In memory of my mother:
Bereaved
Grief
Lament
Missing Her
One Crossing
Grievous Loss
In memory of my mother:
Mourning
Grief
Lament
Missing Her
One Crossing
Grievous Loss
So many of the early mornings this summer were beautiful. That of September 5th charmed me so utterly that I wrote about it in my journal. Since I am head down in the exciting final scenes of my current novel – and prefer not to take sufficient time away from it to write a blog post – I’m going to share that morning with you. 😀
Clear sky this morning, deep blue to the south, paler hue overhead, shading down to a soft warm white above the mountains to the west.
Crickets sing in the grass, their droning music punctuated by small tuneful chirps, crows in the distance, melodic twitters from songbirds nearer by. Sun brightens the trees of the slope across the way. Magical.
The back yard is still in shadow, muted greens; golden light hits the upper branches of the holly, so tall it rises above the ridge.
The inner reaches of the maples are quite lovely, a mosaic of shadowed leaves and sunlit ones with pieces of sky showing through.
. . . “the same summer will never be coming twice.” Never quite the same.
quote from
Anne of Ingleside,
L.M. Montgomery
Cooler air, dampness rising from cold earth, gray skies.
The season turns, and I turn inward, seeking warmth.
Warmth of the hearth, warmth of the heart, blankets.
I laugh with my family. I simmer soup on the stove. Here in the heart of our home.
Then comes a pale, clear day when the sun and the flaming trees astonish me.
Warmth of beauty draws me out.
For more photos:
An Autumn Branch
Blossom
Twelve dancing princesses in the fairy tale of that name descend a secret stair – not dancing while descending, however 😀 – and pass through three magical woods. Depending on the version in your book, the first glade of trees features leaves of bright copper, the second, flowers of shining silver, and the third, fruits of gleaming gold.
Fifty princes have sought to learn the princesses’ secret and failed.
When a modest gardener boy takes up the quest, he secures an advantage: a cloak of invisibility. Hidden by its powers, he follows the princesses to their midnight revels.
As proof of his journey, when he returns from the underworld, he breaks a twig from a tree in the copper wood.
This branch in my own garden reminds me of the gardener boy’s earliest prize.
For more photos:
Tree Rocket
Blossom
I’m looking at it right now. There’s nothing tame about it. It’s a wild tangle of green. Tendrils of new ivy, bright and clinging, sneaking everywhere. A feathery mass of periwinkle. Sprays of fern. Long, whippy weed things. And two gnarly maples rising out of the mass. The fairies should live here.
For more photos:
Loveliness
Blossom
A tall oak grows in my neighbor’s yard up the street. It’s so tall, tall as a Gemini rocket, maybe. And its branches spray out like fireworks. This spring, the new leaves on it glowed a fiery green. The oak just stood there, the way trees do. But it burned. And I … felt fizzy delight in its beauty. I craned my neck back, looking up, farther up. And there at the top, three contrails burst from its crown, curving streaks of white jetting across blue, as though the oak’s energy claimed all heaven. This was Iggdrasil, the Tree of the World, planted in my neighbor’s yard.
For more photos:
Blossom
Loveliness
For a sample of the story inspired by this oak . . . coming soon!
The cherry tree under snowfall graced my front garden in early March.
A mere month later, petals of pale pink flocked its branches.
The beauty of nature holds such an easy, soothing, fractal loveliness. It seems almost cheating to share it with you. In all likelihood, you encounter such beauty right outside your own front door. I hope you do! But isn’t it glorious to share visions and wonder with one another?
In that spirit, I give you … boughs of the cherry tree under blossom.
For more photos:
Wild Garden
Loveliness
I’ve mused on life change and the why’s and wherefore’s connected with it. I’ve shared some of my favorite reads with you. I’ve declaimed on myth-busting and food. I’ve lighted on many a flower in the meadow of my curiosity, started a dialog on every topic that interests me – except one.
Beauty.
I’m astonished I left it so late.
How could something so close to my heart go unmentioned? Perhaps because it touches so deep.
Beauty of sound and beauty of silence.
Beauty of vision and beauty of being.
Beauty of feeling and beauty of knowing.
Like L.M. Montgomery’s character, Walter Blythe, ugliness hurts me. And yet I’ve seen ugliness so profound it achieves beauty.
I love beauty at all scales. Minute, pollen dusted across a lily petal, and vast, the spray of the Milky Way across our earth’s night sky. Trivial, the pattern of my blue and white tablecloth, and essential, the love in my husband’s eyes.
And yet . . . I appreciate beauty in silence more often than I speak of it.
What about you?
Blogging is a sort of speaking. Perhaps that’s why I’ve waited. Having waited, I find the words still sparse. I’ll leave you with a soupçon of beauty from the middle range – nothing startling or deep, merely a classic that’s nearly cliché: freshly fallen snow.
For more photos:
Tree Rocket
Blossom
