Morning Ritual

When we do what we love, again and again, our life comes to hold the fragrance of that thing.

Wayne Muller

I wake in the dark of morning

and wherever in the world I am -

I walk outdoors.

Morning calls.

I feel the breath of it

on my skin,

hear its music,

the sound of waking birds,

filling my ears.

My mind is quiet.

Worry has not woken.

Only wonder walks with me,

as I watch the moon

departing,

and the first light of dawn

breaking over the fields;

into the trees.

No matter what the day

before has brought me -

No matter what dreams

haunted my sleep -

I wake in the dark of morning

and wherever in the world I am

I walk outdoors.

Morning calls.

Sunrise through barbed wire and a thorny vine

I hear the sound of birds singing above me

Texas sun blazing through the bare oak branches

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A starling sings from the top of the utility pole, silhouetted against the gradually lightening sky.

Every morning it’s a little different - a haze on the horizon softens the edges of light

A big buck staring across the field toward the rising sun

Above the trees in the big Texas sky

The sacred is not in heaven or far away. It is all around us, and small human rituals can connect us to its presence. And of course the greatest challenge (and gift) is to see the sacred in each other.

Alma Luz Villanueva

I had to make a road trip to Texas this week - it was quickly thrown together, and it could have felt rushed and stressful, except for my daily pre-dawn walk outdoors. There is always this quiet time before the sun rises, when I can be outside and walk in peace, before worries or plans begin to fill my mind. I go out in cold, in rain, in snow, in wind, in heat -whatever the weather. It is harder to do somedays than others, but I never regret doing it. It is a ritual that comforts me by making every place I go feel familiar. Wherever there is a morning, I am home.

Hope your week was beautiful too. See you next week.

The waning moon in the early morning hours, just before sunrise in Texas

Monochrome Vision

The rare moment is not the moment when there is something worth looking at, but the moment when we are capable of seeing.

Joseph Wood Krutch

monochrome

color eludes my eyes

the dormant grass, the bare trees,

the tangle of fallen branches and leaves.

it is all - all one giant mess,

confusing my sight-

and yet there you stand,

nearly hidden

in brown and white;

just like another branch=

before me.

standing tall and (nearly) straight, the bare trees

a rain drop lingers on the surface of a puddle…reflecting

The messy reflection of barren things in the fen waters (Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, MO)

a nest that fell on the stone path (Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, MO)

a mass of volcanic rock, slowly etched and worn by a river finding its way through (Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, MO)

There is a sense of patient waiting in the gray skies, bare trees, and dormant fields.

The days are short,

The sun a spark

Hung thin between

The dark and dark.

John Updike

I have been thinking about beauty in late fall - mainly whether or not there is any. In the U.S., in the Midwest, it can be very gray, cold and wet this time of year. Everything seems to be the same dull brown or gray. I struggle to find something colorful to photograph - a rare blue sky, a bright berry, a bird, a sunset…but then I thought, why struggle? Why not try to see beauty in this season as it is? It is a darker kind of beauty, a melancholy beauty; but still worth the effort of seeing.

Thank you so much for being here. I will see you next week!

Late Autumn Musing

I saw old autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.

Thomas Hood

In November,

I am

November.

I am dark and still,

I am cloudy and cold,

I am stormy.

One day I shine;

laugh out loud,

and scatter the leaves.

The next day I freeze -

whipping up an icy wind

blowing snow over everything.

Then, once again

I stop -

Melting into

December.

One white leaf in a sea of brown

Hey. Who’s over there?

A tufted titmouse with a little bite

November at its best - with a sort of delightful menace in the air.

Anne Bosworth Greene

A little taste of winter blew in Monday night.

Snow gathered in the fallen leaves.

A dark-eyed Junco got a face full of snow while searching under the feeder for fallen seeds.

A Carolina Wren showed up on the suet feeder. Seems a bit late to be in Michigan.

A young deer with its beautiful winter coat stayed around the edge of my yard all afternoon.

Listening…

By sunset Wednesday evening, most of the snow was already gone. In this photo, the deer are standing in the light of the setting sun looking oddly orange, except for the parts in the shade.

November’s a burn and an ache.

Charles Wright

November is a strange month. It’s moody. It can be warm and calm. It can be cold, dark and windy. It can be wintry. It can be all of these things in the same day. It takes me along with it if I’m not careful. I try to be careful. I don’t always succeed.

Luckily - by the time you read this - it will be December. Hope your November was full of good weather both internally and externally.

Thank you so much for being here. I will see you next week!

A late November sunset clear, bright and cold.