Nature

I Talk to Plants

I talk to plants. I mean, I don’t do this every day, but I have talked with some plants. I read how to do this in a book, The Secret Teachings of Plants, and I decided to try it myself.

I move my awareness to the middle of my chest. It’s usually in the middle of my head. I see it like a ball of white light moving from my head to my heart. I close my eyes, and tell the plant, “I want to speak with you and learn from you.” It also helps if I imagine myself filling the plant – into its leaves, into its branches, into its trunk, into its roots.

Where the Animals Live

I like to be near the animals – the farm animals.

Maybe it’s a memory of an earlier, quieter, idyllic time. Perhaps it’s not a memory, but a longing for that time.

The animals are so direct. It seems like they present themselves totally, nothing hidden. The sheep and lambs just ask you to feel their wool – deep, curly wool, that you you can sink your hands into. Once one starts “baa’ing,” the others start too, and soon everyone of them is “baa’ing.”

A Place That Seems Alive

Artwork by Bruce Zboray www.bruce-zboray.artistwebsites.com


Did you ever have a place that you keep going back to, again and again, because it makes you feel so good? I mean, it’s like the land itself is calling, like a friend.

One of my favorite places is the grounds of Shakespeare Theater in Stratford, Ct. In the 1950’s and 1960’s this was a very popular theater. It seems like the joy of that time still lives on the grounds, or perhaps some deep joy was there already, even before the theater.

Bubbles on the Beach

I am on the beach.

The sand feels warm and inviting on my feet.

I love the “swish, swish” of the waves.
The pebbles are tumbled, soft clear white.
The seashells call to me to look at them.

A child is making a sand castle, with a red, metal pale.
Another child is blowing bubbles.
A single bubble floats by me.

I am happy.
I see myself in the bubble, happy, along with this whole beach, sky, and ocean, in that little bubble.
It floats away to carry my happiness beyond me.

The Evening Flutter

You’re sitting in a comfortable chair, around eight P.M., and the sun is gently lowered behind a tall oak tree.

A basket of red flowered petunias grows out of an orange ceramic pot. It’s very quiet.

You have a few birds chatting high up in the apple tree to your right, and two sparrows are hopping along the grass, searching for that last evening snack.

Out of nowhere, you hear a distant rumble. It’s very faint, very subtle. Barely audible. Barely distinguishable.

Lightning in a Bottle

It’s a hot, sultry evening. The sun’s warm rays, basking the earth all day, has left a comfortable blanket covering the front lawn.

The moon is new, and the darkness that swept in with the outgoing sun provides a perfect background for a laser light show.

How peaceful and utterly void of light is your yard. It’s dark, and you’re enjoying the tranquility that accompanies absolute stillness.

What’s that? Hey what was that?

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you saw a flash of light.

There it is again!

The Pine Cone I Call Lazarus

A few years ago, while hiking through the Mount Ascutney Mountains in Vermont, I found myself absolutely mesmerized by the stunning beauty of the deciduous pine forest. In particular, my eyes were being pulled towards the pinecones. Kind of like a magnet, I was attracted to the pinecones.

They densely garnished the tall pines. They came from all sizes, from two inches, up to seven, and perhaps more. They were everywhere, on the floor, on the branches. And the hues changed from light, pale green, to a royal forest green, to a hazel, to dark brown.

Backyard Concert

I like to sit in my back yard, and listen to the great composers: Vivaldi’s “Flute Concerto #2”, the solo flutist, and Giuseppe Verdi’s “La Traviata”, the duel between Violetta and Alfredo. And Beethoven’s “Moonlight Serenade”, that single solo piano.

The sounds of the orchestra, the flutes, the piccolos, the French horns, the bassoons, the clarinets, the oboes, the violas, the cellos, the trumpet, each instrument is beautiful music to my ear. Perhaps you like this too.

Crawfish Delight

There’s a brook along the road on my drive home from work. I stopped there today, parked my car, and I walked out to the middle of the brook. You can do it if you’re very careful, and you select the stones that rise just above the shallow eight inches of the babbling brook.

I walked out to the middle, and I stopped. And I crouched down. A few feet away, the brook gets deeper, maybe three to four feet. And the rapids are moving quicker. The sound is intensified, so strong and so loud, you can’t even hear the cars passing on the highway just 40 yards away.

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