December marks time like no other month.

Tomorrow the winter solstice brings us the shortest day of the year followed by the longest night ... and days later, the end of one year and the beginning of another.

I’m thinking about how I can add light to my days and mark new beginnings. Not just new beginnings on the calendar, or the light from longer days, but the light and change that comes from doing things differently, seeing things in new light, and being curious.

Last week we had a snow storm ... a big one. Most of us got anywhere from 18 - 24 inches. And as it so often happens, the next day it was glorious. Sunny and bright and fresh.

After the storm, we took a ride ... uptown to State Street, left at Longfellow Square ... and there it was. A rainbow. Shimmering in the windblown snow hanging in the air.

This week's calendar ...
Thursday is Egg Nog Day. Are you a fan? 

You'll also see that today is Poet Laureate Day. Because the statue in the rainbow photograph is poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, I want to share a post I did a while ago on blackout poetry.

Follow this link to read more about Longfellow and blackout poetry, and give it a try. Use it to create a poem. Stick it to the refrigerator or mail it to someone. It may add new light to your day.

After all, you could be a poet and don't even know it.

Even if you don't want to try the exercise, click through to read Longfellow's poem, Holidays anyway. It's fitting for this holiday season ... one that is so very different from so many others. Read it and let me know what you think.

And if you create a poem, share it with me. I'd love to read it.

p.s.  There's also a link in the post to Robert Frost's poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.  You can read the poem and find out why it's one of my favorites.
 

Backyard birding - it's easy, free, and just outside your door. If you're looking for something to do that doesn't take too much time (an hour or less), take a walk, look, and listen.

Birds are everywhere ... in trees, on fences, power lines, and porches. Track what kind of birds you see—and how many. In my neighborhood, we’ve got blue jays, seagulls, pigeons, robins, cardinals, chick-a-dee, dee, dees, and sometimes, woodpeckers.

If you find you enjoy it, get ready for the Great Backyard Bird Count. It happens every year—and you can take part.

Of course there’s no equipment needed for watching birds ...  but if you have them, grab a notebook and the binoculars.

We took a walk this spring and heard the woodpeckers ... listen here!

We went for a walk at the Audubon center this morning. It was an overcast day in an autumn landscape. At first glance, aside from the sweeping views of the field and the river beyond, it seemed there wouldn’t be much to see. At least not when compared to earlier in the season when so many birds flitted one way then another, flowers were blooming, turtles skimmed the pond, and the grasses grew tall and green.

Today the only green offered was harbored in the pine trees on the field’s edge. And it was unusually quiet. We spotted just one crow, another (unidentifiable) small bird, and in the distance by the river, a flock of seagulls. So many of the birds have migrated, the flowers and grasses have gone dormant, and there’s a chill in the air that seeks and settles in the gap of an open collar.

But there is beauty and intrigue to be found. Close up and at a distance if you look for it.

Red berries on bare twigs. The lilt of the marsh grass. And scat deposited on the edge of a well worn path. Yep, we’re talking poop. Pretty sure it didn’t come from a dog because they’re not allowed. And with all the berries in it, it was most likely fox droppings. Two sightings ... of poop, not the fox, unfortunately.

The walk was a bit of forest bathing; immersion in the natural landscape. Even though we weren’t in the forest, we focused on the landscape, the sky, the air, plants (and yes, poop), and nothing else. No worries about what to cook for dinner, the news, or impending chores. In return, we found what we were looking for ... calm in an otherwise hectic world.

We may not be able to visit or travel these days, but if we get out and explore what's close to home, there’s no telling what we might see and share ... in a letter, a phone call, or Zoom event.

Is there a park, walkway, stretch of beach, or field where you can go to get outside? Where you can watch, listen, and let nature wash over you? Go.

It will make you feel better and give you the scoop on new things to talk about.

A while ago I was feeling out of sorts, a bit edgy, and bored with myself. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know what to do about it.

All I knew was I wanted to shift my mood and stop the creep ... I’d already spent much of the day feeling off and I didn’t want it to creep into what remained of the day.

So I decided to do something. Something I enjoy. I sat at my desk with my collage materials. I like collage work because it’s easy to pick up and put down without taking up a lot of space or having to do a lot of preparation.

After I got going, I realized, once again, it feels good to do.

Was it because I was working with my hands? That may be part of it, but I think it’s more.

I think the doing activates a shift.

A shift from a passive, unsettled state of mind to a state of being active and engaged. It's why I'm such a fan of having hobbies, passions, and pastimes.

It works when I write letters, when I clean, or cook ... just about any activity, really. The challenge, always, is getting started. For the collage work, I started by sitting at the table. I didn’t know what I would do or create, but knew just pulling out the materials would help. And it did.

It's so simple ... yet so hard sometimes.

Why is it so hard? Sometimes it’s because we’re so busy doing for others we forget to tend to ourselves. To take some time (not a lot of time, just some time) to do what we want, instead of what everyone else wants or needs, or demands. Other times, we're just overwhelmed. By our work, our circumstances, and these days, the pandemic.

When I sat down, I wasn't sure what I'd collage, but felt better just sitting with my materials. It was then I realized, it feels good to do. So I made this collage.

This is not the first time I’ve written about stopping the creep. Read my post about the recipe that saved my life and let me know what you do to stop the creep.

I'm starting in on my next book: Birds & Birding.

As I decide what to cover in the book, it occurred to me a mind map would be a good idea.

I'd love to know what you'd like to see in a book about birds and birding. Send an email, or post a comment and let me know.

And what about you? Do you create bird art, go birding, or have some other bird related activity you might share? I'd love to hear about it.

A different way to connect
We won't be visiting in person this Thanksgiving, so I'm serving up a side of snail mail.

I've decided to make a small batch of handmade collage cards to send and give thanks (there's still plenty to be thankful for, even if we're apart). Now that I have the design figured out, it's a matter of cut and paste.

The process is a meditation of sorts. Cutting and arranging, cutting and arranging some more. It's the mindless act of doing that's relaxing. I sometimes work with no background sound, other times there's the television in the background, or music, and sometimes there's a conversation happening.

These patterns happened by chance. Well, at least the first set. I was trying to keep count of how many pomegranates I'd cut, so I started lining them up. I liked the pattern and took a photo.

The first image was so compelling, I decided to do it with the next batch. The green leaves were all a jumble until I thought to arrange them in a sunburst pattern. Much better.

This is interesting ... creating parallel designs as I work. It's also a good way to visualize my progress.

Are you a pattern maker? Do you have ways to track your progress on projects?