The fog has enfolded us for several days. We can barely see across our bay, and certainly can’t see any farther. At the same time, while our view is limited, there’s a different kind of beauty even now— even here shrouded in the mists.
In the forests, the mosses practically glow in the diffused light, and the depth of the forest is more ‘visible’ as the trees fade into the mist. On the roads, the shapes of the bare trees are revealed — unique sculptures, each one. Spider webs are strings of tiny beads, as the moisture forms on each slender thread.
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?
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.
I took several photos while walking in Bellhouse Park a few days ago. But it was this one that I found myself drawn to.
There’s something in the image that touches me. Maybe its the way the two trees lean together— the tall slender one, and the one that’s broken…
The road rises and curves away out of sight. Who knows what’s around the next corner… Meanwhile, right where we stand we’re surrounded by beauty—a beauty that’s both softened and strangely enhanced by the early spring mists. I stop to catch my breath, and admire the wonder of where I am before plugging on up the hill and to whatever awaits around the bend.
glimpses of the extraordinary amidst an ordinary day