Weary of winter and sequestering, I am even a little tired of the color blue at times, no matter how intensely blue the
sky is or snowdrifts or spruce trees or the cast iron crane out in the garden. Its migratory kin have been gone for months, but our splendid
metal bird is frozen in place, and it is well and truly stuck in place until
springtime rolls around again. I simply like looking at it.
There are some lovely words for blue in the English language: azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, lapis lazuli, royal, sapphire, turquoise, ultramarine, to name just a few. I recite them like a litany under my breath as I look out at our sleeping garden with mug in hand or break a trail into the woods.
Just when I decide that I am all wintered out and will not sketch another icicle or frame another photo of such things, another eloquent winter composition presents itself to the eye. Something curved or fragile or delicately robed in snow shows up and begs rapt and focused attention. Glossy bubbles dance in the icicles above a frozen creek in the Lanark highlands. Snow crystals spark on the evergreens over my head and make them blaze like diamonds. As I lurch along, faded and tattered oak leaves flutter down to lie on the trail at my feet. Pine and spruce cones cast vivid blue shadows in pools of early morning sunlight. Is there anything on the planet as fine as the scent of snowy blue spruce boughs in January? Look closely, and every needle is wearing stars.
Small and perfect, complete within itself, each entity conveys an elemental peace and equilibrium, lowers the blood pressure and stills the breathing, returns my eyes and focus to simplicity and grace and just plain old being here. For a minute or two, my pain recedes and balance returns. It is a miracle that I am standing here at all, and these fleeting moments in the garden, the park or on the edge of the woods have to be enough. They are enough, and they are more than enough.
Worlds great and small everywhere, worlds within and worlds without, and every one is a wonder to behold and remember and love with my eyes and patient recording lens. Surely, I can do this for a little while longer.
There are some lovely words for blue in the English language: azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, lapis lazuli, royal, sapphire, turquoise, ultramarine, to name just a few. I recite them like a litany under my breath as I look out at our sleeping garden with mug in hand or break a trail into the woods.
Just when I decide that I am all wintered out and will not sketch another icicle or frame another photo of such things, another eloquent winter composition presents itself to the eye. Something curved or fragile or delicately robed in snow shows up and begs rapt and focused attention. Glossy bubbles dance in the icicles above a frozen creek in the Lanark highlands. Snow crystals spark on the evergreens over my head and make them blaze like diamonds. As I lurch along, faded and tattered oak leaves flutter down to lie on the trail at my feet. Pine and spruce cones cast vivid blue shadows in pools of early morning sunlight. Is there anything on the planet as fine as the scent of snowy blue spruce boughs in January? Look closely, and every needle is wearing stars.
Small and perfect, complete within itself, each entity conveys an elemental peace and equilibrium, lowers the blood pressure and stills the breathing, returns my eyes and focus to simplicity and grace and just plain old being here. For a minute or two, my pain recedes and balance returns. It is a miracle that I am standing here at all, and these fleeting moments in the garden, the park or on the edge of the woods have to be enough. They are enough, and they are more than enough.
Worlds great and small everywhere, worlds within and worlds without, and every one is a wonder to behold and remember and love with my eyes and patient recording lens. Surely, I can do this for a little while longer.
3 comments:
Sending you much love for the blueness.
I've been reading your blog for years, and(besides a deep urge to visit the Lanark Highlands at some point!)I can tell you it brings light and rekindles wonder.
I look forward to reading it every morning, and to hearing of your adventures.
Then there's "the Blues" in music. But emotionally I'd say I'm not feeling blue at all. Anger has really given me a lot of energy, as it should. Who knows, I might even clean the windows.
I love your wonderful descriptions! The magic of "worlds within worlds"- delightful! And yes, the peace, equilibrium and simplicity so needed these days. I am learning the way of mindfulness again - the natural noticing of what surrounds us beyond the upheaval and chaos. Awe and wonder indeed! Thank you :)
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