Summer and the seashore bring out out more archetypal impulses. Last summer I wrote about a cairn build at the end of the spit of land I often walk on. That was destroyed in the end of summer, probably through the same impulse that makes little boys destroy their own and their sibling's sand castles. Likewise the bare tree adorned with shells for a couple of years was partly destroyed during the winter, which made me very sad. It's cripples skeleton still stands and is still covered with shells but it is awkward, almost ugly now.
However, it's remains has inspired at least three other attempts at tree decoration, a group of bushes not far from the original tree and, at the end of the spit, two other trees are now partially bedecked with shells -- all the two at the end of the spit are living trees with only a few dead branches so they look more like Christmas trees that the child of the family has begun to decorate in so far as his tiny arms will reach. The wonder of the summer is the circle of stones right at the water's edge. It is filled with water at high tide. It is a near perfect circle, with a pile of small stones in the center. The "floor" of the circle has mostly made of white stones of which there are quite a few around. [Once in a while I throw a few more into the circle.] There is no sign that it has been used for building fires, cooking marshmallows or whatever. It seems purely an ancient impulse to make an circular enclosure. Jung surely was onto something about the human's deepest memories.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!