Peak of Fall

Our friend Marion has been coming weekly to reflect and write at Lagom Landing.  
This is what she wrote Tuesday.  

The are are "thin" places on earth

where the space 

between God and humans

is very small.

We call it Heaven on earth.

We say, for a moment, the veil is lifted.

Lagom Landing

is a "thin" place - a giving place.

We are given welcome here.

Even the asters and goldenrod know

and grow, to God's glory

giving out beauty.

Even the chickens know - all five of them--

clucking, quiet and content, 

walking in a group

following anyone who walks there,

giving their gifts of fresh eggs.

Even Bennie, the old golden retriever knows

and rests secure there, giving love, with kind eyes.

Even the vegetables in the garden know, and the flowers too,

growing bountifully,

giving.

Birds at the feeder, 

they know,

And gift us with bright color and music.

Best of all are the two 

who had a dream

a giving-dream

And began, with God

to make the giving-dream 

begin to come true.

Gathering around them

other dreamers,

other givers,

to complete a circle of dreamers, givers.

You come, too, to a giving place,

a place of rest

You too, can know

You too, can receive, and also give

yourself, to this "thin" place.

--Marion Maxson, October 11, 2011

We hope you pay attention to her invitation, and that you come and visit and rest.

I took these photos on the same day, a glorious, peak of the color, rejoicing day.

mystical bennie

view of house from west

view from basement, looking west

Late September woods, by Marion

Our eighty-something friend and mentor Marion has been coming to Lagom Landing off and on for retreat days.  


Here is a poem she wrote a few weeks ago.  We read part of it yesterday at the Potluck Band Benefit:


Late September Woods


Oh woods!
I have been so long without you.
I chose today
for us to find each other again.
A few red maples have begun to shed---
only a few.
September sun streams weakly, wearily
through limbs, waving me welcome.
Jewel weed, asters, goldenrod
bend in the wind 
along the path.


trees, you sing with the wind
there is no other voice.
no traffic, no lawn-mowers, no planes, no shouting-
Only a woodpecker or two.
They welcome me, too.


I find the clearing 
Rock, and Laurel, and others
have made, it seems,
just for me this very day.
I stretch out on a wooden bench
and look up at the sky.
The clouds mix and change,
misty, uncertain;
not shaping themselves
into objects I can recognize.
the trees seem to cradle me.


I sit beside the blackened fire-pit
imagining fires that have been here
and ones to come yet this fall.
Warming toes on crisp evenings.
I think of my own past bonfires
church camp when I was young
Campfires burning, with our children
sitting around, singing,
eating s'mores.
With the orange glow of the fire reflected on their young faces.


Oh woods!  
How I love you!  
God's gift!
Suddenly the golden retriever arrives 
coming down the path, 
checking on me,
to make sure I am all right.
He sits beside me a little while
looking at my face
with his warm brown eyes.
We talk a bit,
then he wanders off down the path
and I come back inside
to write 
so I'll remember this day
Oh woods!  
I'll be back!
God willing.