February footprints (looks like someone called "Halt, about right, hop!"), fanfare (a post-Christmas crimson amaryllis with five blooms and a fine flourish of green succulent), and fun (a snowcat keeping an eye on the birdfeeder).
A familiar February or March progression, this year starting at the end of January. The snowdrops peek out, get buried in snow, snow melts enough that the snowdrops come pushing up through the snow, blooms get ready to open, a spell of warm days opens them. The photo that's missing here is one of drowned-looking snowdrops -- we had nearly 6 inches of rain February 19-21. I stayed inside where it was dry.
From Humans of New York: Stories, p. 408: "The eye doesn't see. The brain sees. The eye just transmits. So what we see isn't only determined by what comes through the eyes. What we see is affected by our memories, our feelings, and by what we've seen before." So what do you see in these images from the camera's eye, recorded in mid-December, before the snow fell?
The next photo provides a behind-the-scene view of the photo above.
On December 19, I spent the morning at Pathways Retreat Center, hosting the Day Away for spiritual directors. Here are some of the patterns, colors, and sights that caught my eye as I walked the labyrinth. Or my ear -- I heard the geese flying overhead while I was focusing on the small gray feather caught on a dried stem.
On a frigid snowy late December evening, I am enjoying the green of moss and lichens on an aging tree near one of the Pathways labyrinth, from photos taken less than ten days ago, when the temperature was in the 40's instead of the teens.
Late afternoon sunshine on one of the last days of November inspired a quick trip down to the DeFries Calendar Garden. This time my eye was caught by strong lines, intriguing backlighting, and reflections.
It may be a limited palette, but I enjoy the patterns and repeating shapes in these November photos.
I am grateful for a morning at Pathways Retreat Center last week, on a day with sun and shadow taking turns, leaves and milkweed seeds dancing through the air and snagging on other plants, grasses tossing in the wind, and green moss growing serenely on old branches.
Before November and all the leaves leave us, here is some interplay of light, color, and patterns from this past month.
"Instructions for living a life:
Tell about it."
Mary Oliver in "Sometimes"
I've taken on a prayer practice of looking for the moments of light in each day, whether actual or metaphorical, and then writing or posting photos of what I find.