My online journal sharing interests in photography, nature, coffee life, journaling, fountain pens, bicycling, spirituality and asking deep questions.
“Recently, photography has become almost as widely practiced an amusement as sex and dancing – which means that, like every mass art form, photography is not practiced by most people as an art. It is mainly a social rite, a defense against anxiety, and a tool of power.” Susan Sontag
Interesting to note that she wrote this back in 1973.
“The subject matter is so much more important than the photographer.”
This is the trailhead that leads into Rowland Moore Park.
“Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness.”
― Mary Oliver
Awoke to this pretty scene. A reminder that it’s still spring and I live in Colorado. It is a wet and heavy snow with plenty of moisture, making farmers happy campers. Most of the trees have their leaves on so many of the branches on the smaller trees are under the stress of its weight. It is not cold so I’m good with it. This is at the trailhead to Fisher Natural Area along West Stuart.
Someone seems to have lost interest in their sand pail. Just thought it might be be due to lack of sand here in Colorado. 🙂 Found along Fisher Nature Trail.
“And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.” Meister Eckhart
We received our first snowfall yesterday. I took this at the entrance to the Fisher Nature Area trail near my condo. This morning we are at 19 degrees and frost on windows. Stay warm.
There are times I wish I could sit at the base of a tree and listen to the stories it has to tell. What changes has it seen in it’s life? How many bird songs has it heard in its life? Does it feel ignored when so many people walk by and really never looked at it? I touch it and feel it toughness. Solid and firm. I see it’s scars, the twisted and broken branches that its sustained through the years. How many eagles and hawks have perched themselves on it’s branches awaiting the unsuspecting field mouse. Yes, I would read a book of stories written by a tree.
“A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.” Hermann Hesse