Tag Archive | sunset

The Last Solstice

Dec21
The ‘red lime’ is a cultivar which seemingly arrived on the citrus scene in 2006, and is described as possibly “a cross of Rangpur lime and a kumquat.” There’s not much more about it online. I’m grateful for this bounty that was given, and I squeezed all these to freeze juice while letting a few more ripen in the fridge. Orange appears to be the color of the day this solstice.

I’m grateful for every element of this morning’s latte and biscotti, and all the lives that contributed to this experience: coffee beans, milk, chocolate, almonds, orange zest, flour, sugar, vanilla orchid seeds, tree sap distilled into syrup, running water, tools and technology, and the last crumbs of maple sugar candy sprinkled on top with cinnamon. How many plants, animals, and human hands made this brief moment in my sunroom possible? Feeling the truth of intrabeing.

“When doing something for the last time, we almost never know that it is, in fact, the last time; and everything you will do today, pleasant and unpleasant, you will do a finite number of times. So why not give each thing your full attention?”

Sam Harris

I’ve thought a lot about this since I heard it the other day. In the same reflection, he points out that children grow up, and suddenly they’re too big to be picked up; a recent trend on Instagram shows mothers trying to lift up their teenage sons. I remember the last time I picked up Stellar as he grew from a puppy into a big dog.

I’m pretty sure this was it: he weighed about thirty pounds, and he was getting hard to lift when someone took this picture. I remember thinking, this is probably the last time I’ll pick him up. I remember the last time I made love with my ex-fiancé, and knowing it was the last time. And I know there are a million things I’ve already done for the last time and never realized it.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake today. This was definitely the last solstice of 2025, and I was going to mark the occasion by watching the sunset from the west fence. It wasn’t too dramatic when I got there, but the clouds have been exceptional recently and the fan of grey and deep blue stratocumulus (looking south, above) and altocumulus (looking north, below) quickly brightened as the earth spun away from the sun.

The color dimmed in the north and east, but deepened to the south. Soon the clouds to the west were on fire. I felt keenly the fleeting beauty, the one-timeness of this sunset, the one and only time the sky will look exactly like this. The next moment it looked different, and the next moment.

And who knows, this might be the last solstice sunset I’ll ever see, not just the last this year. All we ever have for certain is this moment, right now. It can be exhausting knowing this all the time, until with enough practice it becomes an effortless habit that enhances experience.

This is what’s meant by the phrase “Death is an ally.” When I’m aware that this could be the last time I see the sunset I really drink it in; when I remember that this is the last time I might see or speak with a friend, I can bring loving kindness into that moment and let grudges, judgements, and other distancing thoughts or feelings fade.

Everything changes, all the time. Let me remember to be grateful, every living moment of every day.

Savoring Connections

Dec19

Moments of joy came throughout the week from connections with friends. Jennifer sent this marvelous photo last weekend of a redtail hawk perched on her fire escape in downtown San Francisco. I’m grateful for friendships through the years and across the country, new and old, simple and complex, in person and online. With the common ground of mindfulness and gratefulness, I’ve formed meaningful friendships with people I may never meet in person.

I had hoped to be generous with the three leftover lemon tartlets, but only managed to give away one of them. The other two I savored for breakfast last weekend. I found a little pot of leftover cream cheese frosting in the fridge, so I topped the first tart with that and the last raspberries.

The final tart cried out for a little leftover lemon curd since there was only a lonely dollop of icing left. I’ll definitely make these again.

My Colorist friend sent this gorgeous Christmas card she created. She explained that the passion flower represents “the Passion of Christ in all its beauty and terror,” with Mary “looking adoringly at and embracing the end of Jesus’s earthly life instead of the beginning” as in traditional nativity scenes this season. And of course, the sumptuous colors.

She also introduced me to the Hugo Spritz in her comment on my last post. I made mine without the prosecco using soda water only for the bubbles to give it less of a kick.

I’m grateful that grownup vitamins come in gummies too.

I sometimes wonder where the day goes, these short winter days. It seems like I get the bare minimum done and then it’s dark. One fun task each day is feeding the birds, and an especially meditative part of it is spreading the Bark Butter on various limbs and posts. Bark Butter, created by the founder of Wild Birds Unlimited, is a “spreadable suet” that includes peanut butter and corn. I put it out for the nuthatches who love it, but the jays come to devour it too.

A local friend sent this picture of an anomalous goose down in Delta with a flock of Canada geese (genus Branta). INaturalist identifies it with 100% certainty as belonging to the Grey Goose clan (genus Anser). A delightful conundrum.
This week’s sourdough, with a seasonal star.

I’m grateful for the great healthcare I receive from Delta Health, one of the many rural hospitals threatened by the Republicans’ healthcare plan which Andy Borowitz says is “Move to Canada.” I had a late afternoon appointment with my PCP for a checkup. I love her. She’s quick, thorough, listens well, trusts me with decisions, and we have had some hearty laughs, especially last week. And then the drive home from town was exquisite. I’m so rarely out of my little hollow at sunset, it was a treat.

My friends Ted and Cathey live about 80 miles north of Selma, Alabama, where the Walk for Peace monks stopped midday today, then walked across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. My whole day was infused with the joy of knowing my friends were there, carrying a little piece of my heart with them. Ted posted this and more photos on his daily blog, and will share more tomorrow.

This week of savoring friendships included some great phone conversations with friends from Florida to Virginia to Oregon, all of which also included some hearty laughter, such balm for the sorrowing soul in these dark times. Tonight’s small new moon/early Solstice gathering wrapped up this past week like a gift. The bonfire was slow to start but quick to burn, and safe in the bottom of an empty, muddy irrigation pond.

Grateful to feel safe in the bosom of my found family, I yet held in my heart the sorrow of those who lost beloved children, parents, friends, and family in mass shootings this week, to murder, to starvation, to climate catastrophes like floods and landslides, and so many more ways the ravages of human depravity manifest.

May I grow in understanding and compassion, and may my thoughts, words, and actions contribute to peace in this world. May all people grow in understanding and compassion, and may their choices contribute to peace in this world.

At the height of our ritual fire, the FedEx truck came down the driveway and a pack of dogs from three households ran barking off to greet him. He’s a great guy, we’re all grateful for Scott, and so are the dogs because he gives them treats. I whistled for Wren and she didn’t come, I got up and called and finally yelled for her, and still she didn’t come—but then I looked to the left and saw her trying to get to me through the fence—poor baby! She had probably come right away, but she came the wrong way and got stuck on the other side of the studio. I stepped through and gathered her up and held her close the rest of the evening. She’d had on her parka, but still got chilly, and has been sleeping next to me or on the heating pad ever since we got home.

Vacation

Sep16

I’m tuning out the world at large for the next ten days, and tuning in close to home with a dear friend coming to visit tomorrow. No politics, no meetings, no work except for teaching the first two classes in Mindfulness Foundations Course; just eating, walking the woods, sitting by the pond, talking, laughing, maybe a short road trip or some other wilderness adventure, relaxing… and savoring this life on earth, one precious day at a time.

Meals and a few outings are mostly planned and subject to spontaneous revision, but tomorrow night is a birthday party! Not for me or for him, but for my new titanium hip which will be one years old. To celebrate I’ve baked this chocolate mayonnaise cake, slathered with chocolate cream cheese frosting. Utter decadence. I can’t find the recipe link for the frosting so here it is:

Chocolate Cream Cheese Frosting

Ingredients

  • 12 ounces (339g) full-fat brick cream cheese, softened to room temperature*
  • 3/4 cup (12 Tbsp; 170g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
  • 3 and 1/2 cups (420g) confectioners’ sugar
  • 2/3 cup (55g) unsweetened natural or dutch-process cocoa powder
  • 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
  • 1–2 Tablespoons milk or heavy cream
  • pinch salt

Instructions

  • In a large bowl using a handheld or stand mixer fitted with a paddle or whisk attachment, beat the cream cheese for 1 minute on high speed until completely smooth and creamy. Beat in the butter until combined. Add the confectioners’ sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla extract, 1 Tablespoon milk, and salt and beat on medium-high speed until combined and creamy. Add 1 more Tablespoon of milk to slightly thin out, if desired. Taste, then add another pinch of salt if desired.

This is Topaz, refusing to come inside again last night at dusk. Since her long night out recently she’s been sure to be inside before dark, but last night she just sat there six feet from the door, looking defiantly at me holding it open, inviting her sweetly inside. When I took the photo I said, “This may be the last picture I ever get to take of you, if you don’t come in now.” It was true, it could have been, and I’m grateful that I have this awareness: death is certain, for everyone, and time of death is uncertain. And so I savored that moment of her stubborn determination, and loved her all the more for it. I was also grateful that she came in a couple hours later, and that she came inside tonight before dark.

There was another spectacular sunset this evening which distracted me from last minute preparations, but I paused my endeavors to savor it anyway; and the dishes still got done. It’s time now to lay down my sleepy head, my aching teeth, and my grateful heart.

May we all abide in equanimity, meeting each other as equals, free of bias, attachment, and anger…

May we all have genuine happiness and its causes, and open our hearts with loving kindness to all beings…

May we all be free from suffering, and grow in compassion for all beings…

And may we all remember to be grateful, every living moment of every day.

Gratitude for Science

Sep11

“The Devil’s beating his wife,” the Colonel used to say when rain fell during sunshine. There was a brief moment this morning when that happened. It was beautiful, and I reflected on the phrase, such an innocent reference to domestic violence. Normalizing words, phrases, and ideas softens their impact and can lead to complacency.

Last night’s rich sunset portended today’s rain.

There are holes in the narrative of yesterday’s assassination in Utah. American Muckrakers outlines provocative elements that suggest a false flag, and it’s sickening to read and makes a lot of sense. Question the prevailing narrative on this one, and question mainstream and liberal media who are reporting spurious details as fact.

And this evening’s sunset continues the day’s pattern of intermittent rain and sunshine.

Before I read that, though, I was pondering with great sadness how Republicans react with horror and even compassion when it’s one of their own who is shot: But where were they on June 14 when Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman was assassinated, her husband and their dog killed also, in their home, and two other Democrats injured? Why wasn’t the flag ordered half staff nationwide for her? Where was the federal outrage when the CDC campus was shot up last month?

Where is the federal compassion and call for justice for the 39 murders in US school shootings so far this year? Where is the national coverage of yesterday’s school shooting in Colorado? Locally, and quite timely, the Paonia Players are taking the stage as part of a nationwide creative endeavor to speak out against gun violence. Enough: Plays to End Gun Violence takes place in more than fifty communities on October 6, and in Paonia, Colorado at the Blue Sage Center for the Arts.

Gun violence is a problem, but a bigger problem for me is that I can identify with the hateful people. I don’t much care that a rightwing mouthpiece was assassinated as a result of the gun culture his tribe venerates. My sympathy falters when I feel someone has brought their suffering on themself. And that’s a failure inside me, of the human I want to be. And a very scary world view.

This is why I practice. And pausing, waiting for more information, allows my heart to remain open, to soften, to hold it all, including the possibility that yesterday saw one of the most nefarious double reverse false flag psy op killings ever on US soil. Was Charlie Kirk killed by a bumbling amateur who strew evidence all over the scene, or by a highly skilled, well-paid and protected, professional sniper? All I’m saying is, question the narrative.

At the intersection of gun violence and science, this conversation between Dr. Eric Topol and Dr. Peter Hotez, both renowned scientist-physicians, explores the scope, the financial motivation, and the ramifications of the staggering ignorance behind an organized assault on global health and world peace by the anti-science movement in the US. Dr. Hotez himself receives frequent death threats. Between the Kirk assassination and the CDC attack, I’m sure he’s more concerned than ever about his numerous upcoming public and university talks.

I’m grateful my worst woe right now is the ongoing dental drama. Yesterday the dentist finally agreed to x-ray my whole mouth. “The good news is there’s no infection,” she said. I waited for the bad news, but there wasn’t any. Just that for whatever reasons, I’ve suffered adverse consequences from a routine procedure. I’m still not quite satisfied with the investigation, but was enthralled with the 3D x-ray. The problematic crowns are winking bright white in the image.

And wrapping up with gratitude for science, this photo essay in The Atlantic reminds us of the scourge of polio that was eradicated in the US when I was ten. When and where did I get my polio vaccine? This is one of those moments when I miss my mother to tears, unable to ask her. I remember the smallpox vaccine because it left a scar on my shoulder for decades, but could not recall the polio vaccine until I reached the last photo in the essay (oh yes, now I remember: just a cube full of sugar helps the medicine go down – I probably asked for seconds).

Original caption: “This little girl swallows a lump of sugar served in a paper cup, and receives a few drops of the Sabin oral vaccine and protection against polio, on July 18, 1962, in Atlanta, Georgia. Scientists say the dread crippler could be wiped out eventually if everyone took the vaccine, but comparatively few people are taking it, except in communities which have had threatened epidemics or have been put on crash programs.”

As I was working on this post, the sky got even more spectacular. I missed a giant lightning strike by a split second, then realized I could pull images from video so I set the phone in the tripod (hello, science? the phone camera, I mean!) and filmed ten minutes of celestial glory.

I was only sad that I couldn’t be everywhere at once…
And then the color left the sky and that particular cell moved on east over the mountains. But long after dark the rain continues to come in waves and lightning to brighten the night.

Wonder

Aug8

Little froglets everywhere…

I wonder if this frog has thoughts or feelings about her “mini me” sitting in front of her.

Evolution of a sunset. Last night I caught the sun going down below the clouds and smoke, and wondered whether to wait and see if it got any prettier…

Then when I turned around to walk home, I realized I’d missed the moonrise. Oh well. You can’t have everything. I’m grateful for plenty of wonder every time I turn around.

Another Sunset

Aug5

I was grateful to get into the dentist today to check out increasing pain in my teeth since the crown a few weeks ago. All kinds of nightmare scenarios were going through my mind, but not with the pernicious insistence of pre-mindfulness days. The dentist was reassuring, diagnosed it as a “bite problem” and ground down both crowns to resolve it. They said my teeth were bruised. What? I was grateful to learn something new: teeth are held in place by ligaments, and ligaments can get inflamed for all sorts of reasons, including not quite perfect crowns. Fingers crossed that’s all it is. We’ll know more later.

I’m grateful for making it through to another glorious sunset. West, light smoke floated below the clouds. To the northwest the wildfire smoke seemed to float above the clouds, though really, I think, it was just closer.

Joy Anyway

Jul21

I’m grateful for ripe tomatoes (not grown here) and Olathe Sweet sweet corn, salt, pepper, mayonnaise, and homemade bread.

I’m grateful for a couple of days of reprieve from the smoke, and that the teams have most of the fires somewhat contained, and that they have stayed safe. Despite the heat, I’ve been able to get some work done in the garden mornings and evenings, including covering the remaining cabbages with screen cubes, and thinning carrots which grew even though their tops got munched.

I’m grateful it was cool and clear enough on Friday to leave the house open overnight, which made it cool enough inside on Saturday to cook. I threw together a potato-pepper-onion-garlic-cabbage-corn-black bean fry with Penzeys Arizona seasoning to use in burritos for the next few days, and dug out a specialty tool I bought last summer to slice the corn off the cob. My first time using it lacked precision but was effective.

It was cool enough to make a batch of apricot jam, but still too hot to process it, so I gave away a few jars and froze a few. I’m grateful to have learned that apricot jam freezes well.

Wren’s been a bit put out that she hasn’t shown up here for awhile, so she took a break from frog hunting to pose nicely this morning. So did a big frog, right by my feet, but then she sensed Wren coming!

It was hot early again today, so when the sweetest neighbor stopped by on her walk to pick up her jam, I invited her to cool off under the sprinkler. Then I went inside for breakfast, two little waffles with the last of the sweet cherries I picked up on Thursday, some yogurt, and of course, real maple syrup.

I’m grateful there have only been a couple of bird strikes against the windows this summer. But today the total doubled with two in a matter of hours. They both hit the south windows, despite the fluttering prayer flags. The first was a young female Bullock’s oriole, whom I set in the shady apricot tree; the second, a young house finch who might have been drunk on apricot mash. I put her in the juniper near the feeder where they all hang out. I’m grateful that both birds recovered.

I don’t live an exciting life. It’s not like I’m wallowing in active joy all day every day: far from it. I spent most of today inside, too hot to do much of anything besides read, meditate, and clean the kitchen. But I do cultivate contentment by practicing gratitude every day. I’m aware of horrors happening the world over: there are at least 35 wars going on which are devastating people, cultures, and the environment. The US government has lost its moral compass and spun off in an inconceivable direction. The planet is burning, flooding, quaking, drying, crying, aching from our species’ misuse of it.

And still life goes on. Everywhere, all the time, life is hatching and dying, growing, playing, eating, aging, changing. I’m aware of this, also, and of my good fortune to live this simple life, this rare and precious human life, immersed in nature. Sometimes it’s pretty hard. It’s been a rough ten days with the heat and the smoke, and the mental poisons that still trouble me despite mindfulness practice. In the midst of all that is naturally tedious or trying in this human life, almost every day I experience moments of joy. Maybe not many, and most of them small, but by remaining receptive and aware, I find them everywhere.

Though the reason for it is harsh, the smoky sunset light is lovely. On our stroll the rescue horses next door thundered up to the fence to greet us. After a mutually curious visit, they moved on and left us in pensive, contented silence, grateful for a weekend enriched by many bright and colorful moments of joy anyway.

Evolution of a Rainbow

Jul13

It takes so little to excite me. When I saw apricots glowing in the lowering sun against the grey storm sky I dashed outside. Then it just kept getting better. Fortunately, the smoke wasn’t bad here today and the fire didn’t expand too much. I was grateful that the air was clear enough to spend sunset outside.

It was time for supper but it was too nice to go inside. Refreshed by a cool breeze and a smattering of raindrops, undaunted by the mellow distant thunder and feeble cloud to cloud lightning, I went up on the deck to enjoy the kaleidoscope.

Hungry, I almost came in, but saw a rainbow beginning to the south. A few minutes later a hint of color appeared in front of Saddle Mountain. So I waited.

Minute by minute the rainbow grew, intensified, first at one end then the other. A hint of double appeared first in the east and then in the south, and then nearly met in the middle. It went on and on. I was breathing colors.

Even in the last light, a hint of rainbow remained. And then I turned around.

Another Day Alive

Jul12

The Fire Moon, or as some would call it, the Buck Moon, full on Thursday night through the smoke haze.

I’ve got onions protected from grasshoppers in two net cubes, and this morning while it was still cool, I wore a wet cloth mask outside to remove the cube, thin the onions, and replace the cube.

Later I trimmed the onions and divided them into proto-bulbs to use instead of leeks in some vichyssoise, coarsely chopped greens to make into pesto, and finely chopped greens for garnishes and salads this week.

I grated one of the two little cabbages I’ve harvested, and some store bought carrots, to make coleslaw and put some in a sandwich with leftover roasted chicken.

The air by then was clear enough to eat lunch outside, though I could see smoke billowing from the South Rim fire beyond the apricot tree. Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park Facebook page shared several photos of the fire, and reassured people that the Visitor Center had not burned, and also that the fire had not jumped the canyon: they’d gotten a lot of calls from people on the north side worried about the thick smoke. Here are two of those images from the park’s page.

It’s startling to see that it’s spotting down into the canyon. It would take some precision water drops to put out those fire spots. It could easily spark from there to the other side with a few exploding embers. I started packing pet supplies into go-bags this evening just in case.

The smoke continued blowing due east rather than northeast, so by evening the air quality here had improved from 150 to 50. We were able to visit the tadpoles and spiders at the pond for awhile, and leave the doors open until bedtime to get a cooling breeze through the house.

For dinner, I used up some frozen corn that was open making this cheesy grits dish, sautéing a few of the onions in butter, adding the corn, then two cups milk and two cups water, and when it boiled stirring in slowly a cup of grits. When that had cooked into a creamy porridge, I added more butter, grated cheddar and parmesan and topped with a dash of homegrown paprika and chopped onion tops.

After supper, we drove up to get the mail, and a better view of the sky. Above, the South Rim smoke cloud settled over the West Elks, while below, the Sowbelly haze colored sunset, resulting in gorgeous clouds overhead. It was just another full day alive, for which I’m profoundly grateful.

Looking Up

Apr23

After picking up mail from the top of the driveway, savoring the atmosphere.