Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

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:

Inviting Pathway Accepted Invitation

Water Wind, Sky and Starry metal

Hello Boys and Girls, Today we are going to be creating fish. We have been studying the various requirements for a successful fish, and your job this recess is to Create One Fish. Rules: 1. You may create anything you like that still qualifies as a fish rather than a non-fish. 2. It must not eat everything in sight, or there won’t be enough other fish to go around. 3. Similarly, it must not be easily preyed upon and eaten. 4. You may use any fins, strings, colors, appendages, densities, self lighting systems, lacey pieces, gils, courting rituals, scales, behavior systems or anatomical proportions so long as you create a reasonably happy fish. Now go out and play.

There's no way to create your particular tree in a photo.  A christmas tree is simply too personal.  Here's one in my friends home, as yet untrimmed,  filling the room with the fragrances of time.

Our mudpuddle to be now looks the same, but it is enriched with one new reflection. 

A quiet afternoon, cold, late fall. Who would suspect that perhaps a nearby puddle was seeking immortality in mud? This lucky puddle has caught a person waiting for a bus. A good mudpuddle takes time to grow and to understand the landscape of home, full of reflections.

I haven't mentioned it, but we have been stalking a particular tulip planter, who may be masquerading as a Volunteer. The species are difficult to track, and can be neither apprehended nor incarcerated unless we have proof of planting. This very afternoon, a person suspected of clandestine planting was caught fleeing the scene of a bulb. Unfortunately, once in the ground and covered with leaves both bulb site and perpetrator disappear entirely! As with many similarly harmful yet non-lethal actions, it is difficult to pursue prosecution when the only evidence is a certain observational simultaneity. Such juxtapositional occurrences are often non- juristic, so I have heard. That being said, be on the lookout! This fleeing planter is likely to strike at any moment, endangering us all with untamed blossoms in irrational places. .

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.

This particular tree is very sensitive to admiration.  I know it well for many years, and it is usually comfortable and green when hidden by nearby folliage.  This time of year it turns pink and sometimes even red.  Therefore, when you come across a member of her family, be circumspect.   They are simply not used to being under observation. 

I knew where up was just a second ago. Help!  I'm falling.  No, wait a minute...

I have illusions, yes, why not? I’m dainty and I’m free, a swallow light with feathers, A pretty one, with fine golden hair and just a bit of a waist. Then a petty glance, a bent reflection, and The childhood memories fester, pulling. Look again! Now! I know the truth!        Don’t say it, please.        Don’t make it true with your fine opinion. Look again! Watch! Stomp! Stomp! Where’s the dainty tread now? It never was, never! Watch! Now! I know the truth! I’m not the pretty one. I’m not the dainty one! Oh no, don’t see it too. See the time the fearing graying rancid mist does not seep in. And you can see the willows brush against my face. Do you know the feeling?