Contemplative Photographer

Astonishing though it may seem,
Spring seems to be returning:
The cherry blossoms bloom,
Beside the pink house once again,
And the daffodils are springing up
though winter still spills
frost upon our lawns.
Hearts everywhere are warming,
And smiles of greeting flourish
As we emerge from hibernation.

That which binds us to the past
May seem outdated, rusticated,
Yet despite their age,
The old truths and admonitions
Still hold valid: the Golden Rule,
The Ten Commandments,
The disciplines of Lent —
All carry wisdom
we’d be foolish to ignore

I’ve always loved the way that fog
Can imbue a simple scene
With magic and mystery.
Why is it that a mental fog
Is so much less appealing?

There’s something so breathtaking
About the infinite majesty
of clouds.
It makes my heart soar.

There are moments in a life
When the loneliness
Of the human condition
Breaks our hearts;
When the path to redemption
Seems dry and empty;
Our only companions
Bare thorned branches of remorse.

You can choose to be the rock;
To let the waves of drama
Brush against you,
But to block them, hold them back,
So the lives you touch beyond you
Aren’t disturbed, but continue
Calm and peaceful.

With hearts open and arms outstretched
We greet the new week,
Full of hope and awaiting joy.

It seems appropriate to post
This, my most recent painting,
On Valentine’s Day.
Though it seems to me
A bit broken-hearted,
Even discouraged.
Perhaps it’s a way of sending
A message of love
and companionship
To all who may be broken-hearted,
In hopes that, in the end,
Love will prove triumphant …

Traps on a truck!
Sounds like a swear word,
Which would certainly capture
My mood of late,
Yet doesn’t begin to describe
The charm of all
these colors and lines.
As Garrison Keillor used to say,
To an English major
(or a photographer)
Everything is material!
(And I say: beauty is everywhere)

Why would I show a photo
Of just rocks?
Something about
The way two small rocks
Shelter in the cleft,
While also being lifted up
as offerings;
The way the others shelter
In the shadow…
Isn’t this what size and power
Were meant to do:
To support and protect
The small and weak;
Not to overcome?

I imagine them gathering,
In the late afternoons,
For a bit of tea and gossip
About things they have observed,
Studiously ignoring
The human who stands nearby
While at the same time hoping
She might feed them…

The madrona stands out
Among the evergreens
As a naked woman would
In a ballroom:
All the ruffles and lace
fade into one
Against the bare vulnerability
Of skin — awakening, unbidden,
The urge to protect,
As would a child, under threat
From bullies.
May that urge always overwhelm the need for power.

Though the sun rose,
as always, in the east,
The east was overtaken
By a vast, thick bank of clouds,
And so the west offered to serve
As a canvas for the colors
Which had nowhere else to go,
And together they brought beauty, spice, and vitality to the sky
and all it touched.

The miracle of iridescence
Feels like spirit, or love,
Or creativity: so vibrant and alive;
So unpredictable, yet possible
If only we are patient
and can watch and wait
Til what looks green in one moment
Turns in another
To purple, blue, or teal
While the yellow,
brown, and orange
Remain unchanged.

It’s just a simple potting shed,
But mother Nature’s
special effects —
The fog, and glorious sunsets —
Infuse it with mystery and beauty.
It’s love, I believe,
That has that same effect
On us humans…

It feels like the guides we built
To keep us on
the straight and narrow
And out of the weeds
Have grown fuzzier
and slipperier with time
And may eventually disappear
For lack of maintenance
Or lack of use —
And does it even matter which?
How can we find our way back
To the spirit, and to truth?

Different things take courage
For different people.
For me —having been told
I cannot draw —
to scribble these fine lines
Was terrifying.
Whenever it is we face
those voices that challenge us
We need to be willing
to ask for support;
To find courage together to resist
The things that scare us most.

I stand in my kitchen,
Watching the mama doe
and her yearling
Gently loving on one another,
And I think:
this is what the world needs —
More tenderness;
More tenderness.

So often we erect barriers
To keep us from dealing with
The troubles of the world.
But over time, nature encroaches,
And though those encroachments
May seem lovely and fresh,
Over time they’re more likely
To pull those barriers down
And we’ll be forced to face
What we’d prefer to avoid…

Even on the gray days,
People are still working,
And I am working, too,
Trying to find light
between the grays
Trying to welcome the contrast
The dark provides;
Greeting it with love, not hate,
To soften its hard edges.

I watch my cat stare fixedly
At a painting
I’d stacked on the floor,
And wonder: what are his thoughts
As he stares, and what is it
That engages him —
Or did he just happen to fall asleep
In that spot on the rug
Instead of my lap?
I know he loves music;
What if he also loves art?

I know it can be dark these days,
But somewhere in this night
Though it be tucked behind a cloud
There is a light that shines.
And if you cannot see that light,
It may be time for you
to be that light
For others,
who also struggle in the dark.

I watch the seagulls,
And they watch me,
Occasionally engaging
On this gray and windy day,
And their full white breasts
Bring back memories of the goose
I once held in my arms
And mothered into adulthood.
These animals
have so much to teach us.
When will we stop and listen?

There’s something about
the joy otters find
Both on the water’s surface
And in its depths,
And the way they float
While carrying their young
That seems so open, and tender…
So I totally understand
Why an artist would choose
to recreate them
And why my town would
place them here
For all to enjoy.

This photo was taken at sunrise,
But my camera was facing west:
Quite a surprise!
Just a reminder:
Beauty can be found
In unexpected places,
So be brave, and bold,
And look about you:
There is always beauty somewhere.
Find it, and let it feed your soul.

Help us always
To see beyond the distractions
To the vulnerability that lies waiting
To be tenderly cared for
And gently exposed to the light.

Lately I have found myself
Complaining about politics,
And though I can’t deny
My complaints
are well deserved,
I need to return to that space
In my heart
where peace is found,
And to focus on nurturing that
Til it spreads beyond
My feeble soul
And reaches out to soften
the conflicts of the world.

Today we mourn the collapse
Of something beautiful,
And weep for the loss
Of the ideals we held dear:
How could so many folks condone
This senseless killing?

Perhaps it was a mistake to choose
As the symbol of our nation
A huge angry predator
Always alert for prey
And determined to be master
Of all that he surveys.