Saturn, Jupiter, Crescent Moon, Satellite Dish


The red maple takes all my front garden and stretches over my neighbor’s; the glorious yellow is down the street. Such wild abundance before the bare months.

I tried to take a picture of the brief snow flurries that greeted us on the way home, but they were too sparse to be photogenic. The sounds of helicopters circling, too, defied documentation.
We offered our loving best energy as we practiced just steps away from the preparations for this ever critically important event.
Several years ago, when I still had a working art studio in my house, the favorite thing to do of a friend’s child when the family came over was to go into the studio to see what I was painting. I had just finished a piece on which I had painted the words, “Sometimes I have nothing to say.” D was five or six at the time — just learning to read full sentences. He chortled delightedly, pointed to the painting, and exclaimed, “I get it! I get it!”
As I have been studying and contemplating yoga philosophy in a group setting recently, I have been thinking about the tension between saying and not saying, the conundrum of yearning to communicate the indescribable, and the countervailing desire just to experience and not to try and describe or communicate.