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?
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...
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?
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.
Some people and places overflow with life in a way that stirs something beneath and beyond our senses: something of glory and grace that we catch in little glimpses, lifting our hearts, catching our breath— inviting ... hope. Visiting our friends at the farm was like this for me. It was like stepping into a Tolkeinesque world: a world where so much more than we 'realize' is going on.
We were welcomed— even 'herded'— into the kitchen by their Border Collie, where our friends were preparing risotto with freshly gathered wild mushrooms, and sautéeing pumpkin with rosemary, kneading dough and pressing it out, and laying sliced apples atop to bake for a fresh dessert.
The gate to the 'kitchen garden' offers a glimpse of the light and playfulness that beats at the heart of this place, and this home. To offer words like 'creativity' or 'beauty' barely approaches the overflowingness, the superfluity of life.
The curve of the driftwood gate, jauntily placed off-centre, and oh, my — the garden itself. The sun was lowering but still there was such light and colour in the garden.
May you, and may we all catch glimpses of such overflowingness of life today, even amidst today's own dailyness and difficulties.