The light shines in the darkness
and the darkness can not put it out.
The ups and downs of spring.... for several days Judy and I watched a robin working on this nest in a tree between the College Church parking lot and the bike path. It didn't strike us as the safest or quietest place to raise a family. Apparently the robin decided the same thing, leaving behind this high quality nest for anyone interested.
The ups and downs of April temperatures have kept us busy, covering and uncovering the strawberries and blueberries, but even without any protection, the miniature rose is putting out tiny rosebuds. (I haven't cropped this one as tightly as I might, to give you an idea of the size of the plant -- about six inches).
Our backyard is full of exclamation points, thanks to the neighbor's silver maple. It's great fun to watch them whirling their way down, but while we are hopeful that all the blueberry blossoms result in fruit, we are definitely hoping that these seeds are not so prolific. Most of the yard looks like this little patch:
The Japanese maple is not nearly so prolific, but there are 3 or 4 little seedlings coming up nearby. Pretty tiny, as you can see by the maple seed, but we're hoping these survive.
I woke up this morning realizing that I'd gotten sidetracked last night and despite good intentions to protect the remaining outdoor rosebud, it hadn't happened. Still, it seems to have survived the frost. Not bad for the first day of November.
Out of curiosity, I checked the fountains in front of the music building late this afternoon, and they were running. Not only that, the drops were catching the light.
It's next to impossible to catch the dancing of the water with a still photo, though, and it's in the dance and the play of the droplets that I saw sparks of light.
This may look like an ice sculpture, but it's not that cold yet, not here anyway.
It is the first of November, though, and so All Saints day, the day we remember those who have gone before us into the adventure of death, yet who remain with us in the great circle of saints, past, present and future. At an All Saints vesper service this evening, we lit candles and wrote names on paper leaves, and remembered our loved ones, our ordinary saints. Another moment of light.
Ten days ago there were two rosebuds on the bush in my herb bed.
Frost was predicted. I wondered if I should pick them and bring them inside. But each had only a tiny bit of color showing, so I worried that I'd be picking them too soon and they would never open.
I settled on bringing one in and leaving one outside, and watching to see what happened.
The indoor one began to unfurl slowly, and now looks like this.
The outdoor one also began to open, and having survived another night of frost thanks to a pillowslip cover, looks like this.
Perhaps in a few more days they will both be open. And here’s the unexpected spark of light – barely a foot away from the rosebush I've been photgraphing, on the miniature rosebush between the lavender and the mint, without my ever noticing any rosebuds, I discovered this tiny rose, fully open, untroubled by frost or hail.
Another rainy day – I have to look more carefully to find those moments of light. One came with the news that the biopsy on a friend’s mole had come back with the happy word, “Benign.”
Then there was the quiet light reflected in this bird bath.
And one more photo of rosebuds in the rain.
You'll notice that there are two rosebuds in the previous photo. With predictions that temperatures will drop into the 30’s tonight, and in the spirit of “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” I brought one inside. It has a teensy bit of color showing. We’ll see if it opens, and whether the bud outside is able to keep developing.
My approach to contemplative photography --
Tell about it."
Mary Oliver in "Sometimes"