Archive for the ‘Winter’ Category


Now is a time for the seasons to dance.  

Is the ice encroaching or melting back?

 Is the moss pushing forward or about to be held in icy repose?

All of the above.

The seasons move rhythmically back and forth throughout the year

 – taking turns leading and following – 

 in a timeless procession of grace and beauty.



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Blue water is brown with sediment; grey rock is red with lichen.

Our interactions with others colour us and make us more interesting.

Imagine the water ‘pure’ like bottled;

picture the rock clean and monochromatic like cement.

It’s just not natural.



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A lone rock with sails of snow set out on a journey one day.

It came upon wondrous new surroundings

even though it stood still in its travels,

 for the cloud-patterned sky, scents on the wind,

a flash of birds and fish, and the determined tide

all passed closely by.



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As the sun sets on winter, we can reflect on the fact that

change is omnipresent in our lives.

The change of seasons represents a natural flow of impermanence

that is uncomplicated, and easy to experience with acceptance.

This acceptance of change can then be applied to other,

often more difficult, types of transformation in our lives.

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What these ancient eyes must have seen over their centuries on Earth.

The sun and moon rising and setting some hundred thousand times?

Enough rain and snow falling to fill a sea? A parade of insects, animals, birds

and fish that would stretch for miles if seen all at once?

What wisdom must have accumulated through

the patient observance of nature’s way.


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There are moments during the winter when the snow and cold and ice

all make sense; when the landscape is changed from a busy dappled palette

to a stunning monochromatic rendering.

Photographers do this at their discretion to create a

stylistic presentation of a particular scene.

Nature does this completely at random and it is up to the observer

to appreciate what has happened.


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Spring lives in the heart of winter,

sleeping within the ebb and flow of its pulsing rhythm;

gradually growing stronger through each beat of a storm surge,

each resting moment of stillness,

until the warmth of life returns.

(For Patrick)


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While a summer walk in the woods is a passage into a soft, dappled landscape

in which the hiker is brushed quietly by velvet leaves

and warm breaths of wind with comfortable padding to step upon,

the same walk in deep winter is a very different experience.

The air is bracing, making the hiker aware; the plants are brittle

and unyielding so that moving is done alertly; and the path crunches

underfoot transforming the journey into an exercise in rhythmic percussion.

A winter’s walk is one straight into an arena of sensory response.

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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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