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.
Finlay Lake Conservation Area - Click on image for a larger view
We'd wanted to walk in to Finlay Lake for a while, so with the sun shining brilliantly, it seemed a good day to set out for this quiet spot.
The path leading through the forest was bursting with spring shoots, and the birds were singing in the canopy above us, and the winter wrens and towhees rustling in the ferns and salal.
When the path opened to the lake there were a few Buffleheads on the far side, but otherwise all was still. Occasionally a raven's call echoed through the trees, and an eagle flew past. Otherwise, simply stillness— but a stillness that is burgeoning with life.
The broom that lines the old road along which we walked this morning was glowing gold, the same rich yellow that the blooms of June display.
But this is mid January.
Rather than June’s golden bloom this was winter’s answer to springtime vibrance— thick gold lichens along the length of the dead grey broom twigs. Winter life. Life in a different mode.
These branches won’t bloom next spring. They’ve spent themselves already. But their winter glory is beautiful all the same.
But its not simply the sight of this surprising beauty. Its also the thought it stirs in me— the thought that this brilliance doesn't emerge from the broom itself, but rather is a gift, covering its dead twigs. It is clothed in a glory that's given.
A good reminder. Another glimpse of grace amidst the ordinary meanderings of the day.
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.
I don’t know how many times I literally step on or over beauty. This particular bit of pattern and colour came into the house on the bottom of my shoe. With guests about to arrive, I was annoyed that again there were ‘bits’ strewn on the carpet so went to pick this one up, and as I did, noticed was not just a little ‘bit’ messing up the order of our living room, but rather treasure: its colour and design stopped me in my tracks. It was indeed a crisp leaf of an oregon grape, in its process toward decay. But in that process, its textured surface was turning various shades of umber, tan, and gold offering an autumnal palette displayed in abstract line and ink style. Even the specks of mold added an artsy randomness to the composition. This bit of beauty was literally ‘tracked in’ and there it was. Another unlikely glimpse of beauty.
What bits of beauty have you tracked in today?
Walking alongside Mosquito Creek this morning, and keeping a careful eye on where the dog was snoofling, my eye landed on a magnificent set of icicles dangling from a log that had fallen across the creek. Though the snow and ice were a tad treacherous, I only had my iPhone camera. To get any photos I had to get closer.
With great care, on all fours, I maneuvered down over the rocks and into the creek-bed to get close enough for a few decent shots. What a treasure of shapes and glistening light! There was a cedar tree that was newly fallen with its branches coated with thick ice, and the sun was at just the right angle to highlight the wonderful sight.
I admit to some degree of envy of the fellow who was making his way up the trail to that spot, with a proper camera on his shoulder. All day I’ve been yearning to go back. But, as is typical of these glimpses of beauty, they are fleeting. At this point the light would be too low, the creekbed in shadow. So I’m grateful for the glimpse of beauty I was given, and that I could share this little bit of it with you.
These last three days have provided spectacular wave watching as the strong North East outflow wind crossed the Salish Sea whipping the waves to a fury of 'white horses'. The collision of water and rock made great sprays and splashes, as the rollers moved in steadily.
The light of the rising sun through the cresting waves was a beautiful green and to me it seemed a jubilant dance of light and water.
This afternoon the wind's dropped, the sea has calmed and life returns to a semblance of 'normal', though definitely with a more wintry chill.
The variations in the weather today have captivated me. From this morning's thunderstorm and heavy downpours to the quieter moments of sunlight bursting through and highlighting the berried arbutus and the freshly renewed grass after the summer's baking heat, it has all been wonderful. From one moment to the next we've been witnessing the rapidly shifting moods of weather and variations in light.
The photo (from this afternoon, after yet another thunder shower) shows something of the magnificence of the display, and the turbulence of the air as the weather moves through.
Its a properly wet and stormy day here today. Our only ventures out today are the necessary ones for firewood, food and dog walks.
A short while ago the rain was making such a racket thwacking the skylight above my desk that I looked up. The maple leaves from the overhanging trees have made a delightful pattern of colour and light, the rain-water squiggling the lines, and highlighting the leaves edges. I snapped the photo with my iPhone and have clarified it and adjusted it a bit so you can see something of what I saw, and am seeing. Its another example of the 'curious spectacles' the extraordinary amidst the daily round that I delight to share through this blog.
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If you want to see more photos, I'll certainly be posting more here. You can also check my Flickr page here.
Spending a few days in 'town' offers a chance to walk the paths along Mosquito Creek. The delight of these walks comes not only from the beauty alongside the tumbling creek-water, but the poignancy of recognizing these are likely last days before the green leaves the trees (so to speak). The sunlight shining through the still vibrant green is more precious perhaps because these days are so limited. But its not only the colour and light. For me its also their shadow patterns on the path — constantly shifting, and intriguing.
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The photo above is one of my favourite points on the trail where it diverges around a grand moss-clothed maple. To the left it goes down to the creek itself. To the right, up to the road. The main trail is straight ahead, past the maple, following alongside the creek.
