I  just glanced out the window and saw a flicker perched on the edge of the squirrel-resistant bird feeder in the side yard.

This flicker is an unexpected guest, a 12-inch stately grey woodpecker sporting a brilliant red neck band and a boldly speckled chest.

It’s interesting to me that the flicker turns out to be of insufficient weight to close the counter-balanced lever arm that keeps squirrels from consuming all the seed ~ he’s that big and stately, at least as big as one of the smaller squirrels that haunt the feeder looking for handouts.

He’s got the attention of my indoor cat, who moans piteously at the window, out of thwarted hunter instincts, perhaps, or from frustration at being separated from a potential play mate. With Arthur, more a lover than a fighter, it’s often a challenge to distinguish motivation!

Between us, Arthur and I manage to send enough attention energy at the flicker that he flies off to the shelter of the neighbor’s pine trees. The wind picks up and patchy snow squalls make their way across the yard. Minutes of concentration on Arthur’s part do not result in the return of the flicker.

Why, you may wonder, do I invest blogging electrons in relaying the tale of the flicker? 

Earlier today I wrote a short piece for the Quantum Well-Being newsletter on the importance of trusting one’s own information. The flicker appears less than twenty minutes afterwards, providing me the opportunity to put my teachings into practice.

It’s fun to notice the thoughts triggered by the flicker sighting. In particular, the moment I spotted the flicker, a specific piece of information passed through my awareness about the esoteric meaning of the flicker as a totem. I even recall the source of the meaning ~ it was provided by a capable shaman, Ted Andrews, in his book “Animal Speak.” In the past, I’d often consult the book to tease meaning out of the frequent visits by various feathered and furry friends to my yard.

The flicker gives me the opportunity to examine how much of Ted Andrew’s information about the flicker totem is, indeed, still my information. I notice that for me, the flicker is handsome, dignified, perservering, and connected deeply to the comfort and joy of learning about nature from my mother and grandmother.

It’s a surprise to me that the information gleaned in the past from Andrew’s book is culturally informative, and esoterically intriguing, and ultimately, not true of my own experience of the flicker. I have no basis to either accept or reject the esoteric meaning of a flicker, whereas I have experience of its association with dignity, persistence, and happiness. Simultaneously I can hold one as a possibility and accept what is true for me now.

It turns out, for me, that the value of the flicker sighting is in demonstrating the wisdom of trusting my own information, albeit experiential. It also reveals that while much of the information I’ve absorbed over the years may have been true for me in the moment of encounter, perhaps its truth may not withstand the test of time. It’s a reminder that updating my world view is an ongoing and vital part of increasing my awareness.

At a summary level, I can say that today’s lesson of the flicker is twofold: information undergoes transformation with time, just as much of the physical world does, and good teachers (like Ted Andrews) cushion their teachings in an energy of ‘allowing’ that supports each of us in becoming more clear about the truth of our own information. I also notice these two observations may find their way into newsletter articles in some future moment.

Do you imagine the flicker had any inkling of the contemplation his presence at the bird feeder sparked?

I’ll leave you to trust your own information on the question ~ enjoy!

Here is a post begun some time ago.  The skills required to follow through and complete my initial intent took some time to acquire.  I’m grateful I can now share with you this experience of beauty in contrast.

A winter storm recently stimulates me to pursue a goal of combining images with these words.  It gives me an opportunity to be out in the lightly falling snow, admiring the contrast of small red (hawthorn?) berries and green leaves mantled with the heavy flakes of snow forming near the freezing point.  It sets up combinations of light, beauty, and grace that inspire me to make images that can be shared with others.

The beauty of contrast

Lance is the one who points out the snow-covered berry tree to me.  As I stand with my camera and find the quiet place that connects me with the beauty of the scene, he disappears.  My attention is on the extremes of color displayed here.  I look through the view-finder intently, capturing close-ups and vignettes of the entire yard where the berries reside.

The morning quiet, the silver-gray sky, and the peace of the setting is soothing and fills me with contentment.  I recall a time when standing and breathing in the peace of a beautiful setting comprised the totality of my image-making experience.

I recognize the foundation to this previous approach as both the absence of a camera and an intuitive, internal, and conscious choice to leave nature’s images to nature.  And I’m filled with gratitude now to hold the means of capturing nature’s beauty as digital images that can move from camera, to computer, to website with the same ease, grace, and dignity that nature uses in forming the images.

As I make images along the way through a variety of options the camera provides, I notice that Lance is returned.  He sets up a small step-ladder near the berry-laden tree, and in that companionable way that old friends have with one another, I pass him the camera. 

It’s always a joy to see what captures his eye, trained early on by classes in the graphic arts.  This time he notices the heart-shaped form of a paper-wasp nest, covered in snow, high in the berry tree.  It blends readily with the monochromatic tones of the morning and requires a keen, and taller, perspective to add it to the library of images that is coalescing.

The wind picks up for a moment, gently tossing the branches of the tree and dislodging the snow.   I notice my fingers complaining about the cold temperatures.  We stand for one or two last moments in silent appreciation of the snowy morning and the gift of nature’s beauty in our neighbor’s yard. 

Then Lance picks up the ladder and we walk back down the street where the warmth of the house awaits us.  I notice that I’m holding the camera under the front flap of my coat with gentle care.  I am grateful for the images that it holds, appreciative of the experience of image-making, and happy to celebrate nature’s great beauty through image-making. 

Walking in the neighborhood the other day, I notice a neighbor tending his beautiful garden of sunflowers.  Several of these golden flowers tower over him, gracefully and gently dipping their heads in the slight breeze, and dropping their seeds upon the ground in early recognition of the coming harvest.   Because sunflowers turn their heads toward the sun as they grow, a garden filled with them seems in dynamic motion throughout the day.  Such is my experience of my neighbor’s lovely setting.

This is not the first time that sunflowers have caught my attention recently.  Their seeds feed the sparrows, finches, robins, and magpies in my yard.  Occasionally some valiant seeds begin to sprout up below the bird feeders, at least until the grass is mowed.   They grow quickly and for a few brief days tower over the surrounding grass.  Perhaps next growing season, they’ll receive a place of their own to grow in, all summer long.

Sunflowers feature a lovely helical arrangement of seeds at their center.  The seeds in sunflower seed heads are actually arranged in Fibonacci spirals to assure optimal packing and distribution of the seeds.  Nature often builds on the ‘golden section,’ modeling the divine within all aspects of Life.

I notice, too, my involvement with a local neighborhood food co-operative, whose logo is reminiscent of a sunflower.  It’s a warm and healing energy to associate with an organization dedicated to bringing healthy food and sustainable practices to our community.

And yesterday, I open the folder containing ideas for blog articles and find a page with a picture and some healing properties about the sunflower.  Indeed, I’ve been attracted by sunflowers recently.  It’s interesting to read that the sunflower helps to align both the first chakra and our individual feminine and masculine energies.  When balanced, these all contribute to a sense of well-being and happiness. 

It appears that I’m surrounded by sunflowers as the last of summer days shorten into autumn.  I sneak a peek into Ted Andrews’ book “Nature-Speak” to see what shamanistic wisdom he shares about sunflowers.  He points out that the way the sunflowers follow the sun during the day is a great reminder for all of us to seek the higher Light in all we do.   

That’s an inspiring message to end this entry upon, as we move toward the Equinox and the shift into autumn’s harvest.  Let us focus on, and appreciate, that which is filled with Light, Healing, and Life ~ for ourselves, our communities, and beyond.   Let us allow the sunny happiness of the sunflower to direct our attention to all the aspects of well-being that are present in our lives right Now.   We’ll find blessings beyond count when we do.

I just returned from hiking for several days in the mountains about four hours away. There’s much peace and tranquility in the mountains this time of year ~ clear crisp air, cool sunny days, and vivid night skies.  Ground squirrels and picas are preparing for winter, and even a red fox one visits one evening, curious to see what humans do as fall quickly approaches.

I love being present in the mountains at any time.  In this moment, at the end of summer, there’s something compelling about the timelessness of the granite peaks towering over aspen groves, the music of the leaves in concert with a light breeze, and the murmur of the nearby creek rolling over ledges on its way to lower elevations.  The nights speak of the coming of colder weather, leaving frost in the north-facing shadows until the sun is high in the sky.  At one point, I find myself desiring to extend my stay and knowing my presence is required again in the community where I live.

It’s been almost two days since my return.  In looking out the window this morning, I find brilliant blue skies back-lighting the spruces in the front yard. The occasional golden leaf decorates one of the three aspens in the corner. 

I’m reminded of a nature walk through town I took at the first blush of summer, following some old irrigation canals grown thick with grasses and brush that serve as home to a small cluster of colorful tanagers, robins, and finches.  Dragonflies flit across the calm surface of the water in one channel cut off from the active agricultural flow.  A community of prairie dogs lives along the bank of the largest canal and makes noisy comment about my audacity in traversing their neighborhood.

There’s peace and contentment in knowing that I can access Nature’s magic locally, just outside my front door.  The tangle of old irrigation canals lies a quick four blocks north and east of the house.  It’ll be interesting to see how the inhabitants on the banks of the canals have survived the passage of high summer, and what steps they are pursuing in response to ever-lengthening nights of encroaching cold.   I smile to myself as I imagine the antics of prairie dog pups and the stern response of the golden-furred sentries that warn of any human approach.  It appears a return visit to this lovely site is in order.

In every natural setting, there’s plenty of local magic to soothe the soul, uplift the heart, bring peace to the mind, and support the body’s need for movement and exercise.  I’m grateful for the diversity of Nature’s treasures that are available to me, any day, both here and in the mountains.  Some times it takes stepping away from what is present right in front of us to appreciate its gifts even more.