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Archive for the ‘Branches’ Category

Sparrow in the City

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Reflections

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Fan in Color

Fan in B&WFan in Sepia

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Dreamy are the images in Sky Tree, like viewing the world through a gentle mist.  A single tree is viewed throughout the season and becomes a gentle teaching tool about how the natural world works.  Though targeted to children, I certainly felt like I learned some things after reading this book  — about patience, about beauty and about perspective.  A great gift for a child of any age.

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a lazy day in the office lo res

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Lemon Thyme in the Morning

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Near the Hudson River, I sit beneath a tree that has flowers like a dogwood, pale, soft lit by the sun, a creamy golden white.  They waver in what can only be called a gentle breeze.  Bird cries fill the air, harsh and pointed.  It is spring.  The birds search for mates and want to have babies.  A biological imperative I suppose.

*

Time passes.  I still sit beneath the tree, staring up into the branches weighed down by blossoms.  The breeze reveals the sheer lengths of spiders’ webs weaving throughout the canopy.  Of the spiders I can see nothing, only their work.

*

A woodchuck, of all creatures, bounds by with baby in tow.  A light golden brown shading darker in places.  It could be a beaver but the tail seems too wrong.  Earlier I saw squirrels, quite fat, and birds in all sizes and colors.  But of deer I have seen nothing though they were the creatures I had been told to watch for.

*

And so there it is.  The deer.  A female, white tailed.  As it ambles by I am reminded to practice what I preach to a dear friend:  Patience and all will be revealed.

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Spring Pond 2009

A Lunch Break Photo

Streamer Glass

Streamer Glass

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Mondays

It is Monday.  The sun is shining.  The air is (relatively) warm. I sit at my desk committed to writing.  Yes, committed.  To write.  Not draw.  Not photograph.  Not dream the day away.  To write.  To put pen to paper.  Or finger to key.  Yes.  Write.  It’s not easy.  Because I could just take a short walk in the sun with my camera or even just a notebook and a pen and then come back to my desk and write something sustained with a beginning and an end.  Really, I could.  But I know myself.  If I walk out the door right now, into the sun, hours will pass.  A few words may get jotted down on paper.  A picture or two or one hundred may get taken.  But I will have reneged on my promise to myself to write a sustained piece with a beginning and an end.  And so I sit.  I am lucky that I have windows all around me.  Through one window I see an oak tree with its branches bare.  Perhaps a bird will visit soon to keep me company.  As I write.

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