What if we didn’t edit but left everything the way in which we were blessed with it, the highlights disputably the highs in light, the shadows lovingly interweaved, the bridges sometimes camouflaged or only revealed to the one meant to see; what if the walk is intentionally neverending with boardwalks to deter us from fully exploring the depths of the offerings, the possibilities of meeting the ones we are meant to and the ones by chance, and what if those are unfathomably unravelable in free will, fate, and happen- stance…?
Some set off to find themselves; some say wherever you go, there you are. Some never choose paths to explore but remain stagnant, wishing upon stars.
(But stars are evermoving, taking those wishes with them, beckoning the dreamer to follow the paths constellationly charted.)
I set off with no objective, but upon returning, the self-reflection (thoughts actually in the clouds!) made me realize about myself that I am exactly who I thought I’ve already found.
It’s the lightest I’ve ever felt upon returning, for now, to the ground.
Some were built for height, some false with imitation bark, some ill-fated by others’ fires, some have witnessed the sparks.
The dark, the light, rotates and falls upon each equally. Some were meant to sky-reach. Some use the sun’s love to bloom in delicate and fleeting beauty.
At the feet of giant trees, with whom I have always felt most rooted, in white lace and ray’s kiss still fresh on my crown, I have never been so at peace with who I’ve found I’ve always been.
Another fallen blossom… like the ones before in years passed I photographed and told stories for.
Each of these moves me in such profound ways; what’s underfoot, what others pass, stops me in my tracks with the silent beauty so profoundly displayed.
For a lifetime, I feel I could sit and contemplate, reflect on all the lessons and secrets it portrays…
This is how I know I’m different, for off the beaten path, tucked away, alone in nature is my happiest place.
The soft morning light haloing the fallen lady bids me pay respect and paint legacy allegories.
Not as sad as the last one I payed homage to, (but of course that is influenced by my inner untappable currents and current surface mood, no doubt, in turn, affected by the recent tides and moon…) this fallen beauty, still so poised, fills me with bittersweet truths,
for we, the best things, this life itself… all fleeting, all blossoms plucked by breezes in the grand scheme of it all, these hundred years if we are lucky (but who’s to say that’s luck when we know not what’s next and beyond; perhaps those taken early were needed for something else, angels only visiting to help us with ourselves…) nothing at all, a blink in time, though insignificant nor the center of the universe should we feel; we are each dearly loved, part of the same mother tree unseen but a morph of every variety, the keeper of every seed and leaf releasing us one by one into the world upon the breezes in perfectly timed seasons to root ourselves until it’s our time and we are called back again like this beautiful blossom having just detached. I always wonder if it’s a leap of faith or sacrifice or circumstance.
In any event, who could not ponder the rest of their life happening upon
I don’t usually like to know the scientific facts about the subjects I find and photograph in nature, even basic identification. It spoils the wonder and mystery to me, the thrill of all my imagination hatches, the magic, the mysticism, the fantasy, the tales, the divine creation we think we know all about. These are my discoveries; I am the first explorer to ever lay eyes on the new species. Instead of sketching them in my diary, I photograph them; I am both from the future and the past.
I couldn’t resist though peeking into the portal of cyberspace regarding this spectacular mushroom variety I haven’t seen before (I don’t think…). “Puffballs” they are, supposedly common. And of course, as reading when you are a born lifelong reader tends to go, I read a bit more… They have a poisonous “Death Cap” doppelgänger, well imposter anyway, being the most interesting fact to me.
These I spotted underfoot between my car and classroom back door going into work the other day. To photograph them meant anyone could be watching and definitely would wonder even more about me. Of course, I risked it all and got down low and took the shot. It was too intriguing in and of itself but also because they were paired and the morning light and shadows were beautiful. I love couplets of anything in nature because I am a romantic. I also champion the overlooked or undervalued in nature, especially weeds and fungi.
Where to begin with what I could spin from this encounter and image souvenir?…
Two as one connected, shadows merging, agreed to be shared,
to increase the surface area so the darkness lightens in lichen-like dual-stabilization: paired.
One absorbs more sun than the other but feeds its partner the light not so directly;
at times they reverse roles when the other needs to shrink into safety awhile and be protected temporarily.
The world passes by, so many times before both cruelly and unknowingly treading upon them;
others of their kind turned poisonous, but these two remain true to themselves and their commitment,
not letting others’ judgement affect their joy or quality of life and above all love,
testament to there being someone for everyone and such a connection vital, to feel that touch, to trust…
or maybe I am seeing too much in these balls of mushroom puffs I stumbled upon on my way to work this morn.
The majestic presence
of the Great Blue Heron
stills me
in reverence,
solitary beach wanderer
so calm and quiet,
looking out to sea
with such unrushed
leisure,
an example of the
grace
and pace
for human introspection
needed.
I join him
in patience
while listening
with my soul
for guidance, not quite meditation,
but I do forget
for a while
the world
and all of its
distractions,
not sure where I go
in those moments;
perhaps the not going,
the slowing,
the standstill,
is the key
lesson.
In that absence
is where I find
that restoration,
something unidentifiable
that alters
my internal composition,
perhaps restores it
to its simpler
condition
when so much less
pressure-affected
my disposition.
My head-heaviness
feels feather-light,
and I lose all sense
of time.
The majestic presence
Laura Denise 