Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

It's another snowing February day, and I cannot resist the memory of a crescendo of gates.  A Crescendo of Gates (Jane C.)

I had a day with so many disparate activities to do, one after the other.  None of them involved going to a park or even a mudpuddle.  I did take a taxi and a bus and a train and a purposeful walk.  Somehow, it's just not the same.  D id I accomplish something?  What an unusual question.  I know who accomplished something, and it's  whoever made it over this fence, that's who!

My favorite trees growing up were the 2 adjacent catalpas as we walked to school. We so often pulled off a seed pod for swords or staffs or wands or other rods our imaginations were requiring. Do you remember them? Now I have a huge catalpa tree in my front yard. Daddy and I planted it together when it was a spindly 7' tall and about 3" in diameter. I think of him every time I see my beloved tree. But mine is a female Western Catalpa, so it blooms a magnificent clump of delightfully sweet-smelling, pale orchid-like blossoms that shroud the tree for about 10 days. It is magnificent. Cut the blossoms and bring them inside and they barely last at all; they are meant to adorn the tree for the few short days in summer. About two summers ago there were 3 unknown children in my yard harvesting swords. They seemed a bit skittish. In memory (and defiance) of our childhood churlish neighborhood adult, I went outside and told them they were welcome to have as many as they liked, an

I almost missed it, pre-occupied as I was. . Nothing fast enough for me! Right, left, scratch and skid. Damn snow. Who's in charge, and where's the salt? I have some thoughts to mull about and very little time. Move over! I hunkered at the corner curb to watch my step, and in that pause, I paid attention.  And look what I got for my money.

I have wet mittens, but it is so worth it! Initials on Car hood & windshield

Can you resist a car window covered with newly fallen snow? Feel your mittens drawing your initials in a snowy heart. What fun! Remember icy crystal frost on the window panes, and snow flakes trapped in the screen? The sounds are muffled now, but wait for the sharp blue-white sounds tomorrow in the sunny cold.

There I was again, out in the cold afternoon looking for the perfect puddle. I might have been Sherlock with a magnifying glass, when I took a slight misstep... crunch. crunch? Yes! Sightly soggy sounding, but definitely and none the less a crunch. There it was! The perfect sounding puddle right beneath my toe. Can you hear it?

Our magic tree is sleeping, since it's deep in winter. The new and nascent buds for spring have passed through the planning stage and are definitely under development. Personally I know that magic loves a hollow tree. Do you wonder where it comes from, once in a while? I do. Then s uddenly a flutter tumbles by and settles on a happy twig, and there occurs a tiny welcome sparkle. Can you feel it?

A side glance takes me to this field of weeds, clearly designed to reflect the small amber tree.

All trees are beautiful, but I admit I have my favorites. This planetree is the oldest tree in Central Park, and some say the largest. Here it is, lean and straight boned, wearing winter greys and blue sky.

Yes, I remember. We left a track or two among the fray. Rush and scramble, turn and bounce. Cracking silence, muffled by a hat. Holding wet handfuls of winter.

I love a good fence. A fence puts a perspective on a thing. It tells you where your edges are, and has a certain voice. Don’t touch! Take care! Something needs protecting! The winter grass is tall, incautious, full of seeds. phragmites against the reservoir fence

Have you noticed? A good mudpuddle may appear to dry, but it remains as quiet and simple as a whiff of smoke to live another day. It's winter now, deep in January. There they are smaller, true, and frozen, but they will survive to live another spring.

I promise this is my last comment about Crestone and Southern Colorado for awhile! But I have to point out that Crestone is 40 miles from Alamosa, which is very small. Here is the Alamosa Airport Tarmac and Runway, as seen from the departure lounge. We waited and waited. It was cold and snowy. The plane finally arrived. I dawdled. Perhaps a small fear? Perhaps simply waiting my turn? Here are the passengers ahead of me boarding. Mind you, this plane is the one that flies over the craggy, rocky, stony, snowcapped 14,000 foot peaks. Yes, this  is the entire plane.  And that's the runway, too.

The Summer Reservoir fountain is long gone until late in spring, but the winter dawns provide a new beauty. Winter Dawn

Crestone Colorado lies up against the Sangre De Cristo Mountains on the Eastern side of the San Luis Valley. The quiet capatures reality. I’m a Westerner by birth and a City dweller by happenstance. In a quiet place, nature listens. Deer Listening at a Window Junco Listening for a seed

 One   ....  Two... Three!

What is a wide, closed space?  Do people use commas anymore?  Grammar! I'm a "take it for granted" sort of person.   Just this afternoon I took for granted that I might look out the window of my Brother's home in Crestone and watch the sun go down.  It was going down very well, and so I took a picture while I still had enought light.   Nothing that anti-granted happened, and here's what I saw: but here's what my camera saw:

Water Wind, Sky and Starry metal

Winter.  It always seem to be a snowy thought, yet here in December, although the trees are bare, the ground is uncovered cold.  Our Magic Tree is different now, with  sap safely stowed and damaged limbs mended in time for sleeping.