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Stormy Weather by Cynthia Staples

Stormy Weather by Cynthia Staples

I’ve always enjoyed putting brush to paper, but I’ve never been especially disciplined about learning the right ways to do so.  But the older I grow the more I realize it is more important to just put the brush to the paper and stop worrying about the right way.  Van Gogh I will never be, but I don’t need to be Van Gogh to have fun with paint or to produce an image that might make someone’s day a bit brighter.  Random thoughts on a quiet Sunday. 😉

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That was the word that came to mind after I downloaded this image.  A bit imperfect but somehow it felt wrong to delete it.

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That is what that science guy of mine said over breakfast this morning.  “Beauty is fractal.  No matter the scale at which we view a thing, it is beautiful.”  We weren’t specifically talking about flowers but we could have been.  There is more I’d like to write about that statement but why when someone else has written so … beautifully … about “the mystery of a flower.”  If you have five minutes and eleven seconds today, check out this video and hear the words of physicist Richard Feynman on Beauty. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRmbwczTC6E&list=PL92F9FC91BBE2210D

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but I am certainly glad I looked.

Only a little bit of moisture so no great ice sculptures as before though I still see stars and lost universes.

Just light reflecting and refracting, striking the dust, and veiling that magnificent oak tree.

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Not a rainbow but …

… I was taking a shortcut through the Boston Public Library, making my way from the Boylston Street entrance to the Dartmouth Street side.  Of course I had to pause for a quick browse of the New Arrivals shelf.  That’s where I saw the deed take place.

It would be easy to assume that the old man was homeless, one of the many who frequent the building.  His clothing was bedraggled to say the least and his beard more than a bit unkempt.  His brown skin was weathered into the proverbial leather.  Despite apparent age, there was an almost childish bright light in his rheumy eyes.  While he walked with the aid of a battered metal cane, there was a spryness to his step as he made his way across the room.  But, I have to admit, I noticed none of these details until later, until after I heard the young man’s voice calling, “Hey.  Hey! Wait a minute, old man.”

The old man had been walking away from me, but he turned at the younger man’s voice, and that was how I was able to see his face.  The younger man had been walking toward me, looking gruff and rushed as so many of us do today as we race, race, race.  I had seen him brush passed the old man nearly knocking him over.  But then he had stopped.  The gruff look upon his face had not changed. In fact, it deepened.

At some point the younger man  spun around.  With a fierce, aggressive energy, he called the old man.  When the man paused and turned to face him, the young man raced back to him.  “Here,” he said, and shoved something into the old man’s hand.

The old man raised a plastic bag.  It was just clear enough for me to see that inside were a pair of shoes.  I glanced down and saw what the younger man may have seen.  The old man’s feet were barely covered by a pair of threadbare sneakers.

“Where did these come from?” the old man asked, clearly perplexed.  The younger man had already turned away.  Over his shoulder he growled, “St. Francis.”

The older man looked at the bag, shrugged, and continued on his way.

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… I went for a walk by the water and what did I see?  I saw a tree with pink-tinged blossoms filling the sky over me.

An unexpected late autumn delight.

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I have been trying to photograph a vase of baby’s breath for quite a while now.  The stems were part of a larger bouquet, just filler for the fancier flowers.  But as those flowers passed away, the baby’s breath remained, tall and strong though with a certain fragility.

This morning as I sat at the kitchen table thinking about the chaos in many a friend and family member’s life right now, people who are bearing the weight of so much sadness, my eyes kept falling upon the vase of baby’s breath.  The light from that same sun that struck the green sage mentioned in an earlier post now fell upon fine white petals.

Against the backdrop of a window still covered in frost, the petals reminded me of fresh fallen snow with the dazzle of glistening flakes and the accompanying quiet that descends upon the land.  In those moments, I always think of snow as a beautiful thing.

I once wrote a poem about white being the color of sadness.  When I wrote those words years ago, that feeling was true.  Today I feel differently.  I don’t know what color sadness is for me today, but I know it is not white.

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Leaves on the ground at the Middlesex Fells.

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