I rescued animals when I was young. A dying sparrow, a lonely salamander, a rabid Chihuahua (my mom and I jumped on a chair and screamed when he had his first foam flying fit). Now, I find old furniture at the dump. I drag it home and give it life…

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, A Swan Posing Grace-full-y

Two Courting Swans

photo by Lori B. McCray, purple loose strife, Wayland MA

I’ve walked a long road to find Joy, as she hid herself from me. Discouraged, I gave up searching. Joy was the sweet pup my parents got rid of, because she was too much trouble. I never said goodbye. Joy was the cat my father pushed out the window screen…

Autumn serenity, geese on the pond, Lori B. McCray 10/11.2021

When I was at war with myself (neither side could win), there was no peace, no rest, no comfort. The war was real, but for the wrong reasons. Balance was impossible, standing in the middle with both sides yanking my arms from their sockets, tugging with all their might. They…

Buzz being bullied, photo by Lori B. McCray (Clyde is bigger, you can just tell)

I wonder how we “learn” war. Who raises the first sword, and why? I watch my precious swans, so pure and graceful, ethereal, until something threatens their territory and they are filled with a frightening rage, fighting to the death.

People are no different. “I was here first” shows up early and intensifies. “Me first” is applauded and encouraged. “First things first” often means clearing the board of all undesirables, even sentient ones, so your plan can have its way.

Power seems like strength, if you’re a bully. Winning seems like victory, even if you decimate and maim. Taking sides is an outgrown habit. Live from ‘both/and.’ Live from, ‘Yes, let’s try it.’ Live from, ‘Ok, you win ~ I win ~ we all win ~ together.

LBM 10/8/2021

Scotty and me, photo credit Doug McCray

Once upon the time when you were young, I showed you that words are musical. Magical. “Use them wisely and always true,” I said, “and they will come back to you.”

Words sown on fertile soil bear fruit, forever spreading their fecundity, like a Honeysuckle vine, far reaching and uncontainable. Words dropped on dead ears bear nothing but dessication. No beauty grows without light.

Your words are the path you light for others, the trail you leave for your self. Ahead of you, and behind you, leave light.

LBM 10/5/2020 (for ST)

Lori McCray

Photographer, Poet, Musician, Mother, Mystic, Gardener, friend of wild creatures, swan whisperer. Find me on Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wingthing/

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