Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

I have to have my sustenance; it's not about me. All day I’ve been out herding, so I’m thirsty, you see. I’ve been herding here and herding there, Herding birds and rabbits, But I can't keep them anywhere. They have such terrible habits! I know, I know the saying goes  ‘a watched bowl will not melt’ But what else is there for me do? This is the hand I’ve been dealt. Maybe I could howl and  yowl and bark and learn to scratch, Or maybe I can meditate awhile and just detach, Or maybe I can figure out how to work the latch! I know what’s going to happen though; I’m going to  have to eat some snow. I know how to do it, and it isn't too bad, Just take a bite,and sit tight, and let it melt a tad.   Crestone, back porch with Bodie

Buried in disappointment I set out to trace those wanton steps, their outlines white on white, no tea leaves left in a cup.. Crisscrossed traces staining, weaving patterns, losing track. Winter staggering, weighted with hopes,  insides icing over. But it was only yesterday! My honeyed heart! Dripping and sunny! Pulling summer apples from the nourished air, soaking up love from life like a wick. How could I misplace that happy glue that spackled up my soul? Where is the relentless sap that limbers up these stiffened winter limbs? My mind can see a thousand years, why can’t I see around that corner? On East 90th Street, looking West

This elegant tree graces the Elephant Cloud Tea Shop with shade in summer and snow in the winter

For months now, Ounce has been trying his best to live in the city. The new light poles with their crossbars here in New York proved too seductive for even our Ounce! Building a nice nest inside a street pipe was irresistible: new, highrise, amenities -- but the noise! Horns, Traffic, and the Pigeons! It was just too much. Well, Ounce is finally back in the park, but it's winter. You know how Ounce is with water...it's impossible to stay away for long. The other day we walked a little too close to Ounce's favorite sculpture swimming bowl. How disappointing, and after an entire summer of city life. Of course it's winter, and although the elements provide a little water sometimes, even gossamer metal is cold this time of year.

Something happened in my head last night; I expected it to happen in my heart. That’s what I thought was at stake, you see, My heart and maybe my soul. These spike-like holes opened up in my head. Dark, I thought they were black! I walked my spirit through one of them And it filled itself with light. Urban Planted Tulip Above the Boathouse, circa 2008

Snow Being goes by many names:  Little Foot, since she or he leaves no trace; Snow Drop, since he or she appears only when snowflakes stick to the Earth just so; Fare-Thee-Well, since perfection is its natural state.  Nobody knows where Snow dwells, although there are those who say there is a darkened burrow near an unknown station in a tunnel of the IRT.  The scary, wide-eyed snow being is seldom seen, and often considered to be a myth.  Nobody knows the temperament of Snow; nobody interferes; nobody photographs, nobody records for fear of ramifications.  However, as we know, absolutely nothing, can deter our fearless and sensitive photographer from the action scene--not snow, not cold, not a scary situation.  Hark!   Sensing danger, our Brave Photographer rushes outside, and Lo! There is Snow Being, creeping with perplexity toward a dark, round something in the road.  Our photographer, confused by Snow's hesitation, looks carefully.  There, in the middle of the snow-lined tra

There is nothing quite as captivating as a Late Winter MudPuddle, preparing for spring, and with a walking Tree !

Oh Winter Sun, where art Thou? Thou art Missing! Oh Spring Thaw, why art Thee not nipping at my frozen Roots? 'Tis nigh on March! Art thou Shy? Harlem Meer in February 2013 For the likely derivation of this scale, see Fahrenheit, The Straight Dope

I know it’s the way I am looking at things, So I think I’ll change my mind. The arrows and slings that fortune brings Are the usual kind, I find, so I’ve decided to change the way I project, The way I project, the way I detect To ways positively inclined, so When fate seems determined to screw up the week I'll just give my perceptions a suitable tweak! If plans go awry and we're sadly depressed Well, perhaps we are actually just being blessed With a chance to redeem that unfulfilled dream We may have in our hearts and yet never expressed. New York Kentucky Coffee Tree on a Winter Night

Aching and desiring Shivering into a thawing crack Playing a hide and seeking game Pushing out and holding back. Frozen and burning in the winter fire Spinning and breaking from the inside out Counting on another spring To conjure and decipher what it’s all about.

Passerby:  What is that tree? Me:  It's a Witch-hazel. Passerby:  It can't be a Witch-hazel, Witch-hazel's supposed to be yellow. Me: This one is orange. Passerby: Well... Witch-Hazel near the Metropolitan Museum of Art .

Ice-crusted wind whistling through the canyons snarling into corners, snuffling up to the window panes. Brown sugar frozen on the ginger bread houses daydreams cringing at the Grimm realities lost among the dead ends of the mind. Day cracks open, crunching, pounding, dressed in winter blue. Oh, what a Blue! Shall I take that crystal daylight bait? Why risk that wrenching heartache one more time? Why not harken back to childish satisfactions? I am a lake fish trapped and flapping under frozen water. Free me! I am in a small space too young to die. Or am I creeping paw by paw above the fragile ice that holds me up from freezing? Inside out and upside down I trace my way along the membranes of reality. Central Park, Post Nemo

Winter storm Nemo on East 94th:  1 AM in the middle of the street. Nemo at 1:30 AM in NYC

While feeling off kilter today I decided to take a walk.  Well!  It was 20 degrees F. with 17 miles per hour wind!!  I sought shelter after a couple of very chilly blocks.  And look what's inside 135 East 96th Street! Saint Francis de Sales Roman Catholic Church 135 East 96th Street New York, NY 10128

Traffic! Wind! Snow! Crosswalks!  Green light; Red light!  !!  "R"U"N"  !! Pedestrian escapes, barely!

It's time to seriously consider whether or not our newly created alarms, scanners, secret elevator cameras and iPhones are really ready to take on the job of comfort and protection provided by our more traditional sentries: ."Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night, nor the winds of change, nor a nation challenged, will stay us from the swift completion of our appointed rounds." {see note} Brave and Hardy Police and Fire Sentry at Park Avenue and 94th [Note] Similarly,  An inscription on the James Farley Post Office in New York City reads: Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds. [1] This phrase was a translation by Prof. George H. Palmer, Harvard University, from an ancient Greek work of Herodotus describing the Persian system of mounted postal carriers c. 500 B.C. The inscription was added to the building by William Mitchell Kendall of the architect

These are the fallow days, mustard seeds in the planning stages, an applecore tossed into a fertile heap, spring sleeping underground and unaware, resolution makers vowing one more year to rearrange the miracle.

Some things make perfect sense, especially in Crestone Colorado! Snow Resting on Pan on Fencepost in the Mornng Dark-eyed Junco sitting on Pan of Resting snow on top of Fencepost in Late Afternoon Dark-eyed Junco sitting on Pan of Resting now on top of Fencepost in Late Afternoon (photo ©LJosephCalloway@gmail.com)

What happens when love takes the time to strengthen, what happens if it passes, and the day tomorrow leaves behind is chilled and withed, holding us without a chance, at the drop off point where death takes over, how can we hold the weary fort, when battle scars the very heart of the earth. How can we love without knowing, how can we hold on without a knotted center keeping us from flying off, how can I watch the day die and still live to see the morning sneaking back to life against the sallow sky? I did, and then I turned around and just walked out of the picture. What could I do? I didn't know how to talk it over. Magnolia Buds in December, Central Park

The old limb covered with heavy snow brushed its twigs along the ground. A melancholy strain wound round the bitter hanging notes. I didn’t hear the fearing song for that cold night crack that separates forever the dying from the living, sleeping sap. Frost etched the story on a window pane that night. Spitting, cracking, sculpting, finally melting into dawn. Leaf by leaf and drop by drop the limb let go of its breaking burden-- and bounced back up in the winter sun. Walking along the shadow edge I was caught by the song of the happy bough Maybe I stayed a minute or so, it was cold you see, And even though my spirits lifted in symmetry I was caught that day and called away by the vicissitude of the here and now.