Parkhill Prairie in Late Summer: Craving Peace and Silence

The golden grasses of the prairie are gone replaced by rich greens and yellows. Stands of milkweed and several species of sunflower have given up their seeds. It's quiet, the dickcissels have left their nesting sites and even the hawks aren't soaring quite as much as they did just a few months ago.

The late summer pause, you can hear the prairie humming with heat, taking a deep breath beneath a pale August sky. A breeze blows a stem of a sunflower with a hint of September approaching but the heat still overpowers.

I couldn't sit for fear of chiggers among fresh cut grass so I walked silent, desperate to be present. You can go to the most quiet place and still feel overwhelmed by thoughts and worries. Today I struggled to listen to that inner voice and it was a challenge.

Nature has always been my connection to God but these days I feel like I'm sitting in a quiet room throwing my thoughts and fears into an empty sky. It's not by any means his fault or absence-I know it's all mine. I'm trying to stay present and take stock in all the ways God has and continues to bless my family and me but sometimes the absence of feeling is  hard to get beyond.

The silence in this prairie should find me awake and alive but my inner child sleeps and I can't reach him. I know this will pass, I know depression is a cyclical thing that comes and goes, comes and goes again but the older I get, sometimes it's hard to realize the truth I already have realized for so many years.

God is my constant and I know he has a plan-foolish are we, children of God who seek to flip the pages, to control the story of our lives. Anxiety is that feeling of a lack of true faith and a need to get a glimpse of the ending, God has his plan and I must wait patiently for the time and the purpose.

A Dark Blue Field

A sad blue landscape, how can you leave me here in autumn rain
alone again...
you realize my dilemma
I made my bed and I lie in it
room in disarray, mind and thoughts decay
sunflowers on worn stems
staring at the ground
the clouds are surrounding my head
I'm drowning but no one can see
staring out of a glass contained,
it's me
I feel no colors, I know no warmth,
even the act of creation seems pointless
this will end, I know it will end
the depressive dares to question
when...

Intricate stems disconnected, yellow flowers and rich royal blue
shadows of green beneath the gray
I have felt the warmth of sun
but I can't feel the rain
even the sound escapes me
nothing soothing to this state
driving through the broken landscape
they dissected all of our childhood scenes
even the gaurdian is threatened
their grubby steel machines
devouring everything
and I drive alone
no turtles to save on the old dirt road
no interest
all the same
black tart streets with pointless names
its progress they say
but all the landscape is shrunken and gray
I want to be whole again
to feel joy again
the depressive voice dares to question
when

I know the pointless hours
I know the empty field
and the blackbirds in swarms
like scraps of black paper across a field
I know the dark landscape
the burned soil
it climbs into my eyes
and makes everything dark
I've driven against the wind
out in a field
seeking silence and peace
wondering, praying
when will this darkness
the depression
cease...

Remnants of Nature: Lessons in a Forest

Remnants of Spring

I've been here before, the remnants of spring cling to weathered stems. Nature teaches us lessons and everything we need to know is in the garden and is explained with the season, we just need to open our eyes.

After the joy and beauty of color fades, there is a grayness, a serious tone as purpose supersedes beauty. Wisdom is the seeds that perfect ways to travel from the stem with definite intentions for next spring. Wind works with rain and the cycle is complete, some even work with the winter frost: we could learn much from such observations both about our own vanity as well as fortitude and purpose.

There is a natural beauty in age and decay. Humanity creates the unnatural fear and morbidity of death, in nature, it is all for a purpose. The seeds wait for the warmth of spring that will rise from the garden next season with the same spectacle and an innate hope.

Purple: Faith is a Flower in My Garden

Purple is a supernatural color. It should be the color of the sash of a royal bumble bee, as it flies magically against the laws of science and nature. That's the beauty of nature, it doesn't conform to our expectations and yet it aligns with the basics of logic and reason in its own right.

There are more secrets in nature than answers-man's greatest flaw is the pride in his certainty of what he thinks he knows. Nature constantly breaks borders, pushes past weed barriers and outlives the pesticides and when man perfects his war on nature-nature is patient and changes to meet the challenge.

One job of the creative is to learn the language of nature and describe it. We have the wonderful challenge of seeing beyond our own eyes and thinking past our limitations of thought and reason.

An Oakland State

This morning I walked the streets and remembered Oakland. The light drizzle of rain was cool and it felt like pins and needles on my skin. I could smell remnants of crepe myrtle and magnolia, I noticed all the overgrown lots and flowers of bindweed clmbing the fences.

The landscape had a cool blue tint and the clouds conspired in the distance and I was at peace. I remembered walking the streets and realized I rarely enjoy it like I do there and the reason was not only the wonderful company of a dear friend but the fact that nothing was going on. Sometimes we just need to stop and listen.

The summers in Texas are often too hot to really enjoy much other than sweating and feeling out of breath. Today I decided from now on I would stop and see, enjoy every aspect of the moment. It was a wonderful morning.