BIRTHDAY GETAWAY

For my birthday in late September, I attended The Arc of Appalachia Preserve’s semi-annual Women’s Retreat. 
Even a retreat owner needs a change of venue at times and I was
interested both in surrounding myself with beautiful scenery, as well as seeing
how another organization conducts their women’s retreats.





 

 

The scenery did not disappoint and was, in fact, surprisingly
colorful.  On the last weekend in September,
the foliage appeared to be at peak brilliance, at least in that part of
Hillsboro.  We hiked through their “accidental
prairie” (prairie seed purchased by a supporter after someone accidentally sprayed
the field with herbicide), with Canada goldenrod, New England and New York
Asters in full bloom.  We then entered
the woods, eventually walking along the dolomite cliffs above the Rocky Fork River. 

The gathering was advertised as a “retreat designed to give
an expansive time for rest and self-nurture,” so there was no programming per
se.  There were offerings of morning yoga,
a daily hike and massages throughout the 3-day retreat (for a reduced fee).  So while there wasn’t an opportunity to see
how they facilitate a directed retreat, I did pick up a few ideas that might be worth
trying.

One of those ideas is their shared meal – not just in the
partaking of it – but also in the preparing of it.  Three recipes – an entrée and two side dishes
– were assigned to three groups who prepared them from a bag filled with
ingredients, pans, knives and directions. 
It was very efficient and fun to do. 
Our group worked on the Fruity Coleslaw Salad, which was wonderful,
except it needed a bit of salt. :-)

The other idea, which we would consider if we remodel or
build at Prairie Pond Woods in the future, was their composting
toilet.  It was completely odorless, and
fit nicely in the large 12-person, restored hunting lodge from the early 1900’s.  It goes to show that technology and design
will come together to make more and more sustainable products in the future,
especially if folks are willing to pay a bit more to buy or use them.

My goal for this retreat was to continue to read through TheArtist’s Rule and do the suggested exercises of poetry writing, prayer and
art-play. The other goal was to walk down the road to find an open spot for viewing the Full Harvest (Birthday) Moon, which a few of us did on Saturday night.  And while sitting on the porch
swing I did managed to write a poem…the first birthday poem I
have ever written.

September 29

Today is my 56^th
birthday;

a cold-cloth-on-a-forehead kind of day

where there is nothing to do but

breathe deeply and happily dream.

I was born at 3:27 in the afternoon.

A week later, as the story goes, Don

Larson pitched a perfect game for the Yankees,

while my dad held me and my mother slept.

Is this why I married a
baseball fanatic?

Is this why I slowly come alive in the afternoon?

Is this why autumn often moves me to tears?

Perhaps while lying on my
father’s lap, his

anticipation transferring to me, I looked out

the window to see a hundred red, gold and

orange mobiles, and fell in love with life.

POETRY IN MOTION

Neighbor’s Garden

I came to pick up the vacation paper
And suddenly, I am on a safari.


Morning breezes usher out the haze-
Open stage for all winged creatures,
Black vulture and hummingbird,
Monarchs with Viceroy twin.

All around me, movement, like random,
diving leaves after an early autumn frost.
Lost among the coneflowers, Pearl Crescents
rise like a wave as the wind stirs.

A dragonfly charges me, defending new prey.
How odd to see the tables turned on a yellow jacket.

There are no fragrances this late in summer,
just the heavy smell of heat rising.
Sounds of August music ebb and flow,
With background static of cicadas.


But there is no shortage of color-

Gliding,

Fluttering,
Soaring,

Basking,
Launching,

and Landing-
I’d go deaf if I could hear their wings beat.

Cindy Steffen

August, 2002

SORA

The sora made such a fool of itself

Flapping up from the cattails and

Staggering in front of me, like a drunk,

Across the boardwalk.



In an instant, it sliced through tall reeds,

vanishing in the swallow of the marsh,

a wake of bright green confetti

closing up behind it.  



First amused, then caught in the curiosity

like an adolescent boy- wanting just to look -

I yearn, yet feel only the alienation.



In the mystery of this ancient exchange,

to hear the pitch of unfamiliar calls,

smell air’s perfume, touch earth’s moist skin,

we offer our willing senses.



All that ever shouts or whispers back, is fear.



Cindy Steffen