I live and write on Lingít Aaní, and gratefully acknowledge the past, present and future caretakers of this beautiful place, the Jilkaat Kwaan and Jilkoot Kwaan.

From Mary Oliver’s poem “Invitation”:

“…it is a serious thing

just to be alive

on this fresh morning

in this broken world.

I beg of you,

do not walk by

without pausing

to attend this

rather ridiculous performance…”

Dec 15. 10 am on the Chilkat Beach. 33 degrees. clear sky, a few light clouds, calm, low tide. Look south and everything is golden, look north and it’s all blue. Wonderful. Glorious. Everlasting. (Yes, sing the “Hallelujah!” chorus if you want to.)

We couldn’t stop smiling, and exclaiming on everything we saw. What a morning. What a day. Finally! (That’s the way isn’t it? We owe today’s joy to all  that horrible weather. It’s funny how quickly we forget isn’t it? Or maybe this is providence.)

The sand was smoother– and so clean–

The reflections–

An old beam from some busted up pier became a Van Gogh–

And remember that stump? It was heaved up on the ledge and covered in sticks. It was hiding so well up there, that the little widget inside this computer won’t let me post the picture I took of it. How weird is that? Is it a message from someone? About something? Yesterday I did read about spirit guides, and how to tell if one is trying to talk to you without visiting a clairvoyant (it was a dark day. The kind that makes you think about the end of the world.) Anyway, the writer said you will know that hunch, or voice, or whatever you call it is real, when it tells you that you are doing a good job and, “to bring an umbrella.”

An umbrella?

I guess I was hoping for something a little bigger.

And now the stump is hiding.

I wish I were more like Mary Oliver so I could tell you that  I solved the mystery of the shy stump, or  that I had all day to think about it. I want to be more mindful, I really do. But I have stuff to do– like practice the alto part for tomorrow’s Messiah concert by singing along with YouTube while I bake cookies for the library sale. (I hope I don’t burn them.)

And Yes. I know. I am lucky. And so very grateful for clear skies, and for this ridiculous performance called life.