Good morning!

It’s Monday, and a fresh new week sits before us. To set our course, I’m sharing an audio recording of what passed through our street yesterday. With no warning, the most joyful music began to play. I rushed to the balcony in time to see a man in hat and suspenders pushing a small barrel organ down the middle of the street. He had a friend (also in hat and suspenders) collecting the coins and bills that people were tossing down to them.

When they reached the end of the street, the door to the bistro on the corner opened and the manager waved them over. I assumed he was telling them to get lost, but no. He was inviting them inside. Soon I could hear strains of “La Vie en Rose” with voices singing along and cheering at the end.

“The world is its own magic.”

—Shunryu Suzuki

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Thursday. After all that, I spotted a bee on the cosmos yesterday. Harmony having been restored in the garden, I decided to walk down to the ocean and see how it was doing.

Partway down the wooded path, the crickets stopped me and asked if I could convey a message to you. They were very insistent about it, as you’ll hear. I don’t speak cricket, so I don’t know what they’re saying—but I trust it’s important. Tap the sideways triangle up top to give it a listen. Oh, the bell buoy also says hi.

September’s BaccalaureateA combination isOf Crickets — Crows — and RetrospectsAnd a dissembling BreezeThat hints without assuming —An Innuendo searThat makes the Heart put up its FunAnd turn Philosopher.

Emily Dickinson

Any guess what they’re saying?

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

Today is Saturday. Before you engage in whatever jangle or clang the day may try to bring, I offer you one minute of my birds, field, and bell buoy for grounding. Yes, even the crows got in a few words.

“TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”

― Howard Zinn

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

Today is Wednesday. Now that the bears are awake, I go outside every evening to bring in the bird feeders. Sometimes everyone is already in bed and the world is silent. But last night they were still up and chattering away. Shall we stand outside and eavesdrop on their conversations for a minute? (Just click the sideways-pointing arrow up top and turn up your volume.)

"Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark."

- Rabindranath Tagore

Sing on,

Clara

Good morning!

Today is Saturday. Outside, everything is still encased in snow. But yesterday I opened the window and heard the most wonderful sound. I had to share it with you. Tap on that sideways triangle up top, turn up your volume, close your eyes, and take a listen.

“There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.”

― Rachel Carson, The Sense of Wonder

Indeed, we continue ever onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Sunday. It’s been a dry month here in Maine. But today a light rain is falling, and the birds and the plants are happy. Turn up the volume, close your eyes, and sit with me on the porch for a minute.

“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.”

—John Ruskin

Onwards we go,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Friday, and the spring peepers have returned! I’ve recorded their evening symphony for you. Just tap the right-pointing triangle up top for a listen.

“After that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that winter was over. There were none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind—rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted. If I had been tossed down blindfold on that red prairie, I should have known that it was spring.” 

― Willa Cather, My Ántonia

Subscribers, shall we gather at 2pm Eastern?

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Monday, and it’s the first day of February. Since much of the northeastern United States is bracing for a nor’easter that’ll dump at least a foot of snow, I thought we’d practice some escapism this morning.

The right-pointing arrow at the top of this email will play you an audio recording of Maine in the height of August, complete with a symphony of crickets, a passing bee, and the faint sound of the bell buoy off in the bay. I recorded this in the very spot where today’s photo was taken. Close your eyes and you’ll be there.

“Today is the first of February, snowy, brilliant, but dripping with the sound of spring wherever the sun lies warm, and calling with the heart of spring yonder where the crows are assembling. There is spring in the talk of the chickadees outside my window, and in the cheerful bluster of a red squirrel in the hickory.”

― Dallas Lore Sharp

That’ll do for today.

Stay warm, and be sure to keep a shovel by the back door,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Thursday, and it’s first day of October. This calls for a midweek nature break.

Today we’re sitting at the edge of a dock on Squam Lake in Holderness, New Hampshire.

I have an extra treat for you: After dark, the loons perform their night chorus. When I was there, I couldn’t go to sleep without recording some of it. Tap that little right-pointing triangle at the top of this email if you’d like to listen to 30 seconds of their serenade.

“I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.” ― Terry Tempest Williams

I’ll see you tomorrow,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Monday, and we’re trying something different today: audio.

I’m out on the porch. After a rainy night, the fog over the pond is lifting and a hermit thrush is singing its heart out. Won’t you fill up your mug, tap that “play” arrow up above, and join me out on the porch?

Into this new week we go,

Clara