The variations in weather, sunlight and storm alternating all day on Thursday provided a rich show of colours and clouds.
The particular delight of this scene for me is not only the range of colour but the intensity of the pastoral green in the foreground contrasted with the deep grey of the storm over the Tsawwassen bluff in the distance (right). The patch of blue, which an old school-friend would remind me, is definitely ‘enough to patch a sailor’s pants‘ but in this instance it was not a guarantee of sunshine to follow. I love it though, especially with the heavy grey and white clouds, and the glint of light on the rocky islands offshore (Lion Islets for those of you with marine charts).
Life itself is full of variety in texture and colour. Vibrant. Bright colourful parts, and scary dark parts. Maybe that’s something of why I am so drawn to this ever changing view. It’s brim-full of life and change. Always. And in its variety, it stirs in me, at the very least, awe. Wonder.
The variations in the weather today have captivated me. From this morning’s thunderstorm and heavy downpours to the quieter moments of sunlight bursting through and highlighting the berried arbutus and the freshly renewed grass after the summer’s baking heat, it has all been wonderful. From one moment to the next we’ve been witnessing the rapidly shifting moods of weather and variations in light.
The photo (from this afternoon, after yet another thunder shower) shows something of the magnificence of the display, and the turbulence of the air as the weather moves through.
Some people and places overflow with life in a way that stirs something beneath and beyond our senses: something of glory and grace that we catch in little glimpses, lifting our hearts, catching our breath— inviting … hope. Visiting our friends at the farm was like this for me. It was like stepping into a Tolkeinesque world: a world where so much more than we ‘realize’ is going on.
We were welcomed— even ‘herded’— into the kitchen by their Border Collie, where our friends were preparing risotto with freshly gathered wild mushrooms, and sautéeing pumpkin with rosemary, kneading dough and pressing it out, and laying sliced apples atop to bake for a fresh dessert.
The gate to the ‘kitchen garden’ offers a glimpse of the light and playfulness that beats at the heart of this place, and this home. To offer words like ‘creativity’ or ‘beauty’ barely approaches the overflowingness, the superfluity of life.
The curve of the driftwood gate, jauntily placed off-centre, and oh, my — the garden itself. The sun was lowering but still there was such light and colour in the garden.
May you, and may we all catch glimpses of such overflowingness of life today, even amidst today’s own dailyness and difficulties.
Its a properly wet and stormy day here today. Our only ventures out today are the necessary ones for firewood, food and dog walks.
A short while ago the rain was making such a racket thwacking the skylight above my desk that I looked up. The maple leaves from the overhanging trees have made a delightful pattern of colour and light, the rain-water squiggling the lines, and highlighting the leaves edges. I snapped the photo with my iPhone and have clarified it and adjusted it a bit so you can see something of what I saw, and am seeing. Its another example of the ‘curious spectacles‘ the extraordinary amidst the daily round that I delight to share through this blog.
If you want to see more photos, I’ll certainly be posting more here. You can also check my Flickr page here.
The sun is setting far earlier than in the warmer days of summer. Autumn is truly upon us which made our rowing expedition particularly sweet the other day, the last sunny day of the recent stretch of spectacular weather. The reflections on the water, the light and shadow, the ringed pattern of the drips from the oars, and the darkness of the shore as the sun dropped behind the cedars— all perfectly lovely.
Heading homeward offered this glimpse of peace and safe harbour, with the assurance of a warm fireside, and hot supper…and ‘thawing’ my very cold bare feet.
My daily walks up the road are always a pleasure. Well, mostly always. Sometimes, if its just plummeting rain, my pleasure is dampened (so to speak). But today it was a real pleasure, as the leaves dappled the road, and the sun was still slanting through the trees, even if weakened by the light overcast.
In places, like the spot in the photo, there was a little light on the road, which struck me as this morning as a fine metaphor of how life works— a little light here and there. Not alway blazing brilliant light, but light all the same. And then the road curves in to the shadier spots.
The patches of light are exquisite— I love and appreciate them— their clear colour and beauty, but even in the shadier spots there are marvelous things to see: moss and mushrooms, lichens, winter wrens chattering and woodpeckers flitting. These treasures were certainly present today and interestingly, they were for the most part, in the darker, less glorious places.
The rain has started in earnest now. Its not a gentle sprinkling as we had overnight but a proper and welcome rain, pounding on the roof.
There was a brief pause between the overnight showers and this more definite, steady downfall, and it was in that pause I went out with the dogs, on our usual morning round. In the southeast there was one tiny window in the clouds, the lower edge gilded by the sun rising behind. That window is now tight shut, but it provided a lovely glimpse of the light that’s ever present, even while obscured.
This afternoon a small grouping of mergansers was patrolling the shallows. I’ve been watching for their return, and am so happy to see them fishing close to shore, faces immersed, and diving the instant they catch sight of a morsel.
Just after I retrieved my camera , something startled them, and off they went in a fabulous flurry of wings and water— a spectacular splash of colour and light. I didn’t have time to re-set my camera, so caught what I could. Watching wildlife we are given whatever glimpses there are. And this was definitely one. A great delight.
Yesterday afternoon’s dog walk we ended up back at the beach. The water was completely still— so unusual. And a very thin mist, not quite fog, hung over the Strait. It looked so much like sea and sky melted into each other as though there was no horizon at all. Or just barely so. I can actually see it, and also a ferry approaching the Pass. Its almost obscured, but not quite.
What I love about this scene is the range of blues, from pale, soft, through a rich royal blue, and into the deep indigo in the foreground.
And I love the suggestion of there not being a horizon at all… which is true. Once you get there, its still just as far away…
The fresh young cedar draws its nourishment from the grand old stump. Forest life and its poignant beauty this afternoon was just what I needed, apparently. I’d been pensive, aware of the passing of time, and the losses that means, the people and generations gone. The thinning of the fog invited me out with my camera, and I’m so grateful for the hour outside both in the beach and in the woods.
The fog itself wasn’t the focus of most of today’s photos (though I did get some of those too). Instead I meandered, with my camera, in the woods, and the slant of light pointed me to some of the beauties that I’d have missed if my gaze hadn’t been directed to them by the shafts of sun, like a spotlight that’s ever changing, every day, every minute, and season to season, moving on.
This image seemed particularly apt, given my earlier pensiveness, and the shifting light and mists and all. And in the midst of it, hope. And new life emerging in unexpected places.
I’ve edited the photo above with Topaz Simplify.
glimpses of the extraordinary amidst an ordinary day