Little Miracles

Lately, I’ve been focusing on the joys in everyday life.   When you open yourself to this, you realize blessings are absolutely everywhere!  

On November 1st, a Brown Eyed Susan (flower) appeared in our yard which hadn’t been there before.  It just showed up, like a little tiny miracle.

Based on the date, I knew our little friend wouldn’t be around for long, and wasn’t in ideal conditions. But there she was, as bright and beautiful as ever, being amazing. We could learn a lot from that little flower.

I took a drive down the road Saturday afternoon to the local apple orchard. They have lots of horses, and it was a delightful autumn day. For once, I, who tend to prefer to stay to myself, enjoyed chatting with and greeting the strangers I met. The apples are crisp and delicious!

Yesterday was Sunday, and I had a chance to go to Broad Meadow Brook Wildlife Sanctuary in Worcester. It was delightful walking the trails,  listening to all the birds and enjoying some fresh air. Perfect in all seasons.

We tend to be lucky in that regard in this area. I can acrss so many beautiful natural places to enjoy. I enjoy going to Purgatory Chasm State Park, Mill Village Park, the Millbury / Worcester Bike Path and many many others. I have always been able to center myself, and find a place of calm by spending time in nature.

This morning, I put together a beef and barley soup in the crockpot, so that it can simmer today and Rob and I can have it for lunches the rest of the week. Cutting up the carrots and cubing the beef, stirring everything together… It’s very easy to get lost in “getting it done“. But I stopped and took a few deep breaths and enjoyed the meditative process of just putting together some food for my family. It’s a physical and mental state that I have always wanted to be in far more.

Reading and writing poetry at the end of the day, and meditating, which Jack the kitty joins me for sometimes, is another favorite part of my day. It never ceases to be a sweet, life-giving moment.

My 81 year old mom lives next door with my brother.  He and I take turns tag teaming all the things that need doing. So many of my friends have already said goodbye to both of their parents, and my dad has been gone for some time. Sometimes it’s a lot, but there are so many everyday little miracles in the laughs and smiles and hugs that we get with our mom, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I have this practice called “10 things.” Anytime I start to get stressed out or upset, I find 10 things that I’m thankful for. Inevitably it doesn’t fix the fact that something is happening that needs addressing, or maybe something has gone awry. What it does do is put me back into a space of gratitude, and my mind is freed up to just think more creatively and be in the moment instead of getting hysterical, which doesn’t help anything. Being in touch with everyday miracles is a huge part of finding your center, and I highly recommend it.

It’s a wonderful way to train your brain out of the fight or flight that acts the same for a late bill as it does for a tiger trying to eat you! 

Ancient Stones

Sitting on a giant rock, in the woods.

It’s been here since the Ice Age, they say, like all the stones here.

I find comfort in this ancient place. It was here before we were, and it will be here when we’re gone.

And there are times when that is the only thing that makes sense to me in all of the universe.

Dancing

A dancing leaf

In the gentle breeze

Held invisibly

By gossamer threads

Perhaps left

By a weaver of webs

The leaf has no agenda

As it dances

And, as I watch it

I find, neither do I

In Whose Image?

There’s no denying autumn here, many leaves have already fallen and many others are turning. This is happening earlier every year.

Of course, that’s our fault. September has become an extension of summer. 

Here, the trees roots are in the Earth. Dozens of species of plants and animals with mutually beneficial, endlessly overlapping, symbiotic relationships thrive here, mostly undisturbed. 

Of course, we don’t see most of that. If something can’t be explained in anthropomorphic terms, it’s invisible, or if we do see it, we decide it’s not important. We are not rooted in Mother Earth. We walk on the Earth like we’re walking down a fashion runway, or like little kings and queens greeting their subjects, expecting to be served. 

We think that we are so far above the life in places like this. Created in God’s image? Really? We are blasphemous, disgusting warts, a pox on this planet. 

Nothing that treats the earth the way we do and uses our intelligence as poorly as we do can claim any connection with any life-giving force.

Humans are created in gods image? Not likely. More like we’ve created him in our own image, and then placed the force of creation in a little shoebox trying to define it in terms we are comfortable with, terms that reflect us. 

Until you can sit in a place like this, drop your preconceived notions and see what creation really is, and really does will you ever know anything about creation or life or holiness for that matter. 

No. I’m no brilliant one, no guru. I’m just a girl who sits in the woods. You should try it sometime. 

*Written at Purgatory Chasm State Park, Sutton MA

Sittin’ On Earl’s Bench

There’s a fern by the wall

With her bright green hue

And the sweet pink roses

Are still going strong too 

Mugwort dwells in the corner ‘round the side

Doing as she pleases 

With no need to hide 

The burning bush up front 

Just beginning to get some red 

Causing my summer loving friends to feel some dread

Crow and Blue Jay mouthing off 

But you won’t find me needing to scoff

Warm in the sun

Cool in the shade 

September is beautiful 

Today I wouldn’t trade

Cars going by 

Since I don’t live in the woods 

Although quite frequently 

I feel like I should 

Sitting on this bench 

In my own little space 

It may not be a palace 

But it puts a smile on my face

Chilly Night In The Neighborhood

The air has that early fall crispness 

The land anchors life 

The trees, perfection in liminality

Some of these houses 

Here for more than a hundred years 

Smiling spirits 

They’ve witnessed a thing or two

Time itself 

We cling to it’s structure 

Yet it doesn’t exist 

All that has been 

Is, still and always 

Energy never dies, it simply changes shape 

Essence and truth 

The pulse within

It’s all available to you 

The library of the Universe 

Hoodie and a hot tea

Hands around the mug

Continuity 

Life

The Neighborhood? 

It’s bigger than you thought 

Chilly night in the neighborhood 

History, Books and Me

I have always had a very strong affinity for history and nature. I feel safe, connected and inspired either out in nature or in old historical buildings.

Libraries are my very favorite place. Especially little town libraries that have been kept up for the last 150 years or so. It gives my heart so much joy to see these buildings being cared for and retained as an important part of the community.

Born on the cusp of the beginning of Gen X, I came of age at a time when Reaganomics opened the door to the life that we are all living now. Productivity and getting ahead in life was how you proved your worth and your permission to be on the planet.

I have always been someone who is far more on the creative side than the logical side.(Despite my huge affinity for a certain pointy eared first officer on Star Trek) I’ve never been the girl who was good at assembly lines, rushing, multitasking, putting out as many cogs per hour as possible to prove your worth. Yet, ironically… It’s pretty much how I’ve made my living since 1982.

What am I drawn to? Quiet, peace, books and reading, taking care of my home. Time in nature. Genealogy. History, especially the history of New England. 

For me, slow, peaceful, quiet, well ordered, simple, and understated are life giving and good.

Rushing, loudness, boisterousness, partying, excessive focus on productivity, disorder… To me these things are uncivilized, draining, disgusting and bad.

More irony. As a disabled person in the workforce with responsibility for several elderly and disabled relatives, I have never been able to build a life based on the things that I consider life-giving and good. it isn’t really anyone’s fault, and heaven knows it’s not from a lack of trying. It’s just how things ended up.

As a result, as an adult, the world has never been a safe place for me. I know dozens of people who feel like this, the moment one of us finds someone else like us, we have these quiet conversations and admit these things are true.

To bring it back around to history, and libraries. I think of all of the work that went in to our forefathers making sure that each little town here in New England had a library.  In most cases there was one person who donated the library, or few concerns citizens who made sure that it happened.

I love walking through libraries, museums, cemeteries, old bookstores, historic old buildings. I love driving through neighborhoods where the houses are over 100 years old. I have always felt like a transplant from another century, because this one has always been much too harsh and much too quick for me. I long to return to a time when things were done in a more thoughtful manner, and where something other than profit ruled.

Sometimes it feels like too many people these days forget the work that went into things that we take for granted. Things like the library in your town. But more than that, a majority of our ancestors did very hard work with their hands. We are here because of that work. and sometimes when you get a generation or two who have not had to do that kind of work, it feels like maybe we forget - well I haven’t.

So this morning, I will sit in the library till it’s time to go home for lunch before my work shift. I will absorb the vibes in this place and feel comforted being surrounded by books. A place with books in it will always be a good place to me. Every single book is a different world. A place like this is like a portal to everything you could possibly imagine. It feels like safety, it feels like civilization, it feels like goodness, it feels like good sense, it feels like happiness.

The Cat

Every morning

The cat

Through careful observation 

Of his chosen human 

Comes to sit on her lap 

For 15 minutes before the day’s activities begin 

With head butts and snuggles 

Purrs and synchronized heartbeats 

He reminds her 

Of her Center 

And to breathe slowly 

Muscles that had begun to contract 

And thoughts to race 

Stop their ascent 

Fight or flight forgotten 

She breathes, grateful 

Eyes closed 

And returns his blessing 

With a kiss between his ears 

He gets up 

Returns to birdwatching 

At the window 

And the day begins

Poet Always, Poet Forever

 I stacked my books 

Of algebra and biology

For the last time

Not continuing on, as the others 

Come look, they all urged me

You must make plans 

But there was sunshine and warm sand, so I shrugged 

It was a perfect beach day 

A few years later

Walking the long hallways

High heels making that satisfying 

Clickity clack

Faster, they said

I stared at them, puzzled 

The way the cat does when he can't understand what I'm doing  

I went to the cafeteria and created a mocha coffee 

Being rather pleased with myself I must say  

Sitting on the floor, playing with my sons

Asking their opinions

You're doing it wrong, I kept hearing 

Everyone had thoughts on how it was to be done 

I broke eye contact with them and returned to our game 

Often, I searched

Who would have tea, and discuss books 

And the call of the Red Winged Blackbird 

Sometimes, they would stop for a little while 

And it was good 

Soon, they would have to go

And I would make more tea 

Sitting out front with my roses

Listening to the Robins and Sparrows

I arranged my memere's glassware 

Just so

And dusted my mother-in-law's pretty bowl 

I thought of them

Their stories alive in me as I worked 

Why does she do that

Their eyes would say 

She'd have more space

If these old things were gone 

I just smiled 

And kept dusting the treasures

Always and forever

The poet knows

Just who and what they are 

To an extent

We are other

We watch

We immerse ourselves

Finding the keys to the Universe

In the tiny design on an old teacup

Or in the ladybug

Landing on our hand

We dip our toes into your world

That values productivity above all else 

Because shelter, food, and health care 

It drains us 

So we come back to the poems

To our notebooks and cups of hot tea 

And the pretty chimes mom gave us 

Swaying in the spring breeze 

A poet is always a poet 

Thank all that is good in creation for that 

OK, So maybe I'm an alto now?

 I've always loved music, and it has been a large part of my life since I was a little one. Whether it was lying across the back seat of my dad's car singing along with the radio, or singing as our music teacher Miss Maynard taught us songs in first grade, music has always been close to my heart.

In High School, I made the decision to take chorus as a class. The longtime music teacher had just left, and a new guy, Josef Konkol had just started.

I was a shy kid in High School, so I didn't try out for any solos or any starring roles in the musicals. But, oh, what a GREAT time I had.  Between our chorus class, concerts and musicals, I was able to really expand the types of music I was exposed to.  

(No offense to dad's Merle Haggard or mom's Roger Whittaker, ha ha)

I was a soprano in those days, and that suited me just fine.  I was always harmonizing with songs when I sang along with the radio, and chorally I found that we often had the harmony part.  I loved it! "Mr. K" as we quickly dubbed him showed us that music was a vast expanse, and there was much to love about it. 

I was a tad "fish out of water" occasionally.  The Class of '82 was definitely not short on talent, if I may say.  I felt like I was surrounded by superstars, and it was a tad intimidating. But it never stopped me, my uber talented classmates were amazing to watch and I could only be happy for them.

Being in the chorus for the musical all 4 years of High School was wonderful.  Hanging around in the auditorium for rehearsals for weeks on end and going to DQ as a cast and crew were heaven to me and seeing all the behind-the-scenes details of how a production was put together was unbelievable. 

To this day, I have a love for Broadway music, and so very much more.  So many things are a part of my life because of what you taught us. Thanks, Mr. K. 

Chorus at school gave me the confidence to sing in the church choir, our director was named Laurie Cetto. (I could be spelling that wrong.)  She was amazing, and I loved being in the choir. That was my first experience singing along with guitar.  One of the priests at Holy Rosary, Father Denis Cote, also played guitar and sang. Denis was a good soul, and he made a huge difference.  May he Rest In Peace. 

In between Chorus and Choir, I was listening to Wings Over America by Paul McCartney and Wings. I played that album over and over. I loved the Bee Gees, little brother Andy Gibb and John Denver. John Denver had actual thoughts on how we should be treating our little planet, and he impressed me so much. I was so sad later when we lost him.  I also liked Barry Manilow, Styx and REO Speedwagon.

Later, in the "Search" and "TEC" programs in Youth Ministry, I very much enjoyed singing along with my guitar playing friends. It just felt so good.

When my kiddos were little, I raised them with Rock n Roll.  We listened to Tom Petty& The Heartbreakers, Beatles, McCartney's Flaming Pie, Zep and a few others.  I always sang along in the car and it was just something we did together. We saw some concerts as a family, like Tom Petty, and some others with just my sons and I in various combinations. 

Somewhere along the line, things got challenging.  Just life, you know?  I stopped singing. I didn't belong to any local groups for singing. I stopped listening in the car, didn't even really listen while I worked when "work from home" happened later. Music just wasn't important in my life anymore. 

Long story short, which I can blog about another day, I came to understand that I have a deep sensitivity to being exposed to too much mental, visual and auditory stimuli all at once. I get super overwhelmed, and it can shut me down. It causes a great deal of anxiety. I'm getting much better at self-care and I have far better tactics to be able to care for myself in effective ways, so I don't get quite as overwhelmed these days.  There could definitely be a missed diagnosis in there somewhere, but like I said, that's a story for another day.

The wonderful part about taking proper care of myself is that music is creeping back into my life. I always play it when I'm on my fitness walks, and sometimes while I work. I'm following new work coming out by bands and artists I like. 

And....I'm singing again.  It started in the car.  Because where else can you belt it out and sound like a dying cow and no one can hear you?!  That was as far as it's gotten.

Until today. 

I went to services at UUSGU today. I joined this vibrant and wonderful community a few years ago, and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I have to give a shout out to Barry Hall and Bob Nicoll who led our music when I first joined. The music you shared and led us in were a huge part of my feeling comfortable at UUSGU and wanting to keep coming back to try another service so many times. Blessings to you both.  

Our current music director, Lisa Utzig is just brilliant. So many times, since she has joined us I have found myself listening to her at the piano and just being taken to another place.  It's been a while since that happened, I must admit. Thank you for that, Lisa.

And so, that brings us to today. The songs we had on tap at service this morning were just perfect and brought forward so much of what we were discussing at service.  I was really feeling inspired and wanted so much to sing, like I did in the old days.  I was nervous, thinking I probably sound horrible. 

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, at least based on the fact that nobody turned around and stared at me!  Maybe I sound ok, maybe I don't.  Maybe I'm choir material. Perhaps I sound terrible.  If I can ever get off this 1:30 to 9:00 (pm) shift maybe I'll call Lisa, join our choir and we will find out. 

One thing is certain. I am NOT a soprano anymore!  Age will do that to you.  So, today I took it down the octave and it was mostly comfortable. No one but me knew I hadn't really been singing for so many years now.  Nobody knew I was taking a chance and returning to an old love. 

But I knew.  And it was nice. Really nice. 

Ordinary?

 Today feels like a poem.  I suppose they all do, since poems are always knocking on the inside of my noggin and I'm like "I'm WORKING, not NOW!"  Have I told you that poems are pushy?  Like your cat at 6 AM wanting food, they're sort of something you love but sometimes you want it to shut up and let you have a cup of coffee first, you know? 

But, I digress...

Today, I was NOT into it.  It? Just the day. Showering, dressing, going out into the world, talking to other humans, all of it.  It's the end of the summer, and so this funk I am in is primarily based on "crunchy bones hate summer so when will my life-giving autumn weather get here, it's been months of this unmitigated crap."  

 I showered and dressed anyway.  Today was water communion service at UUSGU and I WANTED to be excited, you know?  I found a reasonably presentable outfit, which is getting easier since I've lost 31 pounds so far.  Before I joined WW, I had more butt than pants, if I'm being honest. 

So, what's Water Communion?  This is where we bring a small amount of water from a place that is special to us.  During the service, we bring our water forward and pour them together in one large bowl.  I didn't have a chance to get water from anywhere special to me, between work and helping the relatives.  

Then I remembered my ritual water in the basement refrigerator.  I have combined two practices into one which I especially love.  The first is "Blue Solar Water" which is a tradition which I believe comes from Hawaii. You take a blue bottle with a plastic cover or cork.  Fill the bottle with the water of your choice.  I used plain Millbury tap water.  Leave the bottle out in the sun for one hour.   Once this is done, I put the bottle in the refrigerator.  On the night of the full moon, I put the bottle outside again, overnight, and in the morning I take it inside and refrigerate it again. 

I use the water to drink, water the plants, or anything else I'd normally do with water.  I love thinking of the sacred, peaceful energy of night, with the watchful moon overhead, coupled with the bright, dynamic energy of the sun combined in the water.  It reminds me that we are all part of this earth, this cosmos and we're all made of the same star stuff.  It helps me stay balanced.  Using this water feels like a blessing that says "May we all be well, may we all be healthy, may we all be safe, happy and taken care of."  

So, this was the water I shared.  Mundane, plain Millbury tap water.  But with the blessings of the Moon and the Sun.  Isn't that life, though, the mundane and the Divine intertwined?  I love it.  We are the magic, if we choose to be. 

I loved hearing about all of the beautiful places everyone else brought their water from!  At the end Reverend Daniel did a blessing of the backpacks, purses, etc for everyone using our combined water.  What wonderful blessings for us all as we transition from the slower pace of summer to all the doings of the "Ber Months." 

I loved Cherilyn's story today, and Caroline's embodied prayer.  

Because my body was so cranky this morning from the soupy weather, I was pretty low energy during our service.  When it was time to sing a few times during the service, Kate Gregoire and little Grace came to stand with me.  I held the songbook, and Kate held Grace.  These simple little moments were some of my favorites during the service today.  Kate has a wonderful singing voice, and looking at baby Grace was just beyond sweet. It was like being sprinkled with fairy dust, and I felt a lot better! 

So, overall, an ordinary day.  Hubby is upstairs watching football (truthfully, he's asleep in the recliner) because 'tis the season, you know.  Our sons are sharing coffee and conversation in the dining room which is their Sunday thing. And I'm in my sweet little Sanctuary room in the basement, catching up on some writing.  

Sometimes, ordinary is quite magical, indeed. 

Blessings for a great week, everyone. 

Forest Moments

 Red dragonflies dart just above the surface of the water, while endless birds swirl and dive, darting back and forth above the little pond.  Is that a tadpole swimming there?  

I feel at peace in places like this.  The structure and pace of our society has always seemed so bizarre, so harsh to me, and so I come to the forest.  

The tall ones will teach you, but you must learn to shut up, both internally and externally.  For just a few moments, stop being the center of your own attention.  Inhale the sweet earthy scent. Simply breathe, slowly.  How often do you actually fill your lungs, and breathe slowly?  Most of us pass our days taking shallow breaths, like a golden retriever out in the sun too long.  Enjoy the air, and just watch the wind play in the trees.  

I place my hand on one of the ancient stone monoliths left here during the ice age.   Their presence here is comforting.  They are far too huge for the developers to move, and so I tell myself they will never come here and pave over this place.  

Are places like this our Mother's last stand, places where it's too hard to make a profit?  I'm getting upset.  Just for this moment, I put it all aside.  I leave my hand on the huge stone before me.  Just stand and breathe.  

You have been here since the Ice Age.  You will be here long after me.  My heart is at peace in this knowledge.  Your wisdom is far beyond us.  

I sit for a very long time, enjoying the breeze, the trees, the animals and the stones. I am returned to center and I am myself once again.  

I will always come here. 

To Scoff Is To Shrink

 One who scoffs

At the ways of another

Makes himself small 

Showing himself a weakling

Only in opening 

Allowing the difference 

Can he show his strength

What causes you to react 

When another lives their life

Not bothering you

It has no effect on you

Mind your own yard

Tend your own affairs 

Lest you discover 

While you stared and pointed at another

Your own life lies in ruin 

Quality Of Attention

 A successful day

Is not in things going perfectly

No, instead it is in 

A certain quality of attention

This makes all the difference

One you know 

It's all in how you PLAY your hand 

Not in the actual cards you're dealt

Then, oh then

You get to the good stuff 

So, yes, 

I would say 

A certain quality of attention

Makes all the difference

The Remaking

 This goes well beyond

Adapting to change or learning lessons

That which most avoid 

And destroy themselves running from

Is child's play for her 

Beyond words

Gone the familiar concepts

Taking Will, Choice and Consequence

Creation and Wyrd

To a new place 

Divestiture, shedding, rebirth

Some see an angel in white 

Others a revenant 

She's not even looking at them

She thought it was almost over 

But no

This is just the beginning 

Woman

 (Written July 18, 2023, a meditation on the role of woman through the ages)

Handing over your power

So used to it

I mean, that's part of what's so funny

He can't even carry that shit anymore

He tightens his grip 

As his hands turn to stone 

All he has held so long

Runs through his fingers like so much sand

Let's give a new meaning to corridors of power, shall we?

Everyone wants you, needs you

To possess you, or to BE you

And you just keep handing it over 

You give from yourself until you're empty

When You have access to IT ALL

The reversed pyramid

It's everything you know, to ALL OF THEM

Woman giveth, and woman taketh away

The endless thread is woven through the ages

We are the mystics, the river that flows 

We are the gateway 

So, stand well back

Have some respect 

You have no concept of our power

True North

 (Written July 18, 2023)

Yeah, we have attitude

Sarcasm, even venom

That's our wall 

Don't suggest it's weakness

We'll likely take your head off 

The stories are deep here, make no mistake

But they don't drip like syrup 

And run through our blood

Oh no, not here

They crystallize in our cells

We breathe them out 

Like when your breath turns to ice in winter

When the air runs out 

We walk on, stone faced 

The horrible and the beautiful 

All at once, it's all here 

Just don't ask most of us to talk about it 

Cold Ashes

 (Originally written March 2023)

Some days

You drag it through

Other days 

You grind it out 

Finding your groove

That's when the world gets uncomfortable

But, you know what?

You spend your lives hiding

From reality, from each other

From yourselves

I'd rather live in the sun

Fly into the night

And face my own soul

Rather than be a bowl of cold ashes 

No conviction 

Eyes

Some look at the world with open eyes

Others prefer them closed

Mine are open

It's not always easy 

But I'd never go back  

Mirror Mirror

 You can't just go through life seeking validation.

When your sense of being OK comes from outside of you, you'll always find two things; a belligerent twit to insist you're wrong, and a sycophant to kiss your ass and tell you you're right. 

Treat them both with respect and compassion, but don't listen to either one.

You're the one who has to look at yourself in the mirror. 

Get OK with yourself, and the right ones will stick around.

The Photo

 I saw an old photo in an antique shop, taken a hundred years ago, of an old man and a little boy, walking.

They are in a small, picturesque town, walking the road. The town is on their left, and a river is on the right. 

I can FEEL them, as if they were here now, as if I knew them. They're going fishing, and I can feel the little boy's excitement. 

I get this a lot.  I look at something from the past and experience the same thing as I do when I'm talking to live people who are right in front of me. 

I've seen some write about this type of experience as if it's scary and they ask how they can "turn it off."  What an odd question.  For the majority of people, it IS turned off.  

For me, it just IS. 

Night In The Forest

 

(Originally written 12/28/2022)

The velvet night was deep. There were no sounds of people talking, or cars driving by.  There was only the Holy stillness.  The moon in the sky shone through the clouds that moved across the sky. 

Owl sat high up in the ancient White Oak, her good friend.  He had seen much in the time that so many humans had come and go. 

Many nights Owl and White Oak spent together in this way.  Owl would take a meal sometimes and enjoy it in Oak's strong branches.  Oak would share the news he learned through his network of roots, communicating with the other trees.

On this very still night, Owl perched in her usual spot, high up in White Oak's branches.  She began hearing animal sounds getting closer, it was a large animal!

Soon her keen hearing and eyesight told her who approached, it was Old Bear. As he approached the tree, Owl made her way to a lower branch.

"Greetings, my friend!  It is ever so good to see you!  My heart is glad for you every day, and I think of you often!"  Said Owl.  Bear looked up at Owl and smiled, his huge teeth showing, saying "Flattery will get you everywhere."  And they both laughed. 

They spent an hour or so thus, enjoying talk of their days and remembering old times. 

Finally, Old Bear said he grew tired.  Owl had noticed that her friend moved a bit more slowly, and some grey fur had appeared around his muzzle.  Owl herself had to admit that she avoided the very longest of flights these days.  It happened to them all.  

"Ah, yes, Old Bear, I too am ready to retire and enjoy a good rest. Sleep well, my beautiful, grumbly friend, and we shall see one another again, Creator willing." Owl replied.

Bear smiled up at Owl. "You are ever in my heart, Owl. Be well, as you bring your messages to those who would hear."

With that, Bear walked into the deepest part of the forest. 

Owl stayed with White Oak a bit longer, then she bid him farewell, too.  Dawn approached and she was ready for a rest.  As Owl flew off to her secret home, White Oak stood as always. Yes, all things change.  The Tall Ones understood this well.  A day would come when Old Bear's spirit would leave his body, and Owl and Oak would miss him dearly.  Owl, too would fly beyond her body, eventually, and her nightly visits with White Oak would be no more.  Even Oak would die, although it would take far longer, if no humans interfered.  But he knew his essence would continue with all of the other Tall Ones, his stories safe with them, as was their way. 

When he did die, he knew that the spirits of Owl and Old Bear and all of his friends who were no longer living would be there, too, for he knew that energy never stops, it simply changes shape. And, the essence of the lives they lived, here in the forest, was a part of the life pulse of this place. In this way, they were always remembered in those who still lived.