I meditate along the river, and my mind is a reflection of what I see.
Sun in and out between gray-blue clouds, one mallard duck on the water, two kingfishers chasing back and forth, sparrows in the honeysuckles. Milkweed pods half open, their disheveled seeds hanging in the wind. Fat Osage fruits, yellowed, broken, and scattered by squirrels or possums. Parsnips burned from frost. Golden Rod in tufts. Woodpeckers rattling on the far side of the field.
At the swamp, skunk cabbage, six inches high. Sharp black essence of sweet Sicilyseed vines, bearded thistles sagging. Teasel strong and stiff. Angelica breaking apart, hollow-leaning winged stem with its leaves bent tight around its stalks, asters coming undone. Leaf cup burned by the cold, garlic mustard and dame's rocket limp, buds of the maples. Prominent seed wings still hanging from the box elders. Peel champagne goals of the field grass russets of the Japanese knotweed, red honeysuckle berries, and red rose hips. Oak bark black and shining from the morning's rain, white sycamores, purple raspberry stalks all reflected in the low river so still...so still that it takes each object and color without distortion, holding them together among charcoal branches and the alternate bright and dull waves of the sky.
I'll be back again next week with notes for the second week of early winter. In the meantime, stand for just a moment's meditation outside, just seeing.
Bill Felker contributes to newspapers nationwide, including the "Yellow Springs News." Bill resides in Yellow Springs, Ohio.
