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)
What can be found in the deserts of the Negev, in Antarctica, the Isle of Skye, Germany, India...and Galiano Island?
Tafoni!
Here on Galiano Island our coast is predominantly sandstone, and features amazing tafoni from north to south. In all its spectacular shapes, hollows, lacework and lattice, it provides endless fascination as the light plays on it, highlighting its contours and patterns. The photo here (above) was taken on our own flagpole point, and I've included a gallery below with several other photos I've posted over the past while.
forgotten? — maybe
or maybe it was left for me to notice
for the simplest delight
like the sweet-pea gift that fell from my hand to be enjoyed by another giver —
so we share what we are given
even when the gift simply drops from our grip
spontaneous as grace
At first when I noticed one of my roses nodding its head, I was disappointed to miss seeing the glory of it's opening blossom, but after a closer look, it occurred to me that perhaps it was a good gift that the rose was offering: the display of the detail and texture of its oft ignored side.
The gentle curve, the delicate shading of the petals, the texture of the sepals with their furred edge... I wouldn't have noticed had I been distracted by a more ordinary perspective. This other side of the rose was intriguing, and stunning in its simple beauty.
Have you been similarly surprised by the beauty of looking at something from a different angle?
During my school days, our Headmistress would often urge us to notice what's around us saying, 'Even the thorn bush by the wayside is ablaze with the glory of God.' I've come to appreciate over the years that she was absolutely right.
Today I was reminded of this as I saw, not a 'thorn bush' but an ordinary drainage ditch, 'blazing' with beauty: colour, texture and pattern.
•••
I have intentionally adjusted the photo above with texture and colour as I contemplated the beauty on display. The red colours in the weeds to the right were actually there, and brighter. I've muted them so as not to 'take over' the image as a whole. It's the raindrop circles that particularly entranced me— the way they refracted and reflected the light.
Colour and beauty are strewn everywhere— even in the depths of winter and in the unlikely and seemingly inhospitable spots— Its all right there for us to 'behold' .
During the past week of crisp weather, the frost coated most everything rendering the world in a muted colour palette. But as the sunlight warmed the places it shone, colours emerged more intensely than ever.
The photo above shows what I mean: the melting frost revealed the most gorgeous, brilliant colours of the small succulent plants that cling tight to the steep sandstone banks.
A daily glimpse of 'the shape of things', in this case: our point— sculpted by storms and tides, the underlying rock and the soil's erosion, and the logs lodged against the shore to silver with age.
The shape of the point is determined by both the underlying rock, the storms' force and what the tides bring.
The Turkey Vulture is one of the strangest of the winged creatures here on the island. Its naked red head seems all out of proportion to the rest of it’s large body. Soaring overhead, its broad span casts a shadow on the grass, and at rest on the tangle of dead limbs, its folded pinions make the high collared look caricatured in drawings of vultures and vampires.
On its stark perch, the image above is one that, for me, holds an ominous tension. It is not what I would call a ‘beautiful’ bird, but it is a marvel of design and function, consuming carrion right down to the bone, finding its life in the scouring of the shore and forest.
I've always loved the forest. As a child I loved to explore trails in the woods, to build forts, and to take a picnic to a mossy spot and sit in the quiet— sometimes with a friend. The forest has always been a place of wonder and mystery for me.
It remains so— and to me it is most deeply mysterious and wonder-full in the depths of winter when the soaking rain and the January mist and fog moves amidst the trees. The strong shapes are softened and the moss and lichens become almost luminous in the shortened daylight, as though they thrive in the winter, enjoying the relief from the droughts of August.
Some people have told me they find these short darker days with the low hanging cloud wearying. For me, along with the lichen-bearded cedars, soaking their roots in the sodden earth, and the moss that is practically jubilant in its lush growth, this is a happy time of year. It's the season of rest and replenishment.
I'll be ready when the exuberance of spring comes, and I'll be ready to dry out in the summer. But for now, it's winter, and it is very good.
