Weeks have been long and rest hard to come by these past months. Work continually robs me of all the time normally dedicated to chores, friends & family, finishing Dreamdarkers and delving into End of the Warm Season, reading, and otherwise doing things that don’t involve earning a paycheck.
It even steals precious moments away from The Kids, although I draw the line there and take back what is rightfully mine at every opportunity when it comes to these feline children.
Nevertheless, and despite the weather foiling every opportunity to get out and about recently, I find myself looking back again and again at precious moments seen through the eyes of a child discovering the world over and over with each walk and with each moment.
And so these uncomplicated things, common vistas ignored by far too many, serve to remind me that nature offers its best in ways we often fail to realize, let alone take notice of.
An assortment of autumn leaves set aside by the wind and painted by magic. The trees surrounding my home deposit these tattered clothes every year; the winds of seasonal change scoop them up, whirl them into piles of bountiful beauty, and lay them to rest outside my garage door. I beg of my neighbors not to interfere with this annual pilgrimage. This tapestry is my guest and within its dying confines I myself discover renewal and rejuvenation.
A tree fallen. What noble life is felled this day at the shores of plentiful waters? What ageless spirit vanishes into the cosmos as its eyes look back upon a body now lifeless?
Along the shores of White Rock Lake rest a myriad of remnants from when the reservoir was created, archaeological artifacts that even today cause one to stop and ponder, wonder what hands hewed these stones and built these walls, what structures lie at rest beneath these waters and grow increasingly hidden by nature’s unrelenting toils to reclaim the area.
A sailboat moored near the shore of White Rock Lake on a windy and cloudy day. Pushed hither and yon by nature’s might, this escape found itself wrestling against the unremitting presence of the world’s breath. Too close to the lake’s edges and too tossed by the rough surface, the boat ensured I remained entranced by a simple thing caught in the drama of simple things.
A common dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) facing the sun. What noble gold shines so brightly amongst the barren landscape of winter? Few can so mightily unfurl their petals with splendor and strength amidst the cold, hard, skeletal hands of arctic menace. Yet this small flower, the torment of many a landscaper, does so with a majesty that beckons our attention. And how many stop to see?
This is the trail I take to and from my home when I visit White Rock Lake. It leads down the hill and through the woodlands, and it takes me directly from where I live to the shores of this urban oasis. And I find it just as glorious when the trees shed their foliage and offer up the bones of the world to a sky that never ends.
