Telling the Story

December 10, 2023

Sunrise, December 6, 2023

How will I tell the story today? 
So many possibilities. 
How I feel influences the story I tell.
The story I tell influences how I feel. 
Is the story writing me? 
Am I writing the story?

Sunrise December 5, 2023

Clouds are a storyteller’s friend. 
So many stories written in the clouds, 
so many ways to see that story. 
Closing in? Moving away? A bird flying across
the horizon. A monster about to eat the trees.
Perhaps the eye of the universe watching me 
even as I’m watching it. 

Hello pretty snow goose. First one I've seen this year.

One snow goose, all alone, 
a few days in a row.
Lost and unable to keep up with her flock?
An explorer, tired of her annoying flock, 
looking for a story of her own?
Can she fly? 
She takes off and joins a passing flock. 
She is telling me her story.

One eagle keeps watch. Her mate arrives
or his mate, I cannot tell from this distance.
A conversation. A reminder?
A scolding? A word of gratitude or love?
Perhaps eagle body language is not the same as human.

One small yellow leaf. Resilient. 
Waiting for the perfect moment through the wind and frost.
Refusing to let go until it's time
Perhaps hanging on a little too long?
The yellow leaf doesn't need a story at all
it's just existing. 
I am the one who needs a story.

Small birds flit about in the bushes, 
finding every last berry and seed.
A story of cooperation.
The yellow-rumped warblers 
exuberant scouts
letting everyone know where the next bounty is to be found.

Yellow-rumped warbler

Perhaps they have to get their first, 
so they are not pushed out 
by the waxwings and robins. 
Not so much scouts 
as staying one step ahead at all times.

Cedar waxwing

Waxwings appear.
Loud, exuberant, extroverts at the party.
Playfully chasing each other around.
Perhaps it is not so "playful" 
to the one being chased?

Taylor Swift is showing us all 
how to rewrite the story. 
Much like the retelling in "Wicked"
her story refuses to be contained
by the rules of the culture.
Retelling the story can change your life.
Retelling the story can change the world.

Crows control their own narrative.

Stories shape the world.
Stories can get stuck.
Stories can trap us like mud or quicksand
in an old narrative that no longer serves
the purpose of Life.

These seeds are stuck - but not for long.

Most of the leaves have fallen now
but my willow holds hers a little longer.
Even she will drop them when the time is right.
Nature does not get stuck. 
Nature moves forward knowing
the story is always changing.

Those last leaves hanging on will also eventually fall.

Do I have my stories or
do my stories have me?
Where are my stories stuck in the mud?
Which are moving me forward?
Which are simply a denial of
the reality of a changing world.

Blue will squawk at me but he never fights with reality.

How are your stories?
What stories need revision,
to move forward,
to bring joy into your life?
What stories will enable you
to fly free?

*Note: It wouldn’t let me add a footnote for my “Wicked” reference, so want to mention I was referencing Gregory Maguire’s book, “Wicked”.

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