Babies in the Barbeque

Doting parents they are, this bluebird couple. He, a luminous blue -- a blue like the clear, cold waters of the Sierra ponds and streams -- a blue that appears refreshing and restful, and yet invigorating. She, in typical fashion, is understated in her colorings and markings, but there is no misunderstanding her. Her very presence tells you that you are in the shadow of a magnificent, caring creature.

You couldn't miss hearing the cries. The sound of the baby birds filled the deck -- "Mom and Dad will be back soon!" And return they did, with a morsel of food to be broken and shared -- enough for all.

Satiated for a moment, the young ones fell silent. Mr. & Mrs. would head out for more food. The nest in the BBQ grill goes undisturbed.

Dusted

Capulin looms large on the horizon. You know the presence of primeval heat and power. . .the core of the earth pushing up and pushing out. One hundred thousand years ago or more, that which was deep within sought to escape – to be freed from the confines of the deep.

There it sits on the horizon, further away than we suppose, and yet beckoning us with its lone road cutting across the landscape.

But off in the distance, barely visible, a range of mountains lies dusted with snow. Its garment of white likewise beckons us on to the freshness of the mountain snow. Its beauty comes from the outside – from water and cold in the right combination – at the right time and the right place. And so the snow, dusting as it does, transforms from the outside.

Beauty and power emerging from within and bestowed upon from without.