In the days of my ancestors...
the
most joyous time had to be at the end of the Long Count, the marking of the
days from the first deep cold to that of the first greening. During the days
preceding what we now call "Spring," was a time of rationed meals,
bitter cold and short days.
It was the Way of Elders.
Here in the little Rocky Fork Creek
valley, a narrow meandering water shot between two hill crests hundreds of feet above, and less
than two hundred feet wide, the sun rises late and retires early.
Here in our
solitude we can watch the seasons change slowly.
"Behold,
my friends, the spring is come;
the
earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun,
and
we shall soon see the results of their love!"
-
Sitting Bull, Lakota Spiritual Leader
The artist in me begs to paint an
image of this change that is happening for you.
No burst of color, only the steadfast
creep of softness. Spring starts first at the ridge tops where the mighty oaks
stand like warriors defending another time, limbs bare except for the haze of
rust colored buds at each tiny branch tip. The stark grandeur of the winter forest
with its skeletal shaped of black against the grey winter sky slowly gives way
in this first softening.
Each morning as I sit on my front
porch, I see the watercolor pallet of spring being washed downward onto the
hillside. Smudges of pastel greens tell of the maples awakening and the soft
yellows, and the sudden sharp verdant of
conifers stand out as harbingers of lushness to come.
In
the Spring,
I have counted 136 different kinds
of weather inside of 24 hours.
-
Mark twain
The warm breeze wafts smells of new
growth and warmed earth, replacing the
winter mold that had engulfed this valley. Now clouds, bright white puffs in a
field of welcome blue form, to be quickly replaced with scudding black and grey
forms that bring forth the life-spring of water, drenching tree, ground and
animal alike in the first bath of the new year. Soon to be hurried away by
strong winds, and the azure canopy returns.
The bare ground is being reclaimed,
one leaf and blade at a time. Early seed heads on plants I know not, ready
their bounty for the birds and animals. Snow Whites and Daffodils float above their
swords of strong green, while first shoots of red-brown leaflets of the beloved
peonies reach towards the heavens. There is color all about, soft pastel colors,
perfect for this springtime.
This week I have counted tens of
species of birds returned to our feeders. The brilliant Cardinals, and their
cousins the Jays, wing in from the surrounding forest. The woodpeckers… Harry, Downey,
Redhead and the “wood hen” Pileateds all find the feast awaiting.
Several varieties of Sparrows, Wrens, Chickadees, Towhees, and Goldfinches now shedding
their winter green for the blaze yellow have arrived.
The last couple of days Bluebirds have
come to reclaim their nesting boxes in the neighbor’s yard, across the main
road that dissects this place, our home. Doves with their pulsing voices, dance
about, below the feeder among the small birds, sorting the seed fallen to the
ground.
Now the Cowbirds, Grackles,
Starlings and crows with their ravenous swarms flutter about the seed and suet.
All the while several resident Buzzards ply their routes through the valley in search
of the less fortunate animals. An occasional Coopers Hawk will kite about and
the ever magnificent Red Tail lofting carelessly above. Even a Great Blue Herron
winged down the valley, its long legs dangling behind like ribbons of cloth.
Just about now, the twitter-pated
dancing and singing will start. Nesting and brooding to follow.
I had always planned to make a large painting of the early spring,
when the first leaves are at the bottom of the trees,
and they seem to float in space in a wonderful way.
But the arrival of spring can't be done in one picture.
– David Hockney
This wonderful valley is now alive
all the day, with its cacophony of song and color. Nights are a mix of brilliant
indigo sky pierced with millions of tiny bright holes punched in its roof by
Grandmother Hummingbird, while the dark grey shapes of plant and animal enclose
us in their shadowy warmth. But there is no silence at night. The peepers and
deep voices compete with the night bird songs for your delight, while the
gentle breeze swishes musically through the invisible fingerlet branches about.
Add my beloved girlfriend and wife
of these last fifty years, my elder brother, and our families and good
neighbors…
I live in paradise.
This is my home this spring.
These are my Blessings, unearned, I
receive daily.
This is why my Pot of Life remains
filled to overflowing.
I pray that you have enjoyed this painting created just for you, my beloved friends,
And that a thought recalled, or
smile felt will fill your Pot of Life this day also…
Megwich!
Walk in Balance
Jim Great Elk Waters
©2013
One
of the most common questions I receive is “Jack, how do you get so much
done?” It’s a fair question, considering I’ve written 150 books,
deliver an average of 50 live presentations around the world each year,
invest a considerable amount of time with my Train the Trainer students,
lead the Transformational Leadership Council, yet still have time to
cultivate an amazing relationship with my wife, spend time with my kids
and close friends, and take excellent care of my health.
