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| I got out of my car this morning and saw this. |
I am so grateful for the mountains in Utah. This is Mount Timpanogos. Breathtaking.
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Friday, February 21, 2014
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Wind piercing, cuts through my thin white shirt and chills my skin. Goosebumps ripple down my arms and remind me of bubble wrap. The snow is gone, spring looks like it could be just around the corner...but this wind bodes differently. The clouds in the sky are unthreatening. Like a gray sheet the sky seems veiled from our view. Patches of blue peek through and I smile. Suddenly, and without warning, the sun breaks through. The wind chills me on the left while the sun warms my entire right half. I sigh as the two opposing forces battle. I turn to the sun and close my eyes. Like liquid light, it feels as though I could touch the sun. It warms my face and feels tangible...the exact opposite of rain. I look around and everyone around me is doing the same thing. I am grateful for the Sun.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
My muscles tense as I step through the doorway. The air is cold...but not brisk. In front of me a robin hops along the grass. Noticing me, it cocks it's head, hops a couple more times before flying off over the fence. The air feels different this morning. The temperature is a little warmer; there are birds singing in the trees, and the ground is wet from rain and not snow. These things aside there is something unidentifiable about this morning that can't be described. Spring is coming. It may snow a few more times before flowers start showing up and all signs of winter have gone, but like a roller coaster, the suspenseful climb to the top of the slope is ending and I hover between the climb and the fall. For a couple more weeks we will hover in this taboo of sorts, unsure whether to welcome the spring or say farewell to the winter. I am grateful for Spring.
Friday, January 31, 2014
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| As he was given to me... |
I tend to think of our lives in a similar way. There is a point when we need to make changes, fix things, and be better. Those changes are welcomed and necessary. We cannot let ourselves get overgrown and out of control because all desires and passion should be kept within appropriate bounds. I also think there is something to say for the overworked life. There is a point when we have to step back and realize that we have done what we can and it is time to accept some things that cannot be changed before we are left with only a trunk. The Japanese have a very interesting theory of nature. Nature is perfection, but it needs mankind's help to be its optimum. We cannot reach perfection. Nature can, but it needs our help. I can't decide whether or not I agree, but an interesting idea nonetheless. I am grateful for Herbert...my 16 year-old bonsai tree.
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| Part-way through the trimming process. |
Friday, January 24, 2014
Tap, tap, tap...the window pane beckons.
Glance. It's getting darker.
Clouds roll in slowly, gathering mass like the base of a snowman pushed slowly...but steadily.
Flash. In the distance and seconds later it sounds as though they were trumpets announcing the fanfare of her arrival. Homework abandoned, standing on the hot pavement. Waiting, watching. The ground is speckled with the first evidences. The smell has been here longer than expected. A mixture of earth and moisture caked together into an aroma that cannot be duplicated. Drops land, like icing, on the world below making barely any sound individually, but rising to a beautiful cacophony resonating from any and all directions. The world grows heavy and draws a labored breath. Releasing, steam rises from the ground and adds its gentle perfume. Like white noise, nothing can be heard, but there is no silence. The mind clears and thoughts come quickly. Puddles gather as the festivities continue. The sound fades, the air clears, the clouds part, and silence pervades. The world holds it's breath now, waiting for the next chance it will have to celebrate the rain.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Deserves my description
The waves pound in the distance and ocean spray and foam fall back to the endless churning waters. The sand remains grainy yet soft beneath my calloused feet. A ripple of water surges toward me, a feint echo of the crashing tempests that I had witnessed moments before. The icy water rolls up around my ankles and my heart gives a feint jump. I grip the styrofoam board in my hands. The grit of the sand bothers me but I know it won’t be long before it is washed away. I take a step forward with the motion of the waves. The water seems to pull me in, beckoning, inviting. Digging my toes into the sand I start running.
The water is up to my waist now and water drips from my nose and eye lashes. My toes continue to dig into the hard sand as I push forward. The waves, no longer inviting, no linger beckoning, crash against my chest as if punishing me for trespassing. A wave crashes right in front of me and I dive down as deep as I can, kicking my legs to avoid the push. Emerging on the other side I wipe my eyes. The water is almost up to my neck now, but I know that in a moment it could be as low as my knees. I take another couple steps toward the horizon and something in the wind, perhaps the water, tells me that this is the place. For a moment the ocean seems still, unmoving. I almost let myself believe that the ocean has accepted me, ceased the pounding waves that drove me back toward the shore. It didn’t take me longer than 20 minutes to get here, but it seems as though hundreds of waves have crashed upon my chest forcing me back one step for every two I have taken. I refocus on the forming waves. I see it forming in the distance, a huge swelling mound. As if a monster were trying to break free of the moisture binding it, it reared up in a colossal rage. I had misread it this time. The ocean had not accepted me, nor had this keen the place. I take a few steps toward the shore but I realize that it is too late. This monster has me in its sights and now is pulling me in. The water which was once at my chest is now at my navel, my waist, and the current pulls me closer and closer to the mouth of this monster. Realizing it is hopeless, I turn around to try to go under. In the same motion, the beast pounces.
The styrofoam board in my hands beats the side of my face and a muffled roar surges around my head. Like a rag doll I turn head over heels in an endless tumbling mass unable to breathe or see. Finally my head breaks the surface and sweet air fills my lungs. I dry heave once, my body’s natural response to the quart of Ocean water that just forced its way into my system. I rub my eyes and start to notice the sting of the raw flesh that surrounds them. I smile. It didn’t take me too far back to shore. “You may have won this one,” I think wryly. “But I’m not finished yet.” Then, ignoring the stinging of my eyes and throat, I dig my toes into the sand and push forward, unsure of wether the ocean beckons me in or fights against.
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