The First Snow of Christmas

A Winter Cathedral of Snow

It’s December. Right now the frost lays thickly on the still green grass and drab plowed fields I view out my window. The mountains are beige-brown and bare. There is a bit of leftover fog and mist that seem reluctant to leave with the rays of the morning sun. The school bus drives past full of sleepy students who are just waiting for Christmas vacation to begin.

During this time of year, I dream of swirling snowflakes and winds whistling around the corner of the old house. I yearn to see white fields and mountains with virgin snow gracing its folds. I envision every tree branch outlined in the white lace of winter ice.

This year, however, snow has kept its distance and a warmish Autumn has extended even into December. The scenery has been a reflection of my feelings many times. Instead of that magical cheer I often feel in December, there has often been a sense of frustration, melancholy, hopelessness and at times, even a bit of despair. This has been the most difficult year I’ve had in 10 years. My heart has been hit relentlessly and has numbed itself to the next coming trial as one can only take so much. This past November with it’s pale sunshine, dry earth and faded leaves have echoed the discouragement I have often felt.

But even as I type this, a strong gale of wind comes sweeping through the yard and dark, iron grey clouds have gathered. I stand in the grass and the former warm breeze has turned icy. I smile and a childlike excitement quickens my heart. I know the signs…a sure harbinger of snow. There is a crispness to the air and every thing seems to be a little more alive.

In a few hours, the first Christmas snow will begin and with it, the pain of this year will begin to wash away. The silence and peace of drifting snowflakes will ease my mind and a thick blanket of snow will hush my weary soul. I am at peace as the magic of this holy season once again slips softly into my heart. I am, once again, a child at Christmas.

And as if in response, a distant jingle of bells on the air whisper “Welcome home Melissa…”

Dancing Under the Moon

It's a full moon 
I'm dancing with the fairies 
sipping honey wine from a flower cup 
made of moon dewdrops 
and silver rain

The golden haze of the Autumn light
Suspends reality 
Opening a door to the other world
of halcyon dreams
and glowing Aurelian walls

The cool, free winds
blow cobwebs away in my soul
brushing away old, dusty memories
as I find little me
leaping with the eternal stars

Sweet September

Distant shores are calling…
 I find myself in the car heading north
Ending in an evening ramble
In the Northern wild forests  
My soul soars as I leave behind
the chains of an invisible prison.

Are the distant pines on fire?
No…the fiery, orange Harvest moon rises,
blazing triumphantly over the fading landscape.
I pull my jacket a little tighter 
As the heat of the day succumbs 
to the fresh, sweet night air.

It’s 2 am now…the silence here is profound.
No cars, no crickets, no birds…
No other sounds than the distant call of an elk…
Its mournful cry a story of nature primeval.
I had forgotten how silent nature can be.
It’s just me and the moon and the wind…
and oh how bewitching it is!

A part of me remembers this…the silence
Childhood adventures climbing
Over amber-colored hill tops
Dreaming of castles in the air…
When the silence permeated my soul
Like music in the wind.

My life has come full circle
And the little me still sees
Hope on the horizon of my life…
Some dreams fulfilled, some yet to be…
As sweet September turns another page
I stand still…
This perfect moment soon to be
Another memory in the book of my life.

(Some favorite pictures of my recent road trip to Idaho and Yellowstone.)

 

Guardian of the Silence

Dark, majestic, somber pines…citadels of the night.
She weaves in and out of them draped in white,
Both human and spirit in this other worldly moment
She is at one with the secret of the trees.

The crescent moon softens the darkness,
Just enough light to illuminate the path.
As one solitary owl calls for it’s mate,
Ancient stones and fairy lights accompany the dance.

She is seeking impossible answers
Revealing her veiled secrets to the breathless air
She is the guardian of her silence
Only the moon witnesses the whisper of her prayer.

Just one more turn before the chill sets in
Just one more moment to wistfully dream
One more moment to rescue the innocence within
Before the reality of life chains her spirit yet again.

You can find this photo here: lovinglifeonearth.wordpress.com.

 

“In England’s Green and Pleasant Land”

“And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land.”
~By William Blake~

As most of you know, I have been back and forth to England many times over the past 9 years. People have often asked me what it is I love about the place and why I always wanted to go back.  There are many reasons, but I believe the main one has to do with this beautiful feeling of being “home.”

As a child, I grew up in the Spokane, Washington area among rolling green hills, mountains and lakes. I spent many happy memories wandering through farm fields, playing by streams, and going to the park.  I was happiest laying on the grass under green and leafy trees on a warm summer’s day.  The scent of sun-warmed blossoms drifted on the breeze and in my imagination, I adventured through many distant lands.

When I first stood on a hill overlooking “the green and pleasant” countryside of England, I felt as though I had found those “distant lands” that I once imagined as a child.  My soul felt at home in a way I hadn’t felt for a long time.

But why?  I had never been here before.  Why would I feel at “home” in a place that I had never lived in?  Over time, I concluded that it was because I must have wandered its lands as a spirit before I was born.  Had I rambled the pastoral hills with my ancestors? Had I lived in those ruins that so spoke to my soul?  Had my spiritual feet traversed the beaches, fields and moors?

Was that why the flowers in their ethereal blues and sunny yellows were so familiar to me?

When I stood upon the ruins of a castle wall, is that why I felt as if I had somehow been there before?

Is that why I felt such passion when I tenderly caressed the ancient stones?

When I walked along coasts of jagged rocks and watched the ocean crash on the shore below, is that why I felt a longing for something I could not put a name to?

Was it the mystery of history that spoke to my romantic soul? Was it me or my ancestors that whispered “Welcome home…”

Though that chapter of my life is now closed, I will continue to carry with me the memories of extraordinary adventures, dreams fulfilled and lifelong friendships made.  I will always treasure my journey in “England’s green and pleasant land…” and maybe one day, I will once again traverse the well-known paths with those who have gone long before.

(All pictures by me in England, Wales and Cornwall 2015, 2018 & 2019.)

The Man in the Moon and I

I sought to walk in the shadows
My heart crying it’s silent tears
The noise of loneliness drove me
The empty walls and unspoken fears. 

I sought to hide my sadness
In the dusk of a quiet night
But his laughing smile found me
The Man in the Moon and I. 

My ethereal friend and my poet
Under cover of night we walk
He sings my soul a lullaby
The Man in the Moon and I. 

What need have I for earthly gems
When cosmic stars are my pearls?
He is my knight in luminous armor
Throughout the waiting years.

Once more his wise and kindly eyes
Have heard the whispers of my heart
Once more he soothes my heavy sighs
The Man in the Moon and I

He gives me strength to start again
So I blow a kiss to my forever friend
I pause and softly say goodnight… 
To the Man in the Moon and I.

Silver Sailboats

 

I stare at the stars in the velvet darkness
Millions upon millions
of flickering lights
Dancing across the great
panorama of eternity

We are lost in the skies
Silver sailboats sailing along Moon River
Seeking a place to call home
Do I trust in Destiny
As the Midnight hour approaches?

Soft snowflakes turn to summer crickets
While white swans sail through the seasons
Taking no note of the sighs
Of the one who sits by
Silently waiting…

Just Another Shell

Another beach…another shell 
Another memory of my life saved
Wrapped inside the fragile cover
Of a small miracle of nature.
Caressing its delicate edges
I am moved by the richness of color
And it’s unique imperfections.
Like the scars in my life
It’s small lines and broken edges
Cannot discount the beauty of the whole.
For it is with each rough wave
That I survive…
Still marred…
Still imperfect…
Still beautiful.

Daughter of the Storm

I have felt a strong connection to Nature since I was a young child.  I have been blessed with the opportunity to witness dramatic sunsets, white-sand tropical beaches, lush green mountains, hidden dark forests, sunlit red rock arches against a twilight blue sky and so much more.

Yet there is nothing that inspires me like watching a thunderstorm.  When lightning flashes across a sky or an explosion of thunder bounces off the surrounding mountains, I feel so connected to nature…to the power and majesty of it.  Even during a typhoon, I was the (slightly crazy) woman standing strong against the winds just to feel the rush of adrenaline as I faced a force of Nature. Climbing a wet hilltop in March and feeling the fierce storm blow as I take in the glorious view is more exciting to me than anything that man can think of.

I’m not sure where this started, but I remember as a young child that my mother actually had to call to me from the house to come inside during an electrical storm.  I just couldn’t take my eyes off the approaching lightning and thunder.  Every moment of it was an adrenaline rush.

Since that time, my passion for Mother Nature’s storms has only increased.  When a hurricane approaches, I watch the news and videos like a weather forecaster (even when I live nowhere in the area).  If a thunderstorm approaches, I will stand outside or at a window and watch the brilliant display until it fades away.  I watch tornado videos and am fascinated with the first snowstorm of the year.

I have come to conclude that I am a daughter of the storm.  I was meant to ride the winds.  As lightning streaks across the sky and the thunder shakes the ground I stand on, I feel a sense of power surge through me and I am at one with Nature.  I am not afraid…I am alive!  Alive with a vibrant energy that only comes when the wild winds whip my hair and fly fiercely around me.  It is in that moment that my spirit feels most connected to the powers around me…reminding me of my own inner strength and that I, too, am a force of Nature.

And so the snow falls…

It’s late autumn in the mountains and the glorious colors of the leaves have faded.  They fall with the lightest touch and the ground is a carpet of varying patches of color.  The hills have turned different shades of pale yellow and brown.  Touched with frost, few colors now grace the landscape other than a few muted yellows, grey rocks and dark brown grass.  The tree branches have turned dark…starkly outlined against the sky.  It is almost a somber scene.

But as I stand here surveying, I look up.  Under a storm grey dome, a gentle snowflake, white and pure, glides softly along the breeze landing on my black glove.  For a moment, it’s a delicate picture before it melts away.  Another moment, another snowflake lands on my nose, tickling the skin.  I glance up to see the skies begin to fill with a thousand white feathers and I watch as they slowly and quietly cover the black branches and the dreary landscape.

It’s the first snowfall and as I watch, a simple and childlike joy fills me as I again witness the transformation of darkness into light.  A hush falls over the mountains as the thick snow seems to rest the tired rustlings of a weary earth.  Quietly…silently, the snowflakes change a lifeless scene into a new world of purity and light.

The symbolism is not lost on me: against the noise, darkness and despair of the world, how quietly does He restore peace.  It is much like a tender, white blanket laid over a weary soul restoring comfort and hope…a silent reminder of love.

And so the snow falls…

Waiting for the Rain…

It’s been an excruciatingly long, very hot summer.  We have had an unusually dry season with almost no rain for more than 3 months. I have spent much of it driving around in a car with broken air conditioning in scorching 90 to 110+ degree temperatures.  I have sat in rush hour traffic with open windows begging mentally for a breeze that would cool me off, even feeling a little sick at times.  It has seemed almost unbearable.

Over the course of the last six weeks, I have watched the wild grasses dry up and turn yellow. The leaves on the trees look withered and parched and the dust from construction sites and fields would blow over everything.  Smoke from nearby wildfires would smother the sun and I began to imagine that this is what hell would feel like.  As clouds and winds would blow through, I would get my hopes up that it would rain, but Mother Nature seemed to mock us with a sprinkle that just turned the dust to splotchy drops and then blow away again.

As I have thought about it, I couldn’t help comparing it to those times that we endure, what seem to be, never-ending hardship.  We struggle through fiery, painful trials that seem to weary us to the core.  Like the dry storms that blow through, we get our hopes up only to find out they are empty promises.  It does seem, at times, as if the rain will never come to quench our parched lives.

But tonight…the rains came.  I cheered as I watched the black clouds roll in at sunset and thrilled to my toes as I watched the lightning flash in the distance. Now I’m sitting next to the open window, listening to the rain pour down washing away the dust and dirt. I can feel the cool breeze blow gently across me and the scent of fresh rain is enticing and delicious.  I am listening to my quiet music and feeling completely at peace.  A little smile hovers around my lips as I listen to the last of the drops fade away.

Just when we think we can’t bear it a moment longer, the relief finally comes.  An all-wise Father seems to know exactly how long we can bear something and then He steps in and mercifully tends to our scorched lives.  We just have to learn to trust that there will be an end to the Refiner’s fire. And like the rains that end a long drought, the gentle peace that comes at the end of a long trial is so much the sweeter, because we appreciate every drop.

 

The Shell

Rough bark hewn from the tree

Is not unlike your surface

Making you appear unwanted

Old, alone on the expanse of sand.

Darkly-colored lines and peach furrows

Scar your surface.

Nothing to attract you to me…

Nothing to make me turn you over…

To see the metallic luster of pearls

Shining like the copper pot on my kitchen shelf

To see the seam smooth as glass

Showing us you were torn from your better half.

Nothing to make me pick you up…

And hold you tightly in the palm of my hand.

Thank Heavens for Spring!

I took a walk today for the first time in weeks.  What prompted this little jaunt you ask?  (Ok, maybe you don’t really care, but I’m going to tell you anyway. )  The sun came out today after weeks of fog, smog, freezing cold and snowy storms.  The first whisper of Spring drifted through the air.  Instead of bundling up and feeling the cold every time I walked outside, I could feel a breath of warmth today.

Tendrils of spring through the frozen snow

After Christmas is over, I tend to become like a bear and hibernate until the temperature peeks above 50 degrees.  I don’t like winter.  As a child, I loved to play in the snow, but as an adult, I will take rain over snow any day.  I appreciate the picturesque snow right up until Christmas, but on December 26th, I begin to yearn for spring.  This winter has been harder than most.  I remember on Saturday wishing I could just get in my car and drive south just to see some sunshine!   The Februwearies have been hard at work on me this year.

But fortunately, Spring peeked it’s head out today.  The snow was melting and green tendrils of wild grass were pushing up through the soggy, brown leaves.  The pigeons were out in number flocking past me as I startled them, the swollen stream rushed happily by and the sound of children’s laughter and shouts surged through the air from a nearby hill. Families on bikes and joggers passed me as I ambled along the wet path.

It seemed almost as if the world was coming outside again to greet the return of nature’s version of hope. There are no flowers yet and most of the grass is brown and muddy, but the rays of the sun caressed my cheeks and I felt that unspoken joy that comes when you feel the burdens of a long trial begin to lift.

And that is my favorite part of Spring…the reminder that at the end of a long, dark trial, there is light.  I’ve found that if I can just hold on long enough, and push through the gloomy days, the promised light returns.  I lift my eyes to the skies and my soul is renewed.

Finding that light in our lives can often feel like a never-ending struggle, but for today, I held out my hand and nature took it and squeezed in return.

 

 

The Light is Blue

I haven’t written poetry in years.  I used to write quite a bit of it and was even told I had a talent in that direction.  So, inspired by current circumstances in my life and a photo which I have included here, I present my first poem in several years.  It’s kind of frightening…be kind, but be honest.  🙂 (Picture is not mine.)

The Light is Blue

By Melissa Coppins

 

The light is translucent blue

Through the silent mist

Various shades of red and faded browns

Dress the forest

In stark autumn beauty.

 

The sweet scent of wet earth and fallen leaves

Embraces old wood.

Memories of childhood arise

And I’m filled with a yearning

For simplicity and innocence.

 

The world is quiet

Mysterious

Ancient…

Through the slim, dark trunks

On the far side of the morning

What awaits me?

 

I tenderly brush the rough trunk

Of a nearby tree

And sigh…

Its steadiness supports me.

I don’t want to leave this peace.

 

For beyond this place awaits decisions

I do not want to face.

In this moment,

This other world

Time is still.

The air holds its breath

As I hesitate.

 

I glance back at the path I have taken…

Will I turn back to my past?

Or will I move into the unknown

That awaits me

Beyond the clouded veil?

 

Fireflies and Music

(Pictures are not mine – have given credit where I could find a link.)

Once in a while, life shows us beauty in the most unexpected of places. I’ve had many experiences like this, but one that stands out in my mind is an experience I had while I was living in Cartagena, Colombia.

wikipedia.commons.com

Cartagena is found on the northernmost tip of the South American continent. It is both an ancient and modern city, but retains all the luxuries and amenities of any “first world” city. Yet, on the outskirts of Cartagena, there lie several small villages where many homes are no more than shacks and do not have electricity or running water. I had the privilege (and yes, it WAS a privilege) of staying at one of these homes a few years ago when a group of boys from my church went on a campout. It turned out to be one of my most beautiful memories.

To get to the village, we rode an old, rickety bus for 2 hours on a very hot, humid day. All the windows were open and the bus bounced along a dirt road, dust blowing through the open windows. The youth were chattering excitedly and I smiled at their enthusiasm. I was still struggling with the heat of the day and so I tried to lean my head back to sleep.

I must have dozed off for a little as finally the bus pulled over and we were at the end of the road. I stepped off the bus into the bright, afternoon sun and gazed at where we stood. The road literally ended right into a muddy swamp!

I wondered how we were going to cross to our campsite when I noticed everyone head down to an old dock. There was a very ancient, rough-hewn canoe pulled up next to it. I stood there, a little dismayed, as I watched the first of our group step into the canoe and begin to be rowed across. There was only one place to sit and that was for the person who navigated the boat. So the other occupants had to stand.

… wooden canoe with a kayaker in the background, Choco, Colombia more http://www.superstock.com

After a little while, I relaxed as I watched each person cross without incident. The navigator would tease sometimes, but no one fell in. Finally, it was my turn. I was a little terrified at the idea of tipping over the canoe, so I stepped in very carefully and then balanced myself. I cringed at the idea of what swam around in that tropical water and was hoping against hope that I would not fall in.

The navigator was very kind and did not tease me with any sudden motions, but glided smoothly across the water. I grinned at the ridiculousness of the “gringa” trying to stand in a canoe as it crossed a muddy swamp, but I also reveled in the unusual moment. It was with a breath of relief, though, when I made it to the other side of the swamp and stepped off the canoe.  

We walked only a few blocks and then arrived at our “campsite”, which was really just the grounds around a very small home. The caretakers, who were relatives of one of the boys, were gracious and welcomed us warmly. They seldom had visitors in their remote location, let alone an American “gringa” and I was treated with a great deal of respect. They were kind and their children were shy and sweet. I chatted with the family as the others unpacked and began the business of getting set up for our stay.

The home was really nothing more than an aged, cement house with a tin roof. The grounds were mainly just brush and untended fields with the swamp only about 200 meters away.  It was not my normal idea of a campground, but the remote location away from the crowds of humanity was refreshing and peaceful.  Besides, the family was so pleased with our visit that I couldn’t help but be touched by their generosity and kindness.  And on the other side of the island, as I was to discover the following day, was a beautiful beach and more memories to be made.  (But that will be saved for another entry.) 

Later, after dinner and conversation, everyone begin to settle down and find their sleeping places for the night. I sat on the porch of the old home and began to contemplate life as the sun descended. One young man sat next to me and we talked about church, school and his home life. As the colors of the sunset began to fade, I noticed strange little glowing lights pop up over the nearby field. Completely delighted, I realized that the lights were fireflies! I had never seen one before!

As the darkness descended, many more lights popped up. I sat in awe at one of nature’s beautiful and elegant displays. A sense of joy filled me as I watched the lights of our newfound friends dip and sway.   It was almost…magical.  

For some reason, the scene filled me with reverence and I wanted to be part of the magic. I began to sing quietly. My young friend joined me and our voices blended becoming the only sounds to fill the night. Laughter faded away, conversations hushed and even the rustlings of the nearby jungle seemed to grow quiet. The notes of our soft song and the dancing lights harmoniously intertwined and the spell seemed to weave its magic through the air.

As the last notes of the song drifted away, the stillness remained. No one wanted to break the silence…nor forget the moment. I took a mental photo and tucked it away amongst my most cherished memories.

Life doesn’t give us many chances to make captivating memories, but upon this occasion, nature and humanity harmonized to create beauty in an unpredictable way. I am so grateful when I get to observe and at times, partake of these inspiring and unexpected moments in life.

 

Cloud Watcher

 

I’m a cloud watcher.  I first heard that phrase from a woman many years ago.  We were walking along a road on the beautiful island of Oahu at sunset.  As we walked, we looked up at the clouds and commented on how amazing they were.  She then said “I’m a cloud watcher.” 

 

Ever since that night, that phrase has stayed in my mind: cloud watcher.  Literally speaking, it means to study the clouds: the shapes, the colors and the magnificence of them.  I find myself standing motionless at the various splendor of colors during sunrises and sunsets, thrilling to the intensity of black thunderstorms and sometimes, just admiring a lazy white cloud drifting over a mountain top.

 

Yet I think “cloud watcher” is also a metaphor.  Have you ever just stood there, the colors of the clouds passing in front of your eyes, and you found yourself daydreaming about the future?  I know when I look up at the sky, it is often to meditate about a current situation, to daydream, to remember or to pray.  So I guess you could say a cloud watcher is also a dreamer. 

 

And to dream is also to hope: for improved health for a loved one, for a promotion at work or possibly a different job, to win that game, to pass that class, or to find the love you hope to spend the rest of your life with.  Whatever it is, you hope for a life that is better than the one that you are living at that moment. 

 

To hope…to dream…to be a cloud watcher. 

 

So the next time you take that quiet moment from life’s pressing duties to stop and admire the panorama of the sky, you can also proudly say “I’m a cloud watcher.”   

  

 

 

Small & Simple Things

Small & Simple Beauties

While taking a walk the other evening, I couldn’t help but to be inspired by the nature that lay all around me.  It was a cold, April evening and a rain had just swiftly washed through the valley.  In the last light of the fading day, I could see the austere edges of Mt. Timpanogas outlined with a fresh coat of fallen snow.  Starkly contrasted to the white of the snow is a color that can’t be called anything else but twilight blue.  It’s that color that can only be seen between the night and day when, for a moment, the earth becomes mystical…unreal… and you are caught between two realities.

I lifted my gaze towards the night sky and the intense, sharp stars.  They were so pointedly crisp that the lights of the valley below me seem almost dim.  A few steps more and I encounter the sound of a stream full and rushing.  It was too dark to see it, but I caught the elusive scent of old autumn leaves and new spring flowers.  I filled my lungs deeply with the perfume.  A breeze shook the raindrops from a nearby tree onto my upturned face and I smiled.

All these small and simple beauties surround me in one glorious instant.  I have a taste of yearning for something that can be felt just beyond the edges of our known reality.  I think it is a longing that most cannot even acknowledge exists.  The worries of this life press down upon us and we must deal with the tedious details of living.  But I have felt it.  I have felt that aching for something that has no words.  It is just simply a feeling of knowing that there is something greater awaiting you.  It is something greater than who you are at this moment.

Once, while standing on the island of Palau and contemplating a violet-gold thundercloud in the heart of the sunset, my missionary companion turned to me and said “Have you ever wondered if, before we were born, that we helped God to design some of this planet?  Maybe I helped Him to create this sunset so that I could stand here now to appreciate its beauty.”  I don’t know if that is true, but there are such spiritual feelings at times while I’m in Nature that I wonder if Heaven doesn’t peek through…and for just that brief moment of time, we are allowed a glimpse of eternity with earthly eyes.