The part of our community where beauty (the state park) meets the beast (industry). That big fluffy smoke has reared its head here through all four seasons since I was a child and probably many years prior to that. It makes for some interesting texture in a photo, especially on a very brisk winter’s day–but it is the uglier side of the city, visible from the north pier off the bay of Lake Erie. One doesn’t stand on the pier for too long in the winter, unless one is a glutton for frostbite. A few quick photos, and its back to the vehicle. In summer, this pier is filled with fishermen and fisherwomen, and this part of the bay has quite a bit of boat traffic. It is one of my favorite areas to run in the other three seasons, ending with a neat little lighthouse at the end.
There’s quite a bit of beautiful snow outside and, yet, I can’t bring myself to go out and photograph it. Heck, who am I kidding–I can’t bring myself to raise the blinds and shoot it from the window! I’ve presently resigned myself to taking this as a sign that I need to cull through some photos that never quite made from the editing lab to my blog. Oh, and I’m also resigned to the fact that I’m just being lazy.
See these trees? They’re just coming in to bloom on a later spring day, outside, with those cool-warm temperatures I’ve come to be grateful for in my mid-years. No extremes–too hot is yucky, too cold is fodder for an evening front of the fire and some warm soup. I’m enjoying playing with some of my old pics. Looking thru them usually awakens some sort of comforting memory for me. I can smell the spring in this photo.
Can you smell spring yet?
I shot this a few Easter mornings ago and, as I was cleaning out some of my files, this caught my eye. I remember the morning so well–it was very cold, a holiday morning, and I wondered a lot about the man in the photo. Was he enjoying some quiet time? Doing something he really loved? Or, perhaps, escaping from either the loneliness of an empty house on Easter morning or a spouse he would rather not awaken to.
No matter the reason. There he was, hearing only the lap of the waves and, likely the chatter of his own teeth. Then again, there I was–out in the cold, camera in hand, all by myself. Not escaping from anyone–likely thinking I wished I’d stayed in my warm bed with my husband. But that which I also loved–capturing a bit of solitude and creativity in a park I love like no other–took me out of my warm, comfortable home for a bit.
The season following the holidays brings with it such drastic weather, my natural inclinations kick in. I want to hibernate. Over the holiday week, my husband and I were both hit with a flu like no other. Knocked us both flat on our backs. It doesn’t take long for me to become complacent–I have not touched my running shoes for a few weeks, nor picked up my Canon to capture much of anything. Rest is important, but if you sit for too long, it can become very difficult to get moving again.
Time to get moving into a brand new year. Cheers to all!
It is curious, sometimes, the path we find ourselves on. There are times in my life, and not infrequently, where I wonder how I ended up where I am, who I am. The path ahead leaves few distinct clues. Those it does leave, the signs I interpret as having meaning for my own path — “Sidewalk Trail” — end up as a sign meant for someone else. There is sometimes apprehension. I look down the path and wonder how far it continues for me. I cannot see its end, yet it could be just out of my sight. Will I be prepared to travel that path, the one whose end could be near. Or perhaps the larger question, will I be prepared to continue on to places not familiar, figures unknown, no end in sight. Does the path even end, even when it ends?
I realize I cannot prepare and there are too many questions to be answered. I know that I must step forward. Standing still is not an option. The path magically moves beneath my feet, as if the genie is its pilot, and I move forward regardless of my desire, at times, to remain statuesque.
I wish I could see what’s up there.
I’m glad I can’t see what’s up there.
I’ll just keep moving on the path.
Precious few are the moments I find these days for quiet and meditation. Most often, those moments are stolen in the early hours of the morning, when the animals and human inhabitants of our home are fast asleep. It is in these quiet hours I can lean in to my soul, embrace the quiet, and reflect on the importance of stillness in my life. Many individuals find discomfort in quiet and solitary time. I do not, for it is there that I come to know myself, who I am.
As I move forward in to the busy week, I have an image in my mind. An image of stillness. I carry it with me to remind me of what it feels like to slow down, take a breath, and stare quietly until I can see my inner peace.
Have a good week, everyone.
On the shores of Lake Erie’s bay sit a small grouping of cottages, two rows deep, inhabited in warmer months by those with a fondness for all things Lake Erie. Like many of us who live abreast the shores of a great lake, we wind down the late fall, preparing our homes and hearts for the slower, colder pace of our winter. Winter is not optional here. There’s no getting around it, no “mild winters” ahead for this area. Lake effect snow and wind chills are a fact of life, part of every native’s vocabulary in these parts.
No complaints here. I do tire of winter come April–but now, in this latter part of autumn, I embrace stacking wood (my chore of the day), lighting a fire, watching the trees glow with the brightened feathers of our cardinals feeding on sunflower seed treats. I love the smell of the pine-scented candle and welcome the stringing of holiday lights upon my white picket fence (chore #2 of the day). Curtains pulled early, stew steaming on the stove, cats and dogs curled up for the evening, I am ready. I am hunkered down.
Through my windshield on my way to work last week. I thought about editing out the raindrops, but I decided that sometimes raindrops are just a part of life to be contended with, and there was no point to editing them out. They simply exist, no matter what. The raindrops may be on the windshield, but the view down the road is very promising.
Have a great week, everyone.
I caught this rising over the ridge on my way to work yesterday, just a quarter mile up the road from our house. The golf course, normally filled with golfers at this time in the summer, has only the trees and their shadows as companions for the day. Deer and geese often traverse the course as well. This was one of those crisp and foggy mornings that signal the days confusion–will it be cold today, or will the sun warm the land and melt the heavy frost coating the greens. Moisture hangs in the air until the earth and heavens decide, meanwhile bathing the landscape in haze. Have a great day!
My view coming over the bridge on Saturday’s run, mile 4.45 of a 5 miler. Great way to end a run.
One of my pleasures in fall is discovering, or re-discovering, what’s remained hidden behind leafy, green foliage for most of the year. As the season winds down and leaves remove themselves one-by-one, the landscape reveals itself. It reminds me of assembling a jigsaw puzzle, seeing only parts which make no sense until almost the last piece is in place, the total picture finally revealed.
Such are the woods behind our home, which pitch steeply downhill to a small creek and a leaf-carpeted ground. In warmer seasons, a sea of green is abundant and blocks most everything. As temperatures cool, leaves begin to turn until the forest appears to be a fireworks display in full motion, reds, yellows and bright, bright oranges littering the view. And then the winds blow, rain and storms ensue. Leaves fall and the nakedness of the forest is revealed. Suddenly, the scampering squirrels are visible everywhere, often making the forest floor appear to be in perpetual motion. And looking out, there still stands the treehouse.
This treehouse, it is not made for people. No, indeed, a man or woman with an eye for aesthetics likely would have chopped it down long ago in favor of a better view. But that is not me. Beauty in the eye of this beholder is watching the lives of small creatures popping in and out of this long-dead remains of tree. Its certainly seen better days insofar as being a sprawling beauty. However, nature is not yet done with my friend the tree, and she stands tall and branchless, welcoming the birds and furry creatures of the forest for winter’s respite.
This is the soap opera I prefer to watch. Will the tree be standing again this year? Who will inhabit her? The squirrel with the black undercoat…the family of chipmunks feeding daily off my sunflower seeds…perhaps a woodpecker family. Will their be neighbors? Fights? Nest robbery?
Stay tuned. Excitement ensues. Nature will not disappoint.