Faja dos Bodes

Sao Jorge, Azores

The Day dawned foggy and cold after the Cory's Shearwater's mewing call punctuated the night air. Mist drifted across the narrow road as we departed for Velhas to exchange the van for a smaller auto with which to navigate the narrow roads. In the distance a cloud covered sky laced with blue held promise for a sunlit day. We switchbacked up the asphalt road out of Faja do Bodes past stone dwellings. Up, up, up, the nearly vertical mountainside past terraces of stone fenced gardens of kale, beans, squash and fava beans until we were high above the sea on this volcanic mountain.

Parque Nacional do Penada-Geres

On the fourth day at Casa do Fragão, fog pressed up against the bedroom windows and everything was hidden. We all slept in, recovering from our strenuous hike in Parque Nacional da Peneda-Gerés along walled stone pathways broken by decrepit gates of wood with stone hinges and metal locks. After lunch in the village of Cutelo beside the community cistern, we ascended the rocky stone path through meadow wildflowers, prickly gorse, heather, granite boulders and scattered stone to the top of a range. We ambled across a col which divides two river basins; the Lima River to the north and Rio Homen to the south.The path eventually led us  through another ancient Portuguese village with granite paths and dwellings. Two hens took shelter on the cobblestone path beneath a cow with wide brown eyes chewing her cud. Several small dogs barked after us. Stored away in niches attached to the stone dwellings were old rusted carts whose metal wheels had worn grooves in the granite pathways we walked. Villagers till these fields, carrying on the tradition of country living, tending  gardens surrounded by high trellises of grapes for vinho verde, lettuce, kale, onion and corn.

Portugal Lady

On our last day in the Minho region, we visited the igreja of Nossa Senhora da Abadia, the oldest sanctuary in Portugal. In a small store beside the church, you can purchase Milagros, wax forms of parts of the body. Inside the cathedral, stairs on either the side of the altar lead to an ancient carved wooden statue of the Virgin. She is located high above the altar, where often in a Catholic Church, one sees the form of the crucified Christ. Standing there before Nossa Senhora da Abadia, one can pray, make an offering, and place the Milagros. Leaving the cathedral, we ascended a path beside a waterfall through woods, and climbed to the top of the knoll where the miracle occurred. While at this sanctuary, busses loaded with visitors arrived. The village of Sta. Maria do Bouro near the sanctuary provided lunch and a walk on narrow cobbled streets. We returned home as the clouds thickened, the air cooled and rain began to fall. The remainder of the afternoon and evening a heavy rain persisted, and we enjoyed shelter from the weather. During the night, I opened the bedroom door to invite in cool air. A cloud blew in, scattering miniature droplets over bare skin. In the morning light rivulets ran down the glass wall, and water sounds were everywhere. Forms were indistinct and the sky so low it touched the cornfields and pressed against the roofs of houses. We packed our bags, said "tchau"  to Casa do Fragão, and dropped down out of the clouds heading for the sea!

Year's End

Appetite

Pale gold and crumbling with crust 

mottled dark, almost bronze,

pieces of honeycomb lie on a plate.

Flecked with the pale paper

of hive, their hexagonal cells

leak into the deepening pool

of amber. On your lips,

against palate, tooth and tongue,

the viscous sugar squeezes

from its chambers, sears sweetness

into your throat until you chew

pulp and wax from a blue city

of bees. Between your teeth

is the blown flower and the flower's

seed. Passport pages stamped

and turning. Death's officious hum.

Both the candle and its anther

of flame. Your own yellow hunger.

Never say you can't take

this world into your mouth.

 

By Paulann Petersen        

 

Source: Poetry (July 2001).

California's Feather River

Bobelaine Audubon Sanctuary

A walk in a wildlife sanctuary alongside the Feather River just north of Sacramento yielded bird life and views. We saw a Great Blue Heron, raptors floating overhead in a clear winter sky, Turkey Vultures circling, and smaller birdlife in the brush and shrubs. California Oaks and stands of white barked trees reflected the sunlight. The air was dry and along the path there were deer and coyote tracks in the sandy loam. This 430 acre area is a small remnant of the riparian forests that once existed for miles on either side of the rivers in the Great Central Valley of California.   







Each Day

Morning Blessing

Every day look on the world with wide and grateful eyes.

Every day allow yourself to be touched with delight. 

Let go of what is harsh and harmful.

Remember each day's good.

Speak carefully and with kindness always.

Celebrate the particular mystery and intent of each day.

Offer your unique gifts. The world needs them.

Manifest the peace that is possible every day.

Love with awareness, wholeheartedly.

Each day bow and bless,

Forgive and love,

Surrender and praise.

Based on a reading by Mary Harrington

Pears

"Through All That Happens"  

Rilke

Letters to a Young Poet

As you unfold as an artist, just keep on, quietly and earnestly, growing through all that happens to you. You cannot disrupt this process more violently than by looking outside yourself for answers that may only be found by attending to your innermost feeling.