Depressing Day & Astonishing (Virtual) Aurora Borealis: Everyday Magic, Day 251

For days now, at least since the Jayhawks lost, everyday is dreary: overcast, spitting sporadic rain or snow, tumbling into darkness with no hint of color. No better time to leave reality behind and watch little videos of Northern Lights over Norway.

  • This long, fast-moving time-lapses video in the borderlands between Norway and Russia shows dazzling arrays of stars as green waves shoot up and wave their flags over time. The cool Gladiator soundtrack adds to the magic.
  • This National Geographic video, also shot in Norway, moves like the wind, and lets you hear the wind too.
  • While this generic cialis rx video is composed of still images, the colors knocked my socks off.
  • More still images, but with an Enya sountrack (strangely enough, the song is called “Caribbean Blue”), this video features some lovely images of the earth itself under the influence of green flares.

There’s nothing like sitting in bed late a night in our pjs, all lights out, with a little computer between us and watching the dancing, shimmering colors of a sky half-way around the globe from us. I also know our own sky will break back into vivid shine in its own dance…….eventually.




Dreaming of Tornadoes: Everyday Magic, Day 250

Last night, I saw a dozen ropey tornadoes merge and form an enormous tornado. I wasn’t afraid, just interested, as I am most times I dream of tornadoes or, for that matter, see them when awake too. Of course, having never seen anything larger than an F2 tornado (which is large enough to peel roofs off but generally not powerful enough to fling cars around or insert blades of grass into telephone poles), my lack of fear is based on inexperience.

I lived in Kansas for more than a decade before I began dreaming of tornadoes, something I aspired to like learning to fly in my dreams (which I didn’t figure out until my 30s). Most native Kansans around me had been dreaming of tornadoes all their lives. It’s a given among most people I know: sometimes we dream of tornadoes just as pregnant women often dream of giving birth. But dreams bend the edges of what we think is possible. Ken has dreamt of tornadoes made of flowers. I dreamt of giving birth to kittens, linked together like a line of sausages.

Dreams also don’t correspond with the events of the day. Despite the sudden snowstorm (again? sheesh!) yesterday after the surprising defeat of the Jayhawks, coinciding with the end of spring break, my little sadness didn’t follow me into sleep but instead fell away so I could watch the sky do astonishing things. When I woke to see the snow coat on all the branches thinning and falling off slowly, the bright clouds of the day and the very tornado-less sky all around, I shook off the tornadoes and made some coffee. Spring is coming, and anything can happen.

For the most incredible photographs and videos of tornadoes, see Stephen Locke’s gallery.

Fog Day: Everyday Magic, Day 230

I don’t function well in fog, the blurring of sky and earth and pressure of the air something I feel inside as well as all around me. It could be that a lingering sinus woo-hoo mirrors the weather, or visa-versa, but when I look out the window and see only bare, trembling branches and the tops of distant trees morphing into sky, it’s hard to get motivated.

Weather like this calls into question what the purpose of getting motivated. My foggy mind casually deconstructs the possibilities for doing and haphazardly lands on being in a misty, confusing way, which fits well for sitting in bed and watching the birds. This is also because for weeks, my life has been shooting itself toward raising energy, money, plans, outreach, volunteers and more for the big Poet Laureati gathering, and now, a few days before the poets descend and the excitment rises, I’m out of steam…, conveniently, there’s not much to do.

So I sit here in this foggy moment, the snoring dog behind me, the sleeping cat in my arms, the nervous bird on the end of the branch, and a soft buzz filling my head. I wait, and when the crow calls, I think of taking a hot bath to dissolve the soft film between the day and me.

Snow to Snow Travel, Night Clouds & Snow Fog: Everyday Magic, Day 219

What I left: Goddard College yesterday

Close to 3:30 Vermont time, I walked into my home after a somewhat harrowing 30 mph drive on snow-packed roads from the airport (and that, after a long delay). “Yes, you should have stayed in a hotel by the airport,” Ken told me, but once he aimed his mom’s 4-wheel drive toward the airport, he figured he might as well keep going.

The snow in Vermont has been falling steadily all day, and according to one of my students just leaving campus, all is quiet and still. The snow in Kansas has stopped — at least for a while — until the freezing rain, snow, and eventually a thunderstorm envelop us this weekend.

What I arrived at: Kansas today

Betwixt and between, I saw 36,000 above the earth in a speeding bullet of a tiny plane, marveling at the stars, and then as we descended, the layers of cloud that finally unveiled base-ball-diamond-shaped orange glows in long lines, sometimes straight and occasionally curving. The shapes morphed to crescents or triangles, depending on what the filmy clouds revealed, and eventually, I saw that this string of lights wrapped around the earth were street lights.

Now my home holds me in its glowing palm. I lean back in gratitude.

When The Clearing Comes: Everyday Magic, Day 209

There’s something about a 58-degree day in February after blizzards, bad news about the state budget, and being hit by a fast-moving virus that makes all wrong in the world right again. As the snow melts at the speed of sound, the birds twirl in circles instead of shivering by the bird feeder, and the sunlight floods the bed where my feet rest as I type this, it’s clear that this kind of day is a clearing in the woods, a safe harbor in the storm, an oasis in the desert. It’s rare, somewhat unexpected, beaming with blue light and generous: here for the taking and giving.

Yesterday, I feverishly distracted myself from illness on the computer, and tomorrow I fly to Vermont. Last buy cialis for daily use week was full of little trips here, there and yonder, and next week I’ll dance down that rabbit hole into the Brigadoon of the residency at Goddard College. But now life is holding out its hand, and I’m stepping into this particularly moment, a scout sent early by spring to tell us, “Yes, this is how it can be and be will be again: birdsong, light breeze, wide light and vast lightness that makes movement and stillness easy and free.” So I’ve left some footprints in the snow and mud, and maybe I’ll leave some more before the chill of night covers up this day.