Joy -- my schedule was finally such, and the weather warm enough, that I was able to go out for a walk with my camera this afternoon, to see what I could see. Granted, it was a gray day, as you can see above, but it was a gentle gray, a soft, peaceful gray.
What caught my eye today was the cycle of change-- the delicate calligraphy of a dead and dried weed against the gray sky, and the range of decay on these orange berries, with new buds showing tight and plump on a side shoot.
Everywhere I looked there were broken and decaying plants, and a few lines from Henry Lyte's hymn Abide with me started running through my head:
Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
. . .
Change and decay in all around I see,
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
Which sounds like it could have been really depressing, but it wasn't. The old, broken, dried up stuff will make way for new growth soon. In fact, when I got up close and looked carefully, I kept seeing signs of that new growth already present, like the pale buds on the stem in the photo above.
I saw this old log from a ways down the bike path, and it looked from that angle like the epitome of death and decay. But close up, it was full of all sorts of amazing moss and lichens. Life is full of surprises -- and, apparently, so is death.
"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.