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Author: Anne Cassidy

The Hedge in Autumn

The Hedge in Autumn

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I have a thing for hedges. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s the Anglophile in me dreaming of British hedgerows. Or maybe it’s the hospitality of hedges, the way they open themselves to sparrows and other small creatures.

Whatever the reason, I pay close attention to hedges, their colors and seasons. The hedge I pass each workday, the one I’ve written about in spring — the equipoise of pink and green as it buds — is now in brilliant autumn leaf. 

I like to think the pink-red part of the spectrum has asserted itself at last. After wearing green all summer the hedge is finally letting its true colors show.

Bouncing in the Dark

Bouncing in the Dark

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When it’s too dark to run I make my way slowly to the far edge of the backyard. I trudge through the leaves, hop on the trampoline and bounce.

Bouncing in the dark is more fun than it sounds. I can’t see the bushes that need trimming or the deck that needs power washing. I have music in my ears, a canzon by Gabrieli or a symphony by Mozart. I may be chilled at the start, but after a few minutes the cold no longer bothers me.

It’s a little bit like a sensory deprivation tank. Distractions are minimized; all that remains is the movement and the music.

The light may be fading, but bouncing makes it better.

Drive Time

Drive Time

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From time to time a walker has to drive. To move from point A to point B when points A and B are hundreds of miles apart. To tote groceries or kids or large stringed instruments. To accommodate those who seldom stroll.

Walk enough, though, and it colors the drive, makes it less efficient. At a certain point the car becomes the body with wheels for legs.

That’s when a drive becomes a meditative amble. A time to think, daydream and while away the hours.

Mind and Body

Mind and Body

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Recent events have once again brought to my attention the mind’s power over the body. This is not a new story — or even a novel idea for a post. After all, walking in the suburbs ( the activity, not the blog!) is as good for the mood as it is for the heart and lungs.

But seeing it in action, the undeniable power of this mind-body connection, fills me with wonder and gratitude.

We are a collection of chemicals, of muscle, bone and sinew. But we are also so much more.

Sunrise over Metro

Sunrise over Metro

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The built world intrudes but can’t diminish. Sometimes, in fact, it frames and beautifies.

A sunrise ringed by palm fronds would be postcard pretty, but this one is lovely, too.

An ordinary morning, walking through the Metro parking garage, and this is what I see.

 

A Community of Voters

A Community of Voters

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I voted after work, entered the almost empty gym of Fox Mill Elementary School as the new, earlier darkness was settling over the suburbs.

It brings back memories, this polling place: all the trips I’ve taken there, many with one or several kids in tow, introducing them to the mysteries of the voting machine, giving them a sense of civic responsibility.

Today, as for the last many years, I voted alone. But not really.

When I gave the clerk my name and address, she smiled: “I think everyone on Fort Lee Street has voted today.”

Really? I said, with a grin I didn’t think I could muster. I felt a sense of silent community with my neighbors. Pride of place? Not exactly, but close.

Yes, I voted. And I wasn’t the only one.


(What I saw on the way to the polling place.)

Late Fall

Late Fall

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The colors of late fall are mature, subtle ones. The flamers, the few we had, have flamed out. What’s left are russets, dark oranges, pale golds.

When I wander in the woods, I slide through piles of dried leaves. This is where all the color has gone. Shriveled, crisped, beaten by rake and foot.

But this, I remind myself, is how new leaves begin. The soil for saplings is being crushed and created all around us. And though the brave colors are fading,  new colors are waiting in bud and stem.

Mental Map

Mental Map

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What wakes the mind before the body is ready? Does sleep’s string snag on
a jagged dream?  Whatever the cause, suddenly thoughts are spinning again.

There is only so much one can do when
unconscious. Best to seek its return as quickly as possible. Shift from back to
side, flip the pillow to find its cool undercoat. Seek the trail of breadcrumbs back to oblivion.

As Hansel and Gretel discovered, though, breadcrumbs are not reliable. Pebbles work better. They
gleam in the dark; they light the way home. 
Best of all, though, is to memorize the
way. To have a mental map and follow it.
The Rest of Us

The Rest of Us

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Yesterday was All Saints Day; today is All Souls Day.

This is the day for good intentions and ragged realities: prayers not said and penances not completed. Gratitude glossed over in the crush of living.

This is the day for apologies and starting over and resolving to do better next time.

This is not a day for the practically perfect in every way.

This is a day for the rest of us.

Google Gripe

Google Gripe

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To write this blog I must sign in to my account. And starting a couple of days ago, I was told I must sign in via a fancy new one-account Google sign-in.

At work I must sign in to Google to view the calendar and learn when my colleagues will be taking vacation. I must also sign in to Google to learn the analytics of the magazine I edit. To do the latter two, I’ve been using Google Chrome (the only way I can get to the calendar).

This goes under the category of “biting the hand that feeds you,” but … I’m starting to get enough of Google. The thought of moving my blog is headache-inducing for sure. But still, a girl’s gotta dream.


(A seasonal photo that has absolutely nothing to do with Google!)