Woman With A Basket On A Country Road ~ H. Claude Pissarro

This work, done in pastel crayon on paper, was created by H. Claude Pissarro, the grandson of Camille Pissaro, the son of Emile, Camille's youngest son. It's pretty clear that Claude was very much taken by his grandfather's Impressionist ideas and style.

It's all here, isn't it: the delight in being outdoors, the fascination with weather and light. The gnarly trees seem to dance. The sky has thin cloud cover. We can feel, even hear, the many-colored grasses swaying in a stiff breeze. A peasant woman, carrying a basket over her left arm, is walking along the path. We don't see the start of the winding path, nor its end.

Not a few priests reflect unfavorably on their seminary years. They claim the place was too isolated or too monastic. I wouldn't share that complaint. My seminary, a huge building that could hold more than two hundred men, sat on several hundred acres. All throughout the property there were paths winding through fields and woodland. One wide path led down to wetlands and a bay. I was happiest in these places more than anywhere else. Pile on the snow, I'd make a path through. Indeed, I remember one winter day being stopped by the beauty of some dried grasses, golden yellow, against new snow.

Something happens to us (or for us) when we walk a winding path, grounded, without concrete or asphalt getting in between. Thoughts seem to come up right out of the ground to head and heart. A news item this week indicated that children who have these kinds of exploratory experiences are less likely to suffer emotional illness.

Sorry to say, but many people today have no en-plein-air exposure. The only thing winding under and around them is the mass of winding electric cords connecting computer, television and phones to chargers, speakers and printers. We're the poorer for it. 

Intercessions ~ Palm Sunday

Germany ~ 1505 ~ Palm Sunday Sculpture

We pray for Pope Francis,/ as he leads the Church in prayer this Holy Week from Rome./ For the safety of pilgrims who will travel to Jerusalem these last days of Lent./ We pray to the Lord.

Racism is our nation's original sin./ We pray for the three African American, Baptist congregations/ whose historic churches were burned recently. / For their consolation and endurance./ For those who conceal and protect hateful hearts./ We pray to the Lord.

For the President of the United States,/ our Congress/ and people in leadership around the world./ May they know the truth of God's justice and mercy./ May they possess servant-hearts./ We pray to the Lord.

As Jesus enters Jerusalem/ to begin the sacred work of his suffering and death,/ may we welcome and accept his invitation/ to allow for God to rule our decisions,/ our politics,/ our families/ and our work./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for the sick,/ the wounded and the damaged,/ the imprisoned and the refugee./ We ask blessings for the many who work to help others in their suffering and need./ We pray to the Lord.

In the early Spring,/ as our hemisphere turns green,/ may we grow in humility,/ self-knowledge, / and a deepened respect and care for our increasingly vulnerable planet./ We pray to the Lord.

Flowering Plum Tree, Eragny ~ 1894

The Impressionist artist, Alfred Sisley said, "Every picture shows a spot with which the artist has fallen in love."  Perhaps nothing so demonstrates that love-in-the-moment as the Pissarro's fascination with light. This view of the blooming plum tree glitters with light. Look at the sky. Look at the ground which is kaleidoscope-like. Look at the plum tree itself. Even the bucket-carrying woman is half in light and half in shadow.

The novelist author and poet, Mae Sarton, wrote in her journal, Plant Dreaming Deep (1968) of her coming upon a Plum Tree in Japan and then again in her backyard - with a bright Oriole as an added surprise.

"Two years ago, the dwarf plum trees by at the kitchen door flowered for the first time. Is there a more haunting presence than plum? It is sweet, but not too sweet, a little spiced, sweetness with a shade of bitterness in it. I remember getting out of the train at Enka-Kuji, a Zen monastery not far from Tokyo, on a chill March day, and being taken by surprise. What was that incense? It was plum blossom.

Now it was here, right at my door. I could look out on two clouds of white, supported on black irregular twigs, and alive with bees. The next morning the oriole came to shine his orange flame among all those white petals. I could hardly believe it. I had heard the oriole more than once, but I had not actually seen one since that first day when I came to look at the house and he had appeared on the maple like an angel. Yet, it was true. The oriole had come back to celebrate the first flowering of the plum and perhaps also to celebrate much else that had seemed wild dream and has come true in the last six years."

Have you ever had a "wild dream" life-moment that you carry with you all your life like this? A "come true" moment or experience that wonderfully remains?