The curves and lines in this image have been intriguing me since I captured it on Friday.
What keeps me looking is the contrast between the long clean lines that have been so carefully drawn in this garden, and the rough ‘imperfect’ lines and curves of the tree and its shadow. The intersection of these lines— their juxtaposition— provokes all sorts of thoughts for me.
I wonder what it suggests to you?
Yesterday, walking in Galiano’s Heritage Forest, my eye was drawn to the shapes of the trees— the shapes that will soon be hidden by the profusion of leaves.
Mixed with the evergreens are are are several willow trees of varying kinds, along the main path. They’ve been there, as their size indicates, for years and years, but it wasn’t til yesterday that the light caught them in a certain way, and I ’noticed’ them. They are, to me, absolutely beautiful— the stature of the tree as a whole, and the detail of the slender curves…
The colours are muted and soft along the Heritage Forest Road, and the ground is rock hard, frozen solid. It may look like there’s little life in the landscape, that it everything is ‘dead’. Dull. How far from the truth!
As we walked the road what struck me was how many signals there were that even in the quiet stillness of winter, and its apparent barrenness, there is a pulsing vitality to the season: the creeks burble beneath a skim of ice, lichens hang conspicuously from limbs all round, colourful slime molds are ‘there’ for the observant eye as are various fascinating fungi; winter birds— wrens, sparrows, nuthatches, chickadees and towhees flit amongst the low shrubs while the finches and others occupy the higher branches; the deer meander and graze undisturbed. Surely the forest pulses with life as much in winter as any season.
I wonder if maybe the forest and its creatures enjoy the relative quiet. Maybe its their ‘sabbath’.
In the wintry chill of New Year’s Day afternoon we walked the trail to the beach from the Heritage Forest, down to Sticks Allison road and along the beach access. Its a favourite walk of ours particularly because of the way the little stream runs alongside the path. Where the trail opens to the sandstone shore, the fresh runoff of the stream fans out onto the sandstone and joins the Salish Sea.
The photo above was taken when it was nearly dark, with just the dim available light. It was far too cold to set up tripod and adjust camera settings— fingers and toes were quite thoroughly numb!! The result is, to me, a happy accident.
The days begin with a walk to Flagpole Point before breakfast.
In part it is a necessity, to walk the dog, but equally important is that this outing provides me a chance to appreciate the uniqueness of each morning. Though it is the same place, the variation is infinite: light, colour and texture in differing combinations.
The rising sun’s position is constantly shifting with the seasons, tides varying with moon-phase, wind and weather, clouds, fog, rain, or clear… Add to this, the cast of birds and small animals. I never know just what the morning jaunt will offer: kingfishers, herons, otters, harlequins, eagles, mink, seals…
It has long been my habit to record these first glimpses of the day there with a few photos, usually just on my iPhone, but sometimes with my ‘big’ camera. Recently it occurred to me to share some of my morning glimpses with others, so I created a Flickr Album Mornings at Flagpole Point which you can view here.
My aim is to post one a day. Sometimes, like yesterday when we had a power outage I couldn’t post. There are bound to be other missed days here and there, but mostly it’ll be a daily photo.
Thanks so much for enjoying these glimpses of the world with me.
Walking on the island’s shores is like walking in a gallery filled with sculptures masterfully wrought and generously offered for all to enjoy. Here are a few glimpses of yesterday’s meandering through the gallery.
(click on the images for a larger view)
Since my early days spending my summers exploring the beach, clambering on logs, playing day-long games and building forts with my friends, the tangle of silvered roots has evoked imagination and stories, conjured images of creatures both friendly and fierce.
I don’t clamber quite so quickly now, and I am exploring different beaches, but my love of the driftwood shapes remains as active as ever— it is simply part of me. (Rooted in me?) Yesterday’s walk along the sandstone shore, this marvellous root caught my imagination again, and I’ve played with the image just for fun, and wanted to share it here.
I wonder what creatures you see? and what stories it suggests?
It wasn’t what I was looking for. I was after a photo of a Northern Flicker. But— as I carefully crept along beneath the trees to get close enough for a photo, a flash of a different orange caught my eye.
Nestled in the hollow core of a very old fir stump was a beautiful fan of orange and yellow mushroom. Turns out it is known as a ‘Conifer Chicken of the Woods’ (Laetiporus conifericola). I’ve seen it before growing on trunks of decaying fir trees, sometimes quite spectacularly, but the appeal of this sighting was accented by its cozy home low down, inside the empty round of the stump.
If I’d not been pursuing the Flicker, I may well have missed this beauty! I didn’t get the Flicker. He was long gone by the time I’d finished photographing the ‘Chicken of the Woods’.
(Note: The inside of the stump was in shadow in the morning, so I returned later in the day when the sun was higher to get the photo above.)
When the sun came out after a morning of heavy rain, the light in the forest was dramatic. Intense and beautiful— light and shadow; texture and pattern; colours and hues.