Author: Katherine J Krein

When I awoke this morning the idea of negative noise came into my head.

This is the best description of how I felt.

I keep seeing images of being behind a waterfall. My physical body is not in the picture.

It’s my spirit there looking out through the flow of water and light.

I’m standing at the entrance of a cave. The roar of the waterfall is so all consuming,

I’ve become deaf to it, and all the noise it cancels out.

I keep contemplating what this means for me, and I’m still undecided.

I shook off all these thoughts, and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast.

Out the window I saw my garden, and I was filled with peace.

I stepped outside and over to the pond. I counted six blooms today.

The heat and moisture clung to me, and reinforced the stillness of this day.

Even my husband’s feral cats were all hiding somewhere in the dark corners of shade

Edging the outer boundaries near the fences.

I went back inside, and ate my breakfast, then shucked all the corn I bought the other day.

I placed them in the steamer, and let the steamer do its job of softening all the kernels.

It will be refrigerated, so we can eat cold corn later in the day.

As the corn was steaming, and the day seemed like it would drag, I experienced my first

Sighting of a hummingbird this summer. It was drinking from the Queen Victoria Cardinal

Flower near the pond. Then it flew away.

I sat down at my breakfast bar feeling happy at what I’d witnessed. When I looked up I was

Somewhat startled to see the hummingbird near the window in front of me.

Inside my head I heard the message: “Where did you go? I was putting on a show for you.”

I grabbed the binoculars and went over to the window and followed its flight.

It landed in one of the Crepe Myrtles and sat there and let me have a good look at it.

Suddenly I remembered; I needed to make more sugar water for the feeder.

Contact and communication was successful.  I found my bag of sugar and measuring cup.

The feeder is now full of a fresh supply. After this encounter,

My spirits rose to meet the day.

Yesterday I took a short day trip to The Great Falls National Park. It’s about fifteen minutes on a late morning drive.

It’s summertime and I’m off work. I went alone. My companions were both working.

The park had lots of visitors, though not overbearingly so. Everyone was friendly. Locals and tourists all looked the same.

I casually took my camera, leaving my tripod and special lenses behind. I wanted to take in the experience as widely as I could. Focused on photography often leaves me with a very narrow memory.

Walking into the woods requires a patience of mind, a willingness to just sit and wait for all the little inhabitants to reveal themselves.

All the fallen logs and branches, weeds, leaves, and wildflowers provide ample places to hide.

I followed a path along a side stream. The water was mostly peaceful with congregations of rocks and boulders creating little dams and mini falls.

Sitting quietly, I saw many little skipper butterflies. Some looked as if they were having foreplay. Damselflies were everywhere. The blue tailed and green tailed were easiest to spot. One with dark black wings kept popping up. One large yellow Swallowtail landed in the mud and probed around.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted movement many times. When I turned to look I saw the royal blue end of a five-lined skink. Three times they got away, too quick for any picture.  I was far too clumsy to capture one.

The only reptile picture I took was of a tiny frog – well camouflaged. Rather than run, he froze.

I had to watch my  watch for my time was limited. Later in the day I had other duties to attend.

I found peace with my short get-away, though my pictures were only mediocre.

Asymmetry surrounds me in my garden, in my home, and before me in my face and body.

Simultaneously there appears to be an underlying level that multiplies it all.

A natural flow that can defy logic is more pleasing to my eye than a predictable pattern that endlessly repeats.

An  unfaltering, unaltered pattern can draw you in and hook you in a loop. Mesmerizing. Hypnotizing.

Native Americans often put a purposeful mistake into their art. I’ve read this is to let the spirit of God in. I’m not sure if this is true.

Mistakes can be entry points to all sorts of things. In education, they are learning opportunities.

As a middle-aged woman my face and body is full of asymmetries. Compared to doll-like perfection, I’m sadly lacking.

Yet, my new perspective fills me with pride in my imperfections. They are my badges of living in the real world. They are the price of life.

Those that strive for perfect beauty begin to cross the line. In my mind, they look uncanny.

Some days I feel like the thread attached to someone else’s needle.

I’m a light-weight thread that periodically slips through the eye.

God’s hand keeps redirecting me back through the center.

My work is not done.

I can’t see what he’s making. I’m not quite sure why I keep blindly following.

I feel compelled, and there is something inside of me that is spurring me on.

I’m deeply embedded now. At times I wish I could unravel. However, it is too late.

The only way out is forward.

The past two days I’ve had some haunting dreams, and I awake knowing I must take action to move myself out of danger’s way.

The panic has been replaced with resignation – an acceptance of what I must do.

I’ve seen signs several times indicating that I do make it out. I’m not sure if this is true or merely false encouragement.

All I know is that I must hold tightly to my intuition, and keep blocking the signals meant to distract and mislead me.

And, by the way, my sanity is fine. These intermissions come and go.

We all make mistakes – errors in judgement.

We all can be negligent of our responsibilities – following selfish pursuits.

Humans are thinking machines packaged inside beasts.

Some revel in our bestial roots. Others try to forget that part, striving to become more machine-like.

I, for one, try to walk a tight-rope between the two. If I were to fall, I’m not sure what side I’d prefer.

Understanding that we are all fallible, helps me to forgive those that I feel have done me wrong.

My memories fade, and my priorities shift, but I don’t want to forget all the experiences that have shaped me, painful or not.

Seeing and feeling other’s mistakes has helped to guide me in the direction I want to go.

Looking back on my own mistakes has enabled me to learn to make better choices.

Forgiving myself and others is absolutely necessary to move forward unhindered, and with a clear mind focused on improvement for all.

I’m very proud of my flower pond.

My husband and I put in hard labor to make it happen.

There used to be a silver maple in the spot where it now sits.

I wanted more sun in my garden, so the silver maple was sacrificed.

It was standing on prime real estate – the middle of our backyard.

Digging a pond where a tree once stood is a fool’s idea.

Worth it in the end, after the memory of the pain and sweat fades.

My husband dug the hole with the help of heavy equipment.

Everything else was done by me.

I personally placed every single pink granite block. The pink is only pink when compared with other granite. A very slight cast only evident when wet.

Our yard isn’t level. It slopes here and there. From some vantage points the pond looks slightly tilted.From other points it looks level. From overhead it probably makes no difference. We did use a level and strings when putting it in.

It fits in with everything else, and I’m the only one it needs to please. My husband doesn’t care. His contributions were to make me happy.

Many things have thrived within the pond, from water lilies to dragonflies.

Even with the years of neglect these things thrived. The only thing that suffered was the overall aesthetics. Algae was the problem.

Today the algae is all gone and the water is clear, even with many repotted plants.

Yesterday I had five stunning water lilies blooming: four pink and one small yellow.

Sometimes I feel a sadness that the lifespan of these blooms is so short. They open in the mid-morning sun, and close in late afternoon to early evening, as the sun starts to descend.

One bloom lives for about two days, sometimes three.

Still the mother plant keeps sending up her children to live a short life in the sun.

They are all connected in a way, so I guess they all live through one another, and life goes on.

Immersing myself in the ordinary tasks of living,

I can’t escape this nagging feeling of loss.

My need for peace has cut me off from the maddening

Think tank that used to spiral around me.

The constant presence of an invisible force holding me

And guiding me is now much more subliminal.

The ghost has gone away. I’m on my own. I know this is for the best.

An independent struggle is the road I’m destined to take, at least for now.

Calling it a struggle might be an exaggeration, especially

Considering the burdens others must carry.

With proper perspective, I can see that the road I’m on

Is relatively smooth, and my faith is still with me.

The waxing crescent moon and several stars could be seen on a crisp clear night.

I sat quietly on the stone bench in front of my pond.

A blue ring of light could be seen emanating from the submersible equipment.

The sound of the water flowing softly from its spout was in my foreground,

While a mellow Latin beat could be heard coming from a few yards down.

A few yards in the other direction muffled voices could be heard.

It sounded like a small party or family gathering.

I was alone. My husband and daughter prefer to be inside

Surrounded by electronic light and noise.

That is okay. I’m used to conversing with myself.

I put all my thoughts on pause so I could focus on all the fireflies

Dancing through the air. The temperature and humidity were ideal.

In my hand I held a chilled bottle of Corona with an added slice of lemon.

This aided me in my  relaxation. I felt glad to be back home

Wrapped up in the vastness of the night sky.

My mind journeys over the past few years have given me a new found

Appreciation of the simple art of living in each moment.

Stretching and reclining as far out as my limbs will take me.

Head back, looking up, pondering the clouds, letting the gentle

Breeze caress my skin until the goose bumps rise.

Soaking up the warmth from the sun like a sponge.

Abandoning as much abstract thinking as I can.

Totally immersing myself in the earth, and letting

Only her pull my biological strings of arousal.

A brief respite before the garden restoration resumes.