Fourteen hours on the road yesterday, traveling home from Kansas. There were many moments of light, like this sunrise soon after we started, and the sun-brightened fog that filled dips in the landscape. Others were harder to catch with a photo, especially from a speeding car -- stark bare branches in a glowing fog, the bright breasts of raptors perched on fence posts beside the road, a herd of maybe a hundred deer drifting through a bare woods and across a stubbled field (fortunately, quite a distance from the highway).
Temperatures here were way down over the weekend, and back up into the 50's today. I discovered my snowdrops are up and showing a bit of white -- and by late afternoon, they were also surrounded by white. They should be fine, though -- they are called snowdrops for good reason!
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The Twelfth day of Christmas arrived with swathes of gauzy, pink clouds strewn across the pale blue sky, as though dawn were preparing for the arrival of twins, male and female. Today is the Feast of Epiphany, from the Greek word epiphaneia, meaning to appear. Related words are epiphaino - to give light, to illuminate-- and epephanen, to be revealed. A very fitting day for searching for sparks of light. For the Eastern Orthodox, Epiphany is also known as the Festival of Lights, because believers would bring many candles to celebrate the baptism services held that day. The Western Church celebrates Three Kings Day, and the arrival of the magi, the wise men from the east, bringing gifts and paying homage to the infant Jesus. The afternoon sunshine came streaming in our south living room window, bounced off the shiny library book on the coffee table, and created some intriguing light and shadow play with my pewter nativity scene. And the glory shone all around....
Sunset arrived as I began work on this entry, and the pink swathes returned. Last night's snowfall and today's clear skies made for many light filled moments today, starting with sunrise in the parking lot. Then there was sparkling ice on fences and trees, full of beauty even when it weighed branches down. I spent more time knocking snow off branches than taking pictures, and the top of the arborvitae is no longer bowed down to the ground. Ice was everywhere. There's a large flock of sparrows that normally shelters in our privet hedge. The hedge was half its normal height even after John freed the branches from snow. While they slowly recovered, a portion of the flock settled in our locust tree instead, their wings catching the light as they landed. The geese, on the other hand, flew overhead, heading towards the sun.
I was trying to take a photo of the cloudy, lavender, just-before-sunrise sky, and suddenly Sunrise! Later, I lit a candle for a direction session this afternoon, with these words from the opening prayer in Philip Newell's Celtic Treasure: We light a light in the name of the God who creates life, in the name of the Saviour who loves life, in the name of the Spirit who is the fire of life. We ended the session with a small ritual from Children and Worship – snuffing the flame of the Christ candle and then lifting the candle snuffer so that the smoke swirls through the room, with the words: The Light that was in one time and one place is now in all places, in all times. Light that has changed, Light that is absent and yet still present. I nearly didn’t go out for a walk this morning. I didn’t have a walking partner and it looked cold and gray. But I wanted the exercise, so I went. Just before I left the house, I saw a little blue in the sky, so I grabbed my camera. Good thing! The sky was amazing, full of fast moving clouds lit by the rising sun, and with fascinating shadows cast by other clouds. And always changing. It wasn’t the most aerobic walk I’ve ever had, because I kept stopping to take photos. The slide show below is in chronological order, over about a twenty minute period. If you are familiar with the Goshen College campus you may be able to tell when I'm facing east and when it's west. When you see the branch of maple leaves, you've been through the whole cycle. 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
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