Silence was on my mind, so I took my morning coffee outside on the porch. I was contemplating Holy Week and how I was going to manage the need to disconnect and prepare, with a pressing need to connect across international lines and prepare for a trip that is both complex and exciting.
I’m trying to embrace the silence recommended by Pope Francis, especially since I feel a bit scattered and restless. The man-made noises inside the house, typically a sign of security, now affect me negatively. Sitting outside in the sunshine exposes me to a different noise; it’s natural and has a rhythm that is soothing instead of annoying. I can hear the difference between the waves that crash against the rocks and the waves that softly land on shore.
The wind, too, rustles differently in the trees than in the rose bushes behind me. Every once in a while a dried leaf dances across the paving stones and scrapes up a new sound.
I hear at least a handful of birds — I wish I could recognize them by their song, but it will have to be enough that I know they are different, and that perhaps at some point in the past few days they’ve stopped in our yard for a little snack at our feeders.
I came outside to get away from the ambient sounds in the house. The tv is on in the office; the A/C hums throughout the house. I think I hear the electricity cycling through the appliance. It’s noisier outside, but it’s a living sound, harmonious and soothing.
Every once in a while a squadron of pelicans fly overhead, silently casting their shadows across the yard. I instinctively look up, but the sun is so bright it blinds me. It takes a long moment for my eyes to adjust to the page again. The best way for me to enjoy the light is to look away to the horizon. The breeze ripples across the water, creating a sparkling light show, shimmering as far as I can see.
The bay, once called the Bay of the Holy Spirit, is full of God’s holy presence today. I get why it was named so. It’s breezy, teeming with bubbly activity that is both powerful and calming. To sit here in silence is to pray.
Green sprigs and new growth are surrounding the new homestead, and it’s exciting to see signs of spring around our new home. I’m delighted whenever I see something new, and for now, I’m not even annoyed about what I’m sure are weeds.
Weeds are in the eye of the beholder, after all.
Took some photos this mornings. Delighted in the graceful birds surrounding me in my little corner of the world.
Misty days at the shore create a heavy mood around here. The air is soupy. Things slow down. Some people say it’s somber and even a little depressing because everything turns gray, Personally, I think it creates a special ambience — not quite romantic, but certainly mysterious. Like special things can happen.
Anything can happen. Or nothing at all.Read More
What’s in a name? This week’s photo challenge asks us to look at names, and photograph them. I think it’s a neat challenge. We name everything, don’t we? Formal names and nicknames and pet names. It helps us identify things for ourselves and for others.
Recently, while traveling through Scotland, we came across a familiar name on a small sign on the highway. It was just an information sign for the local distillery, Dewar’s, a name familiar to me since my childhood. It was my father’s preferred scotch.
There’s something comfortable about the familiar. We went to the distillery and had a marvelous time learning about the history of the whisky and the distillation process. We even had an opportunity to go into a tasting room. But all of it, while fascinating (and delicious) was made all the more cozy because I first recognized the name.Read More
The last photo challenge of 2016, resilient, happens to be my first photo challenge of 2017.
It seems fitting. Resilience is probably defined somewhere as being able to recover from something, to come back from a low through strength or will, or both. It makes me think of Weebles; remember those? “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!”
I love old things that have been exposed to nature and the elements, and still stick around. I have dozens of pictures of chimneys that stand alone in the wake of fires, dilapidated barns, beat up cars. And more than a few boats, like this one.
I wondered what happened here. Did the owners survive a storm at sea, the boat finally making it to shore no longer seaworthy, but left as a trophy for doing its job well one last time?
Was it abandoned by its owners, drawn to a shiny new motorboat made of fiberglass? Did they move, unable to bring it along and left behind?
Who knows! There’s something beautiful about it anyway. Maybe it’s the mystery.Read More