I love the light at this time of year. I love the way it bathes the land in gold.

The palette of the forest always leaves me awestruck.

The vivid, deep green of the willow. The dusky blue of sage. The overwhelmingly golden yellow of rabbitbrush blossoms. Purple wildflowers.

Even the horrifically invasive cheatgrass turns a beautiful shade of rose that I cannot help but appreciate when I see all these colors together.

***

I’ve always loved not just the colors of nature, but the patterns, too. I find myself seduced by the crisscrossing of branches against the sky, the polka dots of flower heads against the earth, the repeating curves of leaves on a bush.

Have you ever plucked a yarrow flower from the ground and turned it upside-down? Though it might sound odd, I’m tortured by the pleasure of this sight. I don’t know why, but these shapes, designs, patterns, and colors completely bewitch me.

***

I love the way nature is like an ever-changing painting. The colors change not only with the seasons, but with the light cast as the sun moves through the sky.

The entire tableau changes when the sun sets, creating an almost inverse image — darkness and shadows and monochromatic images where once there was color and detail and light.

The subjects of this painting each contribute to its evolving composition. The presence of one ant crawling over a rock. A flower in bloom. The wind that makes the branches dance one moment, then comes to a standstill in the next. A cloud passing overhead. A drop of moisture on a leaf. A trail of coyote prints in the dirt.

Each of these seemingly insignificant details contributes to the artistry of the image, sometimes even inviting in other senses beyond sight — a living painting, in fact.

You can smell the sage when the wind brushes against it. Mullein’s soft leaves invite you to touch them. You might find yourself biting into a bitter Oregon grape berry at the end of August, when they are swollen and dusky and purple, staining your hands with their juices. And the sound of the birdcalls fills you with delight, their notes seemingly played on tiny, magical flutes.

***

Every year, I seem to gravitate to a new friend. This year, it has been yarrow.

Has it been so prolific before? Have I simply failed to notice it? It seems to be everywhere in my neck of the woods.

I pick it — just a few flowers (one should never take more than one needs) — and hang it upside-down to dry. I can use the dried plant material in teas for fevers and menstrual issues.

Last year, I made a tincture out of it to use in my first aid kit. You can spray this on a wound to help stop the bleeding.

I’ve heard herbalists say before that yarrow quickens the blood when used internally and slows it when used externally. Is this not amazing? Plants are so fascinating to me.

I love the way yarrow holds two opposites within itself — whole and at peace. I strive to learn that lesson. And I wish it for us all.

***

I love the way the light falls at this time of year. It is pure gold, painting the land so unselfishly with its riches.

I wonder how it feels when it’s falling on a bumblebee’s back as he’s stumbling drunkenly across a flower head. Is it warm and comforting and as intoxicating as its petaled lover?

I wonder how if feels to the willows. Do they stretch toward the sun’s light for one last caress as it sinks below the horizon?

I wonder how it feels to the huge stones that pepper the land, perhaps the inhabitants who have been here the longest, the inhabitants who have come to know the patterns and cycles of this light better than anyone else. Do they settle down into the earth just a little more snugly as the light warms them before the cool night to follow?

It comforts me. That I know. I stretch toward it. I settle down into the earth as it warms me.

I orient myself toward it. I turn my face up to it. I am eager to receive it.

It’s already past the solstice and this time of year comes with a tug at my heart. The days are still long, still golden. But that will pass. All too soon.

I want to take it all in while I have the chance. I want to feel all that light, I want it to bathe me, I want it to fill me.

This is the last of its magic…at least until next year. And I don’t want to lose a second of it.

Summer in the Forest

Welcome to my second act.

Summer in the Forest

I Want {Ed. 3}

I Want {Ed. 2}

Welcome to my second act.