Archive for February, 2012

At dawn on a crisp winter’s day, even the light is cold.

It paints the land a steely, frigid blue; the stain sets quickly and deeply

so that all it covers is held absolutely still.

The brush strokes are rough, uneven, prickly,

giving a harsh texture to this arresting canvas.

This natural work of art is powerful enough

to hold any viewer frozen in its grasp.


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A winter storm has left its mess and gone off to play elsewhere.

There is a beauty, though, in the remnants of play;

it is a reminder of our own carefree days of introspective abandonment,

when we were able to be engulfed in the process of some activity

that claimed our attention for whatever length of time the attraction held.

We came, we played, we conquered boredom

and let our imaginations run amok.

 And then we awoke as if from a dream.


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The universe has perplexed us for as long as we have

looked above at the night sky.

How did it come to be, is there other life out there, how far does it extend?

But we might also wonder how the sprawling,

incomprehensible scope of the universe can be found

on the surface of a frozen pond.



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The moss at the base of this towering birch tree is

incrementally and methodically working its way up the trunk.

It will never reach the top, but it won’t have to.

As the moss spiders into breaches in the bark and feeds deeper and deeper

into the tree, it will weaken the trunk until the tree collapses.

The moss will then complete its mission of returning the tree to the earth.

And then the cycle will begin again.


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A lyrical line of ice borders a slow-moving stream.

It offers no direction for the water,

only a decoration with indentations for exploration

and a reason to meander and reflect.



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While it is common to lie on one’s back and look for imagery

in clouds scudding across a summer sky,

 it can be just as profound to search on puddles for pictures

in the winter months. See here how a hand reaches in from the right

to pet a long-eared dog cradled under an arm;

its eyes are looking directly at you.



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As First Peoples grew more proficient at survival, how could they not

become artists when nature offered inspiration all around them?

How could people feel the pull of such beauty and not be compelled to

create it themselves? And even now, how can an artist not respond

to the creative beauty that continues to be naturally produced?



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A dinner plate of the finest crystal,

dressed with a serving of marsh grass fettuccine,

sits on an elegant water table adorned with black ice linen.

What fine dining awaits the observant patron in nature’s best restaurants.


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What was once part of a cliff and then a boulder is now a stand of rocks

poised like dominoes ready to tumble. It is also a reminder

that everything changes. The shards of ice surrounding the rock

have also undergone a similar transformation from a larger collective

to smaller and smaller components. Only time, really, separates the two.

And given that the transformations never cease, is time even relevant?



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The surreal can occur quite naturally.

The elements of nature in combination with the forces of nature

produce otherworldly, psychedelic effects that can make us pause in wonder.

 And while there are rudimentary laws of physics to explain these

 manifestations, there are no words to convey their appearance.

Try to describe the ice to a friend.



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