Notes…
Stepping out of the car in the parking
lot, my downcast peripheral vision catches a flash of red. I reach down to gingerly
pick up an art piece: the newly fallen autumn leaf…
I am dumbstruck by a spring-green sea
of new growth that the thinnest mist of rain awakened in the barren dirt of the
yard. That color, symbol of verdant life, was once as familiar and close as my
breath…
As we hike along, he says, “It looks like
that tree is twinkling!” I follow his gaze and see that an aspen, as sparkly as
the gold leaf on the Burmese pagoda, is quivering in the slight breeze…
The morning’s sunrise is edged in a
velour blanket of milky pink; I recall to memory the sunset’s not-salmon,
not-peach, not-nameable fluorescent hue two nights ago. This morning those same
eastern edges of sky flicker with a bronze screen of light…
Walking on the edge of the few remaining
redwoods in the neighborhood, I catch the powerful perfume of boughs and I
nearly drop to my knees in gratitude and reverence…
I continue to see plants erupting in
bloom – flowers, leaf buds, eight inches of new stems on a climbing vine I
notice every day and thought was dying. I am stunned to see the wilting lilac
bush alive in bloom and fragrant as springtime…
In the middle of editing something, I enthusiastically
and repeatedly run to the yard to watch the sun moving into partial eclipse…
…about getting
through the week.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2014 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
