Tag Archives: Warmth

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

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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

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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  ✝

209. Bad weather always looks worse through a window. ~Author Unknown

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Spooky wild and gusty;
swirling dervishes of rattling leaves race by,
fleeing the wildflung deadwood
that cracks and thumps behind.
~Dave Beard

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White, the world is still white, very white and very frozen!  And the only movements I see out my window this morning are leaves fluttering to the ground and birds coming to the feeders for breakfast and the bird baths for water.  Sadly all the birdbaths are so frozen that no matter how hard they peck at the ice, there’s no water beneath it to be had.  So after putting in enough chair time to be fully awake, I braved the cold and took them a bowl of water.  As I inched along on the frozen ground, I noticed that some of the fallen leaves from the red oak were striking lovely poses wherever they’d fallen.  One of them had even lodged itself quite prettily inside a large ceramic pot I’d emptied of its greenhouse-bound contents.  Once back inside after my errand of mercy and a few snaps of the camera, I heard on the news that there was a 30% chance of more sleet today and that the temperature would remain well under the freezing mark.  It really didn’t feel all that bad while I was out, but it seems we are in for another forced stay-at-home day.  I won’t complain though for like the birds I have much for which to be thankful.  The birds too have warmth and safety?  Indeed they do, for the ones who are cavity nesters, I’ve put in place plenty of birdhouses around the yard and for the others several kinds of evergreens have been planted.  If God stewards and provides for me, and he does so well, how can I not in turn steward and provide for all that He has given me?

For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ!  ~Romans 5:17  ✝

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

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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

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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  ✝

185. For the wisdom that fashioned the universe and can be read in earth’s dark depths and in heaven’s infinity of lights, thanks be to you, O God. ~John Philip Newell

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How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
-Elsie N. Brady, poet

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As Brady points out, when leaves “come to rest upon the ground,” it is a completion, but the work of fallen autumn leaves is far from done at that point.  As they “rest upon the ground,” besides being a warm blanket for what lies beneath them and a life-saving provision for the trees, they become food for a host of soil organisms that are vital to the overall health of ecosystems.  As time moves on and the leaves decompose, they restock the soil with nutrients and they make up a part of the spongy humus that absorbs and holds rainfall.  At last “with the arrival of warmth and spring, insects, bacteria, and fungi gear up!  Leaves are chewed and rotted, releasing nutrients for plant growth.”  So it is that with another round of plant growth, Creation and its inhabitants are guaranteed what they need to survive until the recycling process begins again the next fall.  How comforting it is to know that the Hand of the Almighty is always near!  For, you see, it was after a stroke threatened my life and wholeness a year ago yesterday that the Lord’s mighty hands performed the necessary miracles to grant me another year of health and life.

 He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.  ~Psalm 40:3a  ✝

168. A garden without its statue is like a sentence without its verb. ~Joseph W. Beach

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Man becomes aware of the sacred because it manifests itself, shows itself,
as something wholly different from the profane.
In each case we are confronted by the same mysterious act–
the manifestation of something of a wholly different order,
a reality that does not belong to our world,
in objects that are an integral part of our natural “profane” world.
~Mircea Eliade, Romanian historian, writer, and professor

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Although I dearly wish it were, the statue in the photo is not in my garden.  She is one of several scattered around our city’s Botanical Gardens.  The captivating sculpture in her quiet reverie and reverence is not unlike a “be” verb in that she expresses a state of being, and I think she does it ever so engagingly.  In fact, when I look at her, especially her bowed head, I get the feeling I’m observing someone deep in contemplative prayer.  Given that, I’m always a little reluctant at first to move in too close for fear of disturbing her petitions.  William Faulkner said that “the aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.”  How successful then was the artist who crafted this bronze “lady of the garden!”  I’ve always sensed life and movement in her, and as an admiring observer, I am moved inwardly in her presence.  Her movement is not flamboyant; instead it is more of a faint in and our movement of breath.  Another thing that fascinates me about the statue is that there is a warmth in her presence even on bitterly cold, wintry days.  It’s a kind of glowing warmth that speaks of life, holy and not in the least profane.

Sing to Him, sing praise to Him; tell of all His wonderful acts.  Glory in His holy name; let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice.  Look to the Lord and His strength; seek His face always.  ~1 Chronicles 16:9-11  ✝

142. Red is the ultimate cure for sadness. ~Bill Blass

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May you be blessed with
warmth in your home,
peace in your soul
and joy in your life.
~Irish blessing

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A swamp mallow is she in the photograph, and like her name she is one of the stars of our hot Texas summers.  Her scientific name is Hibiscus coccineus, but here in the Lone Star state she is commonly called the Texas Star Swamp Hibiscus. The Star can grow as tall as 7 feet and puts on stunning four inch crimson blossoms.  Another perk is that she attracts hummingbirds, butterflies, and other avian visitors.  However, according to some she can be as big a challenge as the state she’s named after.  In my garden, however, I’ve found her surprisingly easy to manage, and I love that her season runs from June to October and provides lush summer and fall color.

Your ways, God, are Holy.  ~Psalm  77:13  ✝