217. A bitter wind, heavy with sleet, whipped at my face…the evening lacked none of winter’s rough poetry. ~Théophile Gautier

December 15, 2013 by nataliescarberry

The autumn twilight turned into
deep and early night as they walked.
Tristan could smell the distant winter in the air–
a mixture of night-mist and crisp darkness
and the tang of fallen leaves…
~Neil Gaiman

Shorter and shorter grow the days; longer and deeper descends the chilling darkness; fewer and fewer remain the hours in Autumn’s cup. But it ain’t over till it’s over as they say. The solstice that has yet to arrive may have sent a brutal taste of Old Man Winter’s schemes, but last week’s “icemageddon” only nipped at the heels of the year’s eldest child. Unwilling to be prematurely deposed, autumn has, in the last few days, reclaimed its rightful place and will be dishing up more of its lovely 60 degree days and above freezing nights. Thus the arctic troll will have to wait his appointed turn at the wheel. God bless the child who has his own!

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… ~Ecclesiastes 3:1 ✝

216. Like light dappling through the leaves of a tree and wind stirring its branches, like birdsong sounding from the heights of an orchard and the scent of blossom after rainfall, so You (Lord) dapple and sound in the human soul, so You (Lord) stir into motion all that lives. ~J. Philip Newell

December 14, 2013 by nataliescarberry

The oaks and pines and their brethren of the wood,
have seen so many suns rise and set,
so many seasons come and go,
and so many generations pass into silence,
that they may well wonder what
“the story of the trees” would be to us
if they had tongues to tell it,
or if we had ears fine enough to understand.
~Author Unknown

Though left barren by a blue norther and seemingly now no more than silent sentries watching over the landscape, somewhere in the core of these trees their music plays on. John Muir’s idea that the fibers of a tree’s being thrills “like harp strings” not only sets well with me, but it also answers the question Walt Whitman once asked, “Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?” The music of life of which he and so many others have verbalized through the ages plays on in all of Creation. We may not always hear or pay attention to the music but the melodies are there; we may be absent from the Lord, but He is never absent from us. I know because I hear nature’s songs and I see reminders of the Lord’s continual and constant presence in the great and small pulsing lights in the heavens, in the caroling colors of earth and sky, in the sizzling efficacy of the sun’s warmth, in the rush of roaring waters and tides, in the sighing and howling of the wind, wind which like the Holy One is a presence that can be felt but not seen.

Let the trees of the forest sing, let them sing for joy before the Lord… ~1 Chronicles 16:33 ✝

208. It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost… ~John Burroughs

December 6, 2013 by nataliescarberry

We feel cold, but we don’t mind it
because we will not come to harm.
And if we wrapped ourselves against the cold,
we wouldn’t feel other things,
like the bright tingle of the stars,
music of the Aurora,
or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin.
~Philip Pullman

After last night’s winter storm, we woke to find the ground, the streets, and the rooftops covered in a solid blanket of sleet mixed with snow. Icicles were hanging from eaves and other solid objects; branches, stems, leaves and the few remaining roses had been encapsulated in ice. The forbidding frozen world outside was steeped in silence but for the occasional gusts of wind that sent falling leaves round and round in capricious little whirlwinds tapping softly against the icy ground.

In the coming days the garden will shrink dramatically. It’s beauty will be harder to see, but for those who continually walk its paths with searching eyes and vivid memories, emerging treasures can be spotted and glory envisioned in places where it was and shall rise again from seeming nothingness. During the warmer spells in the next few months, I’ll clean up the growing season’s spreading, untidy tangle and reshape her fetching figure while below in her fertile womb mysteries, ancient and sacred, are coming together to birth yet another springtime.

Then the Lord spoke to Job out of the storm. He said From whose womb comes the ice? Who gives birth to the frost from the heavens when the water become hard as stone, when the surface of the deep is frozen? ~Job 38:1 and 29-30 ✝

206. The more I wonder, the more I love. ~Alice Walker, author of THE COLOR PURPLE

December 4, 2013 by nataliescarberry

It seemed to my friend
that the creation of a landscape-garden
offered to the proper muse
the most magnificent of opportunities.
Here indeed was the fairest field
for the display of the imagination,
in the endless combining of forms of novel beauty.
~Edgar Allan Poe

Purple, the most powerful wavelength of the rainbow, can be seen sometimes simply streaking the heavens, and it is mentioned at least 25 times in the Bible. Over the ages the color’s “novel beauty” has symbolized magic, mystery, spirituality, the sub-conscious, creativity, dignity, and royalty; statistics show that it has evoked all of those meanings more so than any other color. And yet the color purple is a rarity in nature so much so that its earliest dyes could be made only at great expense rendering it a color to be worn solely by kings, emperors, nobility, and priests. So when I find samplings of purple in my yard as I did yesterday, it feels as if honored guests have arrived at my “table.” Add to that the fact that pigments from these particular guests have been found in prehistoric depictions dating back 50,000 years and that those depictions were found where the Garden of Eden could have been, then the honored guests become not only venerable ones but also sacred ones. I sent out the invitations to these purple invitees last August after happening upon Crocus Sativus corms at a local nursery. Since I had long wanted to try growing the plants from which the spice saffron is obtained, I came home and immediately planted my 6 little corms and then came the watching and waiting for signs of life. But as the leaves began to fall and collect in the beds and I was spending less time outside, I’d almost forgotten about them until yesterday when I went out to get the mail. To my surprise I spied two of the beauties with their three crimson stigmas (saffron threads) pushing up from under a layer of leaves. Like a child I literally squealed with delight; it was as if I’d stepped into the Lord’s holy presence as He walked in His garden.

They put a purple robe on Him(Jesus), then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on Him. ~ Mark 15:17 ✝

204. The autumn leaves drift by my window, the autumn leaves of red and gold…and soon I’ll hear old winter’s song… ~Excerpts from a tune by Johnny Mercer

December 1, 2013 by nataliescarberry

There is music in the meadows, in the air…
Leaves are crimson, brown, and yellow…
There is rhythm in the woods,
And in the fields, nature yields…
~Excerpts from LYRIC OF AUTUMN by
William Stanley Braithwaite

It was 1947 when Johnny Mercer borrowed lines from a French song to create the lyrics to his unforgettable melody, AUTUMN LEAVES, a song I find myself singing, at least the parts I remember, almost every year as I tear November’s page off the calendar. Why? I don’t know. The words just seem appropriate when autumn’s persistent winds, wild with leaves, blow wide open the final month’s portals, and this year’s opening was no different. November’s yet in place blustery gales did in fact sweep December onto its throne. Once seated, the 12th month opened under bright, sunny skies, but by noon day one had become shrouded in unending shades of gray. When night fell, there were few, if any, remaining leaves on the redbud and willow at the back of the yard. The beneficiaries of these as well as the oak’s leaves when they fall are the big island bed and my secret garden in the north corner. So now not only can my voice be heard singing autumn’s anthems, but wherever these tinted tidbits lie, I’ll be able to hear them crooning their embracing ballads of promise. And theirs, songs different from the ones in springtime, pledge warmth and declare they’ll keep my plants safe during the bitter, stone-cold days of winter. But wait, things like trees and leaves sing? Really? As a matter of fact, according to some Scriptural references and to those of us who listen carefully, they do!

The Lord reigns…Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing with joy. ~Psalm 96:11-12 ✝

69. Only from the heart can you touch the sky. ~Rumi

March 24, 2013 by nataliescarberry

It is a glorious privilege
to live, to know, to act, to listen, to behold, to love.
To look up at the blue summer sky;
to see the sun sink slowly beyond the line of the horizon;
to watch the worlds come twinkling into view,
first one by one, and the myriads that no man can count,
and lo! the universe is white with them;
and you and I are here.
~Marco Morrow

It is God’s privilege to conceal things and the king’s privilege to discover them. ~Proverbs 25:2 ✝

40. Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. ~Virgil Kraft

February 20, 2013 by nataliescarberry

Awake, thou wintry earth –
fling off thy sadness!
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth –
your ancient gladness!
~Thomas Blackburn

Leaf by leaf, bud by bud, and blossom by blossom the spring of the year advances. On warmish days, earth casts off its wintry gloom, and breezes broadcast sweetly-scented aromas. The first butterflies then dare to soar and the hungry bees hum amid the glad laughter issuing forth from flowering bulbs and trees. As a result the year’s initial poetry of rebirth is penned by the pollinating, aerial whirring of dainty wings. In the meantime as I hurry about trying to taking photos of the blossoming narratives and their paramours, I often find myself asking the same question Walt Whitman once did. “Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?” The answer I’ve decided is that the arms of trees reach towards the heavens to gather sacred messages meant to draw mankind near to “the living Word of God in nature” as well as what is read in Scripture.

In our area the first verses of “tree” poetry come from Saucer Magnolias. Their big, goblet-shaped flowers pen exquisite couplets in pink and white. Soon to follow are the brilliant white blossoms of Star Magnolias. Though not quite enough lines to form a fourteen-lined sonnet, their twelve exquisite, “petal-poesy” lines form rhyming schemes as lovely as any Shakespearean sonnet. Next and in perfect rhyming sequences come the double samaras. Samaras, the scarlet, dual winged fruits of the Red Maple, look like long, slender fairy wings as they dance choric rhymes writ by the winds. Then come the Eastern Redbuds and Bradford Pears that compose stunning free-verse stanzas in purple and white, each resplendent branch, a psalm written in praise of its Maker. For a pollinator now there’s no quandary about where sweet nectaries are to be found for stanza after stanza they and I are lead in springtime to earth’s most festive and delicious banquets.

He has taken me to the banquet hall, and His banner over me is love. ~Song of Songs 2:4

9. O Autumn…pass not, but sit…and tune thy jolly voice…and all the daughters of the year shall dance! ~William Blake

November 21, 2012 by nataliescarberry

In the garden, Autumn is, indeed the crowning glory of the year,
bringing us the fruition of months of thought, and care, and toil.
~Rose G. Kingsley, British Gardener and Writer

Now that the year has grown long in the tooth, the migratory birds have moved on to warmer lands. But the birds who overwinter here are still very visible and busy. However, on the chillier days they, like me, “remain perched” early in the morning and later when the sun is well over the rooftops. Nevertheless, in spite of our periodic and combined lethargy, we still manage to be out and working during the warmer parts of the day. The “common feast for all” the garden spreads may be nearly gone and the bird’s tired wings along with my tired feet may drag somewhat, but autumn’s remaining golden glory continues to quicken our spirits. In fact even after winter ravages the land, we, man and beast alike, who live close to the soil will venture out on the occasional warm day to search with hungry eyes for any signs of what we know lies waiting to emerge from beneath the surface of things.

Autumn’s song is indeed “a rich and lusty melody.” It induces a healthy renewal in bodies wilted by summer’s long siege of torrid heat, and it creates a restful peacefulness that washes away the “fret and fever of life.” “It’s jolly voice” sings a comforting song of promise that speaks of God’s circadian rhythms of life–the rhythm of changing seasons, busyness followed by stillness, “youth’s energy followed by age’s measured pace.”

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. . . ~Ecclesiastes 3:1 ✝

6. There is pleasure in the pathless woods. There is rapture in the lonely shore. There is society where none intrudes. ~Lord Byron

November 3, 2012 by nataliescarberry

She sat down in a weed patch, her elbows on her knees,
and kept her eyes on the small mysterious world of the ground.
In the shade and sun of grass blade forests,
small living things had their metropolis.
~Nancy Price

In and around blossoming things there is another mysterious metropolis. This one is above the soil, and therein airborne things move around yearning to “possess the sweet of every flower that blooms.” In that realm two simple equations are in place: a) if there are no flowers there are no pollinators; b) if there are no pollinators there are no flowers, no fruits, no crops. The hum or buzz of a pollinating agent and a flower’s blooming go hand in hand; together they commit reproductive acts of love as they dance the sacred dance of life orchestrated by the Lord. In so doing they “remind us that there are other voices, other rhythms, other strivings, and other fulfillments. . .” in God’s grand plan.

Recently in a National Geographic snippet on the internet, the narrator remarked that present-day humanity is the recipient of a 400,000,000 year old legacy bequeathed by earth. Imagine that! For all those years the sun has not failed to rise and set at its appointed time, fruits and crops have not failed to burst forth and ripen, and the earth has not failed to make its trip around the sun. One season has followed another repeating the Genesis story over and over again as per the Lord’s plan. Like the fruits and flowers and pollinators, our time here is very brief, and we who are fashioned by the same holy Hands as the sun and earth are no less adored and significant in our loving Father’s eyes.