Oh, dear Chloe, this came at just the right time. I woke feeling heavy and wondering how I’m going to get through the day, the week, the month. Of course! Notice the beauty. Appreciate the precious life all around me. Focus on single shimmering moments of hope. Thank you for your beautiful words and presence here.
Your beauty list is so tender, I felt the macro and micro awe (and awwww!) of each one. Keep singing your hope Chloe, there’s a choir out here that responds in kind.💛
Touching on all that is real and true and raw and beautiful and horrifying in our world with such eloquence. Then off you fly leaving us with your feathers of hope.
Today I cooked and listened to a news podcast and the sheer stupidity of the men fighting wars, bombing each other to hell, made me radicalise my already radical thinking; hell's teeth if I could get them in a room together, bang their heads, and then I imagined women taking over, bringing all sides to cook together, and talk until we had talked this thing out. I baked and steamed and listened later to Shriek of the Week, prompted by you, Chloe, which made me feel better, and I remembered that they must live out this torturous hell for reasons of their own, these stupid fighting men, and it is January, and everything feels cold.
Orientate to beauty. I love this, and all the rest. It's amazing and perhaps even miraculous how effective this is; even just walking out to the backyard to say hello to the chickens, or taking a moment to take in the sky. I anxiously wait for every one of your posts, Chloe! I know it will uplift and fortify me. It never fails 💚
Hola , Siempre Es Un Placer Leer Estos Ensayos Tan Realistas. Me Encato Está Estrofa: Nuestra Especie Parece Tener Una Relación Complicada Con Lo Precioso Y Lo Bello. Es Como Si Quisiéramos , Simultáneamente , Protegerlo , Poseerlo Y Destruirlo. Un Saludo.
Beautiful piece. I like your point about our human desire to "protect, possess and destroy it." It seems like a vicious cycle that some of us cannot break free from.
I feel the struggle. I rehabilitated a Minah summer before last. Her name is Hope, after the Emily Dickens poem, “Hope is the thing with feathers.” I set her free and now she comes when I call her each day with a portion of mill worms. I’ve just posted my first piece about a tree. You might enjoy it.
This! I ask myself this everyday... "How is it that we could not collectively agree on the preciousness of certain things, such as Birdsong, trees, rivers, all children and the air that we breathe, and thus protect them—totally and without question or argument?"
The weightiness of this time of year I understand...
I'm less certain of the 'lighter than air,' anti-gravity properties of gratitude. Our gratitude. My gratitude.
Can you feel it? Even a little? That 'float' that you create for others, that lightening that seems to appear with your calming voice and words. As these other souls lift just a bit it would seem only fair and perhaps even natural that theirs rising, mine and others, would allow yours to rise just a bit, too.
Can't prove that it works that way, but love the thought of it. Birdsong seems to, and really this is so much like birdsong, some days...
Feel the gratitude, my friend. It's for you. And I swear it's lighter than air.
”…It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.”
(Two-Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin)
Yes this poem, you know the one.
May the pebbles of Hope you collect in your heart, burst forth every once in a while , creating tiny miracles to pave your path. Sometimes we have to remember to look up.
Oh how painfully true. The beauty in nature and the 97 year old friend. So important and so close to loss. Both exist together as you say. Love binds us to both. And gives reason to live with hope. Thank you for sharing. We are lights of hope scattered across the miles. Kindred spirits.
In all the din of Substack, I am immensely grateful for your voice. Not sure how you found me, but I will be here listening (and sharing), with heart full.
Oh, dear Chloe, this came at just the right time. I woke feeling heavy and wondering how I’m going to get through the day, the week, the month. Of course! Notice the beauty. Appreciate the precious life all around me. Focus on single shimmering moments of hope. Thank you for your beautiful words and presence here.
Your voice, both on the screen and heard, is a balm in this troubled world. Thank you.
Your beauty list is so tender, I felt the macro and micro awe (and awwww!) of each one. Keep singing your hope Chloe, there’s a choir out here that responds in kind.💛
You are a song bird Chloe. What a gift you have.
Touching on all that is real and true and raw and beautiful and horrifying in our world with such eloquence. Then off you fly leaving us with your feathers of hope.
Thank you. 🙏
Today I cooked and listened to a news podcast and the sheer stupidity of the men fighting wars, bombing each other to hell, made me radicalise my already radical thinking; hell's teeth if I could get them in a room together, bang their heads, and then I imagined women taking over, bringing all sides to cook together, and talk until we had talked this thing out. I baked and steamed and listened later to Shriek of the Week, prompted by you, Chloe, which made me feel better, and I remembered that they must live out this torturous hell for reasons of their own, these stupid fighting men, and it is January, and everything feels cold.
Orientate to beauty. I love this, and all the rest. It's amazing and perhaps even miraculous how effective this is; even just walking out to the backyard to say hello to the chickens, or taking a moment to take in the sky. I anxiously wait for every one of your posts, Chloe! I know it will uplift and fortify me. It never fails 💚
Hola , Siempre Es Un Placer Leer Estos Ensayos Tan Realistas. Me Encato Está Estrofa: Nuestra Especie Parece Tener Una Relación Complicada Con Lo Precioso Y Lo Bello. Es Como Si Quisiéramos , Simultáneamente , Protegerlo , Poseerlo Y Destruirlo. Un Saludo.
Beautiful piece. I like your point about our human desire to "protect, possess and destroy it." It seems like a vicious cycle that some of us cannot break free from.
I feel the struggle. I rehabilitated a Minah summer before last. Her name is Hope, after the Emily Dickens poem, “Hope is the thing with feathers.” I set her free and now she comes when I call her each day with a portion of mill worms. I’ve just posted my first piece about a tree. You might enjoy it.
The Hand of God.
It's a pulsar wind nebula.
https://svs.gsfc.nasa.gov/30505
This! I ask myself this everyday... "How is it that we could not collectively agree on the preciousness of certain things, such as Birdsong, trees, rivers, all children and the air that we breathe, and thus protect them—totally and without question or argument?"
The weightiness of this time of year I understand...
I'm less certain of the 'lighter than air,' anti-gravity properties of gratitude. Our gratitude. My gratitude.
Can you feel it? Even a little? That 'float' that you create for others, that lightening that seems to appear with your calming voice and words. As these other souls lift just a bit it would seem only fair and perhaps even natural that theirs rising, mine and others, would allow yours to rise just a bit, too.
Can't prove that it works that way, but love the thought of it. Birdsong seems to, and really this is so much like birdsong, some days...
Feel the gratitude, my friend. It's for you. And I swear it's lighter than air.
Your voice and words have lifted me this morning, which was greatly needed. May you receive the same during the course of this day. Heartfelt thanks 💙
”…It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.”
(Two-Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin)
Yes this poem, you know the one.
May the pebbles of Hope you collect in your heart, burst forth every once in a while , creating tiny miracles to pave your path. Sometimes we have to remember to look up.
Thank you for shining on my morning.
Oh how painfully true. The beauty in nature and the 97 year old friend. So important and so close to loss. Both exist together as you say. Love binds us to both. And gives reason to live with hope. Thank you for sharing. We are lights of hope scattered across the miles. Kindred spirits.
In all the din of Substack, I am immensely grateful for your voice. Not sure how you found me, but I will be here listening (and sharing), with heart full.