Karinaland River

  Seeds Pointing to a Possible Future for Next Generations   sweet pea seeds securely nestled in their pods   The last few sweet pea flowers are straggling along in my now dry, mostly un-watered garden. I am just about to wrap up harvesting their seeds. I love this ritual: waiting for green pods to turn brown and brittle, collecting from various spots, splitting them open, the tactile joy of teasing the firm seeds out of their shell. Filling my old metal jar. The irregular round seeds rattle and roll with a satisfying tune – riches in my hand. I got plenty, offering some as gifts to friends. Come winter rains, I push the seeds in the wet ground. Of course, the sweet pea vines have been reseeding all along.      sweet pea flowers with   their intensely floral and slightly sweet fragrance Left in the hot sun, the pods split, curling into spirals. The pods’ spiraling force propels the seeds out into the world. I marvel how flowers have been our first little women engineers. A clever and s

Once shiny     Maybe 15 years ago, a Lizard with glittering stones was gifted to me by a friend visiting my garden. Many times,  Lizard  has been knocked off the deck’s railing by the squirrels. Now  Lizard  is resting and sun bathing on the small wooden bench at my Kassandra cottage. Its tail and both hind feet got broken over the years.  Lizard  keeps surviving, regrowing its tail, blending evermore so into  Karinaland .    happy  Lizard  dreaming     Over the years, losing its shine and jewels,  Lizard  has gained in other ways. Grown over with lichen, it becomes most interesting and unique – beautiful. More hawks around, less squirrels and their mischief, hotter burning sun and ferocious winter rains, penetrating summer fog and the invisible crawl of time, all are allowing  Lizard  to make itself truly at home in  Karinaland . Once sparkling, it is now camouflaged, unseen by birds of prey.     Kassandra cottage     Gazing at  Lizard  adoringly, I experience a form of elation. What

Ocean Mist's Secrets     My old friend the whale head bone     Yesterday at the beach – a glorious feast of light. First sun, then many shades of grey are starting to lodge themselves into the minutely shifting landscape. Ocean, clouds, seaweed, sand, dunes, fog, mist. Within this play the seagulls, sandpipers, pelicans, geese, all creatures, even humans,  are included . The rhythm of change, ebbing and flowing, strong waves cresting and crashing. A thick soundscape, soothing with its improvised as well as repetitious melody, sometimes pierced by cries. Encountering the elements of life and death, I keep walking on... eventually merged with fog and ocean spray – all is misting my being…     pigeon guillemot   Once in a while strong, but fleeting, sunrays peak through, and vivid colors infuse the scene with bright blues, browns, greens. My bare feet find their steady rhythm on varying sand surfaces, soft, firm, wet, submerged by water, every so often my soles seek out the delicious

  Practicing the Silence of Spaciousness    The weight of light falling into the garden, and upon my bedroom cottage, is surprising – and exposing. My missing big Mama Oak lives on in her roots. Heaps of sawdust where she once resided, her generosity still palpable, it always will be. She and nature keep gifting, keep changing. The Unknowable is present. The silence of spaciousness – delicate, and intricate.   Out of nowhere, David sends me a photo from his shop. First rough bowl, he writes. It is cut from Mama Oak’s wood he has picked up five days earlier on July 6.  A rough draft that stills needs to cure for a few months till it can be fully sculpted.  In eine Schale . By nature, a bowl is empty. Within its emptiness, space is hiding… waiting...  the mystery still to be unraveled.     The wood of Mama Oak being prepped, many bowls in the waiting…     Visiting David’s efficiently, safely, and beautifully outfitted woodshop, I learn a lot from him. He has been a wood worker all his li