Radiance

This morning when I came downstairs in the dark...

...there was a heap of coals still red-hot in the wood stove. Maggie had banked them last night. It made it very easy to get the fire started.

About 10 minutes after she left to take Seth to an early morning soccer practice, there was a call on my cell phone - Maggie again, "You gotta get outside and check out the light - the sun is just coming up and it is fantastic."  I put on my warm things, and decided to go down to the new conservation area along the river on the north end of town.

The light she had said, it is glowing.  That's how I found it.  I followed some snow shoe prints left from the day before down to the river. In the flood plain these plants stood silent, coated with frost as the sun filtered through the trees from the south side of the river.
 

Shhh... I'm Hunting Wabbit

We had a great Thanksgiving celebration

down in Moline, Illinois with Maggie's family this year. My nephew James took one of his late grandfather's old .22 caliber rifles out along the edge of the field and shot this rabbit.

What was most interesting was the group of his cousins who gathered to skin the animal and investigate from a more scientific perspective. 

It was up to James to gut the carcass, I don't think he really enjoyed that part.  Oh well, better to learn now than later.  I'm sure he'll think twice before pulling the trigger so easily next time.
  

November Reflections

What is it about November?

November just seems to bring out the strange melancholy in me.  I was up north at the cabin with Maggie's brother Steve this weekend for some chores and the final shut-down. We had a great time together.

When evening rolled around we went down to the lake, that's when the light began to fade, and the chill ran up my back.  I don't mind too much, in fact I kind of like it.  The reflections on the water echoed our thoughts of winter's approach.

Omnia Sol

Omnia sol temperat, purus et subtilis...

The sun warms all things, pure and gentle,
bids us to rejoice; it shows us paths we know well

     ~ Carl Orff, "Carmina Burana"

                               --------------------

Spring is fast approaching.  Right now the main attraction

is my old friend the sun: stirring, thawing, coaxing me
with hope and urging my brittleness to give way.

Below the surface, invisible things are moving. I'm thinking
of sap and also the tiny rivulets of water under the snow
where meltwater meanders.

How is it that those things we don't see, that we don't
hear, but which we know regardless are often the most
sublime?

~ Hal

New Morning

New Morning

I set my camera down this winter and took a little break from
the photo journal.  Then, a few weeks ago, a friend sent me a
poem which sparked my imagination and it has felt great to get
back in the swing of things.

One of the joys of spring is watching the flowering trees bloom,
and lately I’ve been paying more attention to some of the less
obvious flowers that emerge this time of year.

For example, the sugar maples in our neighborhood have their
light green flowers hanging down, with tiny leaves unfurling
from the stems.  This bunch belongs to a tree down the street
that I encountered while walking the dog.

~ Hal

Running with Stella

Running with Stella

The weather has been perfect this autumn, it seems that just 

about everyone has a smile on their face.

Stella and I have been running on the trails around town.  When 

we enter the woods, it feels like stepping into a dream.  The 

evening sun filters down; the leaves slowly twirl from their 

branches to the forest floor.  It feels so great just to move along 

the trail drinking in the delicious warm air.

On this afternoon, Stella stopped to listen to the sound of a 

squirrel rustling under the dry fallen leaves.  I took a moment 

to soak it in.

~ Hal

Summer Reading

Summer Reading

This summer I’ve been walking to a small neighborhood park 

on the east side of  St. Paul.  Once a week I take my lunch, I sit 

and read, I watch people come and go.

There is an old woman in a wheelchair, and a man some years 

younger who sits beside her, reading aloud from a very long book.  

In the heat of summer, they sat in the shade of the trees on the 

lawn.  As autumn has drawn near, they have moved to a sunny 

bench.

She leans toward him in her chair, head angled so that her ear is 

close to his voice.  His finger is tracing the words on the page.  

I think about the intimacy that comes with reading in that way 

over the course of a summer.  I wonder what world they are sharing 

together in this moment.

I finish my lunch and notice these milkweed seeds quivering in 

the breeze at the edge of the park.  Before heading back to work 

I take a few minutes to consider them as well.

~ Hal