The colours are muted and soft along the Heritage Forest Road, and the ground is rock hard, frozen solid. It may look like there's little life in the landscape, that it everything is 'dead'. Dull. How far from the truth!
As we walked the road what struck me was how many signals there were that even in the quiet stillness of winter, and its apparent barrenness, there is a pulsing vitality to the season: the creeks burble beneath a skim of ice, lichens hang conspicuously from limbs all round, colourful slime molds are 'there' for the observant eye as are various fascinating fungi; winter birds— wrens, sparrows, nuthatches, chickadees and towhees flit amongst the low shrubs while the finches and others occupy the higher branches; the deer meander and graze undisturbed. Surely the forest pulses with life as much in winter as any season.
I wonder if maybe the forest and its creatures enjoy the relative quiet. Maybe its their 'sabbath'.
Goodness knows we all need some refreshment. We need some rain. So.. mindful of our need, and the thirsty soil around us, I thought this photo of a sweet pea in my garden after a much needed rain some time ago was a fitting reminder that the rain and its refreshment will come. Sometime. If not today...
This afternoon I've added a new gallery to the already existing ones on my blog. I've included 21 photos from my meanderings around Galiano, to offer glimpses of this and that...birds, berries, flowers, sunrises and more. And maybe a touch of refreshment too.
You can find the Photo Galleries by clicking on the Photo Galleries text on the left sidebar, and you can find the newest gallery either on that page or by clicking here.
Even now there are signals of spring round about us— even now while its so chilly in the morning, the fog is thick and the ships' whistles are sounding all day as they move cautiously in the severely limited visibility.
Though its only late January, the sun is setting noticeably later, affording us more daylight and signalling to shrubs and bulbs and birds that spring is on its way. We could of course, still have some very cold weather ahead, but the bulbs are bravely pushing up through the ground in the certainty of spring's arrival. The snowdrops and crocuses are even beginning to bloom in sheltered spots.
Much to my delight yesterday, I came across a small cluster of miniature irises glowing in the sunshine— cerulean blue with golden centres— glistening with droplets of moisture from the temporarily vanished fog.
Late November morning- (click photo for a larger image)
Such a Novemberish outlook this morning. Misty rain, and dim light. Everything shades of blue and grey with a tinge of green as I look out over the water. The mist hangs on the trees. The quiet blankets the coastline. But for the lapping waves and the occasion call of an eagle or gull — only silence.
This Sunday marks the beginning of a new season (Advent), and I love that the season of expectation, of hanging on a promise, begins in these days of still descending into the darkness. Of quiet. Though the department stores, grocery stores, and gift shops will play their ubiquitous ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ and blended carols, its not quite time to celebrate. First this season. First waiting. In the dimmer light. Even in the dark. With hope.
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glimpses of the extraordinary amidst an ordinary day
