Conference turris::womannotes-v3

    Welcome to the place where I discovered "peace of soul!"  It is
    on a limestone cliff overlooking a high sierra meadow above the
    Mexican town of Creel, Chihuahua.  The meadow is criss-crossed with
    arroyos in their early stages of erosion.  The fences are still
    made of pine logs here, with a few stacked stone fences for more
    permanence as an added bonus.  It's my favorite time of year here--late
    May.  The apple tress are in full bloom, and you can hear the hum
    of bees carried on the soft breeze.  The scent of the blossoms also
    drifts our way as we gaze at the farmers planting corn below.  
    
    Time takes a step backward here.  All the plowing is done with a
    log that has a plowshare attached.  The hills of corn are being leisurely
    planted by the farmer's family who follows barefoot down the newly
    plowed rows.  In the distance, we can see cows being turned out
    to pasture on the new spring grass.  The clanking of the leader's
    bell sounds mellow from our cliffside perch.  Everywhere we look,
    there is peace-- from the slow moving farmer to the sweet spring breeze
    that whispers in our ears.
    
    The warm sunshine makes us feel drowsy.  We look around for a likely
    spot to nap, and pick a nearby fir tree to rest against.  As we
    lean back against the tree, we relax and let the serenity of nature
    do her work.  We are at peace.

    The red-pine woods of Northern Michigan, on a lazy summer afternoon. 
    There's a particular gentle slope ending at the edge of a tiny lake. 
    Close by is the quiet lapping of small waves on the shore.  Further off
    are the squeals of children swimming and playing.  The scents of
    crushed wintergreen and warm pine-needles, and the interplay of
    sunlight and shadow in forest and on the lake.  Toss in a couple of
    small blueberry bushes, where the berries are ripe and you've just
    eaten a couple............
    
    Alison

a theatre -- any theatre -- that is deserted.  There is a wonderful quiet
that is occasionally overlaid with snatches of lyrics or dialogue...there are
ghosts here, charactors and their portrayers that have traversed the stage and
waited in the ... I can smell a myriad of events and emotions, fear, 
greasepaint melting under the lights, elation, dust, gut-wrenching stage-fright,
musty costumes...I can hear snippits of applause and bursts of laughter...I 
can see kliegs and scoops and spots and travelling spots and gels...I can hear
nailing and sawing and painting and pulling nails out and knocking walls down
and building the next walls.........aaaaaahhhhhhh....peace and tranquility!

E Grace

Most any peak in the High Sierra. The top of Feather Peak with the Sierra all
around you and the Owens Valley spread out like a brown carpet below. Bare
granite peaks sliding down to clear blue High Sierra lakes. Stunted junipers
twisted by the wind. Wildflowers nestled beneath huge granite boulders. Alpine
meadows with the grass whispering in the breeze.

Camped by the Colorado River in the depths of the Grand Canyon. Elf's Chasm,
the Little Colorado, Havasu Creek. Sitting in the starlit darkness listening to
the river's moods. Crashing rapids, quiet smooth black silken flow, chuckling
over rocks. Falling asleep to the songs of the river.

Sea cliffs along California's North Coast. Anywhere from Bodega Bay north,
sitting, listening to the seagulls, watching the waves foaming against the
rocks hundreds of feet below.

The white quiet of a pine forest in mid winter, miles from any road. Silence so
intense that your ears hurt from it.

	-- Charles

    Sitting at lunch today on the worn wooden beam of a breakwater as the
    waves of the Pacific crash on the rocks below. The sun is warm, and the
    breeze is light, the beach mostly empty on this October day. Two
    surfers bob in the swell, waiting for just the right wave. Pelicans
    skim the surface of the waves, looking for fish. The waves foam across
    the beach, and sandpipers skitter back and forth in front of the waves,
    looking for morsels brought in by the new tide. There are a few
    sunbathers, but the sun is weaker, with the angled yellow light of
    the late fall day. A family clambers over the rocks, trying to get the
    perfect photo without getting inundated by the surf, their voices
    drowned out by the crash of the waves. One surfer catches the curl,
    and skillfully works the wave back and forth before it collapses in
    white foam.
    
    -roger
    

    
    There are few people on my beach today. A warm almost hot day.
    The rocks are rolling making that constantly different, always the same
    sound as the waves finish their journeys. I lay on my back.
    My hands, fingers, arms, neck, head, back, legs, heals touch the warm sand. 
    The sun pushes me down, down into the sand. Pushing the cares, the troubles
    of everyday living away. Somewhere deep in my mind quiet comes.
    
    - Richard
    

	The Marginal Way (Ogunquit, Me.)

	Step off the trail to sit on a bench snuggled under some trees
    that are changing into glorious autumn hues, as the Atlantic Ocean
    breaks and foams on the large rock formations below a sunny sky with
    just a few wisps of clouds.


				magnificent  Kbear

    Great Island, Wellfleet Ma. or the Nauset Marsh, Eastham Ma. both
    on Cape Cod. These are two places that I find serenity when I'm
    am there. When I need a little peace I often think of being there.
    These are areas of the Cape far away from the maddening crowds and
    the commercialism that is found elsewhere on the Cape.
    
    Jim C.
     

I love riding through the Black Forest area east of Colorado Springs. The area
is thick with Ponderosa Pines and the smell is heavenly. It literally perfumes
the air. I like the feeling, on a hot day, of riding in and out of the shadows
feeling the change in air temperature on my skin. And I love riding to the top
of a ridge and seeing the forest fall away around me with the front range spread
across the horizon. I can see for miles and the mountains seem to stretch to
eternity. And sometimes the sounds of birds and little animals surround me and
sometimes deep silence. 

There are times when I ride through the forest and ravines that I feel I've
stepped back in time, a traveler over more than miles. liesl

    
    Sitting on the rough-edged quartz boulders that jut out into the
    Atlantic, the larger and smaller cottage belonging to my grandfather
    nestle gently in the trees over my right shoulder.  I look out to sea
    and note the islands - from left to right there's Burnt Island, Ocean
    Point, Squirrel Island, Pemaquid Point, Ram Island, Fisherman's Island,
    Outer White, Damariscove.....skirting gently around the sailboats that
    drift slowly past in the hazy sunlight.  The breeze is soft and the sun
    is gentle on my shoulders.  Book in hand, I come to greet the high tide
    with bare feet for the sea to gently wash.  The ocean surges - every
    seventh wave the largest, its ice clear froth weaving in various shades
    of blue-gray.  
    
    And at night, you can see the lighthouses.  The pine-breeze makes you
    glad you wore your sweater, and the light-house flashes and foghorns
    come to you from far away (five on a clear night are in sight...)  The
    stars are so bright, the sky is so much bigger up here.  And the ocean
    phosphoresces as the moon traces its path on the ebb-tide.......
    
    -Jody
    

    .9!  Leisl...your description makes me homesick for Colorado!
    

    Lying in the hammock strung between two lodge-pole pines in our
    backyard, watching the sunlight playing hide-and-go-seek between the
    pine needles overhead.  Off to the left a bevy of gold finches chirp
    around the bird feeders, making the only sound to be heard other than
    the sighing of the breeze through the trees.  High above, silhouetted
    against the clear blue of a sky that reaches out into infinity, a hawk
    floats lazily on unseen currents of air.  The breeze ruffles the pages
    of a book that's dropped, forgotten, into my lap, and a mockingbird
    sitting on the top rail of the garden fence breaks joyously into a 
    medley of every bird song he's ever known.
    
    Karen
    
    P.S. Leisl, you're making me homesick, too.  When I was a child I
    attended church camp in the Black Forest area, and found a marvelous
    spot to be alone high on a hillside looking across the highway below to
    the slopes of Pikes Peak.  I have fond and refreshing memories of
    watching the sun set gloriously behind the front range, wrapped in its 
    mantle of pinks, mauves, purples, and peaches.  Eventually the Air
    Force Academy became a focal point on those slopes, but even then the
    spires of the Academy chapel only added to the peace that comes at the
    end of the day.  Thanks for reawakening the memory. 

    When I was a kid I had a "cave".  Actually it was a hollow on a
    sand-stone cliff, about 8 feet up and about 4 feet deep.  It fit two
    people very nicely.  It took a fair amount of work to get to
    (scrambling up a sandstone wall), and was just high enough that people
    passing by didn't notice us.  Not that people passed by often...it
    overlooked a dirt road, which in turn overlooked a huge expanse of
    sage-brush hills.  (Anyone who has been to northern New Mexico knows
    what I mean.)  
    
    I loved going there after a rain storm.  The smell of sage-brush after
    rain is like no other smell.  No one was out, and it was still and
    quiet, with just the pinon and juniper trees dripping and the birds.
    
    I went back there last year, and the entire area had been built up with
    condo's.  *sigh*
    
    D!

My so-far favorite spot on earth is Death Valley. Such variety of terrain, so
many colors, such beautiful sunshine in winter. Death Valley is nature without
people.

If New York City is hell, then Death Valley is heaven.

Vicki Meagher

� If New York City is hell, then Death Valley is heaven.

    And, contrariwise, ...
    
    Ray

    
    ah, yes, an afternoon at Lincoln Center....
    

    I guess I'm too close to think,, even remotely, that NYC is tranquil...
    
    My favorite place.....a small lake in Monroe, NY right behind my
    grandma's house...it's now all built up to condos too..just like a
    previous note...sigh!
    
    Jill
    
    

    well, last weekend (before it rained this week) I walked one day, skied
    the next, on the trails in the woods, on the slope of the mountain. 
    It's wonderful to be able to ski out the back door.  There are a beaver
    pond and stream along the path.  The woods are quiet and peaceful.  I'm
    looking forward to many more days of getting to know my new home.