Dew -- what a concept! And a welcome one after several weeks with hardly any rain. Yesterday afternoon there was a brief, heavy downpour, a lovely sight in itself. And then this morning, when I went out to get a few leaves of Swiss chard to have with my poached egg, the grass was wet with dew, and all the plants were sparkling.
0 Comments
One of the hymns we sang this morning at church was "O Savior, rend the heavens," #175 in the Hymnal Worship Book. The second and third verses brought visuals to mind for me, all photos I've taken in the last couple days. O Dayspring, dew from heaven send. As gentle dew, O Son, descend. Drop down, you clouds, and torrents bring, to Jacob's line rain down a King. (This is one of four stained glass windows in our meeting space, made by Wilma Harder. It was also raining outside, and there are light-filled raindrops on the bush outside the window, though it's hard to see in the photo when it is this size.) O earth, in flow'ring bud be seen, clothe hill and dale in garb of green. (Our forsythia has buds flowering totally out-of-season.) O earth, bring forth this Blossom rare; O Savior, rise from meadow fair. (A rare fall bloom on this normally spring-blooming violet in our yard.) Most of the leaves are down, the weather is turning colder, Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Must be the middle of November. But there are still a few stalwarts out in the garden. I picked swiss chard and brussel sprouts for supper, and enjoyed the interaction of light on the leaves and on droplets of water. The bronze-gold raspberry leaves are still on the canes, creating graceful golden arches on the edge of the garden. And who knew that veggies can get downright pugnacious at times? The caption with this crabby cole is "Who ya calling sprout, kid?"
We’re having beautiful sunny days this week and there are plenty of sparks of light to capture. It’s hard to choose just one, and why should I? Better to collect all that I can. I feel a bit like a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter, or (a more attractive thought) Leo Lionni’s Frederick, gathering sunrays and colors and words for the cold gray winter days. Here’s dawn sun on morning mist, from the bike path near campus. And the bright combo of maple leaves and morning sunlight, blazing unexpectedly above mundane cars and parking lot. And these sparkling dewdrops weren’t on the grass by my doorstep, but close enough – they were in the prairie plantings on the Goshen College campus just across the road. Mid-afternoon sunlight streaming into my spiritual direction room.... John and I biked out the Pumpkinvine trail for a picnic supper. In the marsh/lake beside the trail we saw three large herons – though they seemed a bit large for herons. And then they started clacking. Sandhill cranes! (I 'm guessing) And a flash of light as one spread his wings and danced. And as we biked home, evening light and fall leaves, bright reds and yellows. There you go, Frederick! Early this morning I read Heidi's Caringbridge blog for the past two days, which held a mix of the hard times of radiation treatment and celebrating life in the moment. I headed out for my usual walk, carrying my camera, just as the sun was coming up. Here it is again, that combination of light and dark that so often appear together when I become aware of a spark of light, that moment which in some way causes my heart to sing. As I walked on, it occurred to me that those moments often cluster in transition times. Early morning and late afternoon light create more interesting photos than the full light of day; the change of seasons brings new color; life’s transitions often make us more acutely aware of the gifts of the present. A fall leaf is beautiful, and bittersweet, and precious because it is both. Returning home, I started noticing a scattering of diamond bright light sparking from the short green grass – morning sunlight hitting the dew on the grass blades. I didn’t bother pulling the camera out. I took delight in the light, but knew I didn’t have the photographic skills to capture it.
I came in to read today’s email and found this Word for the Day from gratefulness.org, a quote from Bengali poet and Nobel winner for literature, Rabindranath Tagore: For many years, at great cost, I traveled through many countries, saw the high mountains, the oceans. The only things I did not see were the sparkling dewdrops in the grass just outside my door. I had to go back out and commemorate my grass diamonds, whether or not the photo did justice to it. If you look closely below, you’ll find dewdrops, but the flashes of fire are missing. You’ll have to go out and look for them in the dewdrops in the grass outside your own door. What other sparks of light will you find as you look around your everyday life? |
My approach to contemplative photography --
"Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." Mary Oliver in "Sometimes" Archives
August 2020
Categories
All
|