This sight stopped me in my tracks today: pink honeysuckle climbing and blooming all the way up an anchor cable of a power pole. Sunlit against the shadows and fir trees, with fragments of blue sky visible through the spaces— the beauty and colour invited standing at the roadside, looking, and capturing a photo (or three).
So often honeysuckle clings to the trunk of a tree, choking its life from it, but this one’s found a place to thrive and bloom, doing no harm at all. And it has transformed the harsh hard lines of the anchor cable into a striking beauty.
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…
I will likely post several more photos of these and other trees in the days ahead, either here or on my Curious Spectacles Facebook page which you can find here.
A Barrow’s Goldeneye paddling with seeming determination—
I love how his ‘bow-wave’ and wake are so clearly defined in the calm water and the early morning light. Trailing behind him you might see the little eddies left by his webbed feet as he powers forward.
Maybe because we’ve waited so long for spring this year, or maybe its just that these wonders are more precious with each passing year, but surely the delicate beauty of the huckleberry buds opening has never been quite so breathtakingly beautiful to me.
Watching a fishboat depart from the sheltered waters of Whaler Bay in the early morning, with a strong NW wind, and beneath a rather ominous looking sky, reminds me how precarious every venture is. Again the Breton Fisherman’s prayer seems apt, not only for those who literally go to the sea in ships, but for us all: Dear God, be good to me for the sea is so large, and my boat is so small.