210 Lawn is a Four Letter Word

I notice the flicker of light, the tiny little bulb in the distance. I see something there on the horizon. We are moving to it, or it is moving to us, or both.

It really is.  No adaptation in spelling is necessary; lawn is obviously four letters.  This is not the normal season for complaints.  And honestly, I like yard work, so it is odd that I do comment on such things.  But lawns are controlled, unnatural, needy bits of land that people in “civilized” society believe to be a requirement. Where did that inspiration appear?  In a grass manufacturing plant?  Pot is far more lucrative.  I suggest that.

So, out in the yard, the leaves are almost all off the trees.  We have a straggler that chooses to end in December, but he lives in the front where there is no unnatural grass.  I am raking leaves.  That seems like an October activity, but they were up in the trees back then.  Our weather has been unseasonably warm.  Raking and breathing are rejuvenating.  The lawn gets one point for that.  It is happy.

As I make my way around the yard, gathering, I notice that the fir cones are minimal.  Last year, I was buried in them, one every inch or two.  Now, they are few and far between.  Was the wild fire theory accurate?  Did the trees of the Northwest feel less threatened during this fire season since they had coned the world during the prior one?

I scoop up a pile a cones, then a wheel barrow of leaves, and another pile of cones.  The cones are on the edges of the garden beds.  I left them there last year, unintentionally, because of emergency surgery.  Maybe I left them there because of snow… and then eventually emergency surgery.  I think that’s right.  At any rate, I feel odd facing them again, completely a year old task.

So much of my day is spent this way, scooping up the incomplete and finishing it, tying it up with a seasonal bow.  

We are in a reflective space.  The darkness.  The approach of the Solstice, when the days will finally lengthen.  It doesn’t require action.  But it may require noticing, focus, and a bit of will toward ending, finishing, leaving things behind.

I notice the flicker of light, the tiny little bulb in the distance.  I see something there on the horizon.  We are moving to it, or it is moving to us, or both.  Enjoy the blanket of the deep, dark sky. Snuggle in and embrace it.  The light is nearing, getting clearer, calling.  You will see and hear it sooner than you can believe!

28. Insane Cone Posse

Cone.  Like pine cone, fir cone, evergreen tree cone.  I was out again today, tackling the “raking of the cones”.  My dad’s property is 3/4 of an acre, which isn’t very large when you compare it to the Granite Falls house.  BUT there are trees that feel that it is their exclusive right and occupation to solidly cover the ground, unfortunately lawn, with cones.

This may seem inconsequential, but the abundance fills wheel barrows, barrows with an s.  Not once a year, or twice a year, but constantly.

Fir cones
Collection of fir cones  Photographer: Tatniz.

My theory is that the conifers in last year’s California fires sent some sort of tree mail to the Washington trees. “Prepare to die!”  In Scouts, we learned that forest fires pop the cones and send out seeds to create the new generation.

Many things in my days are pointing to ancestry and lineage.  Yesterday in Reiki, the vision appeared of an enormous tree on the hill.  We visited it in the current time line, and then saw the generations return to the same place, honoring the tree (the ancestors).  

We are one.  We are joined in the continuum, never to die, always to be a part of the Eternal.  The cones remind us of our evolving grace.  What a beautiful awareness.