Wood artisan John Lindsay expands my notions of the possible. I call him the Wood Whisperer. In following one of his works-in-progress, I’ve gained a new outlook on personal transition.

ACT I: John starts with one weeping willow, maimed by storm. The trunk, in its healing wisdom, conceived this burl, which, over time, grew around the wound.

Though grotesque, deep in its core there are patterns like water, a range of hues, and bouquets of small knots formed from dormant buds.

Untapped potential . . .

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Where there is smoke . . .

Skies thicken with ash. It’s hard to see and harder to breathe. Windows closed, we pray for rain. Light candles.

Fires are ravaging Western states. Videos on the news appall us.

We pray for firefighters, military support, and volunteers. I’m told 30,000+ workers are battling flames as I write this post. More will join them before you read it.

Prayers rise for families. For homes and farms and dreams. For wilderness and places of business.

An overnight wind scours local air. But for how long?

Grateful, I open windows and see a sparrow bathing, inches away.

Such delicate yet athletic sounds, the tiny ker-plop of immersion and wet abandon.

Small feathers slough water the way I want to shed fear.

Our home is surrounded by fields of stubble and towering pines oozing pitch: Fire Bait. [Read more…]