pamelagmusings

Musings

Pam's Musings

My writing nook at my house in Laramie, WY.

My writing nook at my house in Laramie, WY.

A long time ago or once upon a time, stifled by the desire to get everything right on paper, rendered immobile by my inner and nasty critic, I was encouraged to read Bird By Bird, by Anne Lamott.  I have read it numerous times and often wish I could commit it to memory.  Ah, the perfection that comes from the memorized verse.  Lamott strikes out at the need and desire for perfection.  Instead, she pushes me to embrace the messiness of writing, to muse.  She tells me to let go and not worry about destination or the big picture.  She set before me the creed by which my musings are written, by which my inner wild woman craves to live:  “Don’t look at your feet to see if you are doing it right.  Just dance.”  When I muse, and this is a necessary part of my writing process, I don’t look.  I just write.  I hope you enjoy these musings.  I hope you muse as well.  

Harmony, May & June 2025

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Constantly searching these days for reminders of hope, I stood in the afternoon drizzle of rain, my feet planted against the harsh wind, and stared down at the newcomers to the small, neglected garden in which the aspens grow. There, shooting through the heavy, soggy leaves of last Fall, were the most stalwart of flowers: the Grape Hyacinths of early Spring. All were of similar height, their long and graceful leaves surrounding the thin, strong stems. Atop each stem was an identical bit of Nature’s sense of humor: cone-shaped hats consisting of tiny, purple beads. They looked as if they planned to attend a Mardi Gras celebration. No flower stood out. They were remarkable in their sameness: location, statuesque stance, and attitude. I smiled, considering them a lovely bunch, devoid of aggression or competition. I was thankful for the pleasant harmony exuded in their similarities.

The tiny hyacinths reminded me of the synchronized site I had been honored to see several months earlier. Walking along a road at the southern edge of town, I glanced to the sky, drawn by a strange sound of what I could only describe as a hard vibration of fluttering. I nearly keeled over. I did shout aloud, “Oh my! Oh my!” Above me was the first breathtakingly vast murmuration of birds I have ever seen. Snow geese glistened in the sun as they covered the sky. I feared that they would collide. Not a chance, as they dipped and swirled and braided the air. At times, subgroups would circle in exacting unison. My mind could only grasp that they were in fact turning the earth, and I stumbled. None called out. I believed they were guided by their souls. What trust, what calm, what sense of responsibility they revealed as one enormous group.

So much good comes from the harmony of well-meaning groups, groups that believe in themselves and in each of the individuals. Groups that stand for love and joy, peace and patience, kindness and generosity.      

Of course, there is something to be said for the lone wolf. The individual who breaks off from the group in order to study more, to look at a problem from a view not shared by the others. The one who perseveres into the future, saying “Soon, just one more minute, please.” The one whose imagination is in constant play. I knew a child who insisted on tearing shapes from construction paper rather than using scissors. “I like that,” she said. “They’re fuzzy that way.” Such lone wolves, often considered odd, are good for the soul and for the necessary metamorphosis of those minds that care for our planet and want to keep it safe for all who live on it. Sort of that old fashioned politeness.

We run our Labradors on the high plains prairie that encircles our town. These walks provide us the necessary workout, but they provide us something else as well: the joy and calm that comes from a melding, not unlike what happens in gardens and in murmurations. As our two pups race ahead into the bliss of a flat mountain trail, as they grow smaller to our eyes, we realize that they have become as one. Their backs rise and fall, their ears rise and flop, their legs reach and pull, swerve and leap as if they are one dog, perfectly synchronized, in happy, unabandoned harmony. We can feel their joy, and we grasp hands, never thinking to note that our steps are as if we are one person.

Years ago, I found a saying, author unknown, that stays on my bedroom mirror: “Maybe the best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word, and walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you ever had.”

Would that we all acted like dear old friends who finish each other’s sentences, know needs before they are spoken, and know to share the love. All you need is love—and joy, peace, patience, kindness, and generosity.