooth canyon treasures home
To keep them wet, in my gaze.
Silent souvenirs of solidarity
Outlasting time and geography.