Life’s Unquiet Dream

Life’s Unquiet Dream

“Thy light alone... gives grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream”
     ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty”

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I lost my creative rhythm toward the end of this summer.  In mid- 

August I somehow fell out of sync with the regular activity of my 

own life.

Not even our annual canoe trip to the Boundary Waters could bring 

me around.  The photos I wanted to take, among other things, 

seemed just beyond my reach.

It took me the better part of a month to recognize my predicament, 

and then some patience before life’s cadence began to reveal itself 

again.  Up north over the Labor Day weekend, Beauty offered this 

glimpse into the heart of it all.

~ Hal

In the Garden

In the Garden

It’s been a great summer for exploring gardens.  For various 

reasons, our own garden has gone more than a little bit wild 

this year; but one thing I’ve noticed is that even in an untended 

garden, the love that went into the original sewing and planting 

isn’t difficult to discern.

This past weekend we returned from a family vacation, visiting 

with my parents in Asheville, North Carolina.  One of the moments 

I enjoyed most was sitting on their back patio watching the edge 

of evening glide silently across the yard.  Afterward, I stood up to 

take a closer look at the flowers growing in the cool stillness of 

their water garden.  I brought the memory home in this photograph.

~ Hal

The Lilies of the Black Ponds

The Lilies of the Black Ponds

for Susan Deborah King

In a moment between getting dressed
and my morning commute
I sat at the edge of my bed

And for some reason my hand
reached to the bedside table and drew out
Mary Oliver's book from the stack.

The page opened to this verse:

        "Who doesn't love
        roses, and who
        doesn't love the lilies
        of the black ponds"

In an instant my mind flew
open to a place I know
where lilies grow in wild, still water

And several days later, not long after dawn
I sat unhurried, drifting through wild lilies.

Their pads were tethered by slack tapers
to the rich, soft, soil
and all that lies below it.

~ Hal

When the World Comes Alive

When the World Comes Alive

Over this past weekend I was lucky enough to spend the fishing 

season opener with a few friends on a trip in the Boundary Waters.

We put in off the Gunflint Trail in the pouring rain, and after 4 

hours of paddling and portaging we arrived at camp soaked and 

hungry.  Oh well, we survived.  Another day of wet and very cold 

weather followed, but thankfully the sun did eventually reappear.

On Saturday evening we took a break from fishing to spend some 

time hiking just south of Winchell Lake.  This area was burnt in 

2006 by the Redeye Lake fire.  The terrain is terribly charred, and 

aside from my curiosity about how forests regenerate, I was not 

feeling a real connection to the place.

Then as we turned back toward the canoes, the light caught hold 

of the new-grown shrubs and the entire hillside came alive.  I 

stopped to take it in, then captured this moment as I followed my 

friend Jim down the slope.

~ Hal

Spring Ephemeral

Spring Ephemeral

One of the things I love about working in the field of natural 

resources is that my team tries to hold our quarterly meetings 

at various parks around the state.  This spring we decided to go 

down to Big Woods State Park (near Northfield, Minnesota).   

Most of us also ended up camping there and exploring the woods 

in our off-time.

All over the park, we found the forest floor peppered with bunches 

of these trout lilies in bloom.  I had hoped to spot the very rare 

dwarf trout lilly, but it turned out I was a week too late ~ they had 

already bloomed and hidden themselves again.

Nonetheless, this tender beauty brightened my eye after an evening 

run through the woods with my friends Chris, Mike, and Shelly.

~ Hal

Winter's Exhalation

Winter's Exhalation

For the past week the warming temperatures and melting snow have resulted in a string of beautifully foggy mornings.  Their eerie nature drew me to Foster Cemetery, one of the lonely, lovely spots hidden around town.

I found myself high on the hill above the Kinnickinnic River, sitting with my back turned to the old settler’s grave stones.  I listened to geese flying through the gray soup.  Every now and then a pair would emerge from the fog of winter’s final breath, only to disappear again a moment later, headed downstream.

~ Hal

Duck Stamp

Duck Stamp

I was up early on Saturday to drop Garth off at school for his 

choir concert trip.  After saying goodbye, I headed over to Glen 

Park and followed the trail down the hill to the Kinnickinnic River.

If you’ve ever been traveling away from home and stopped into 

a small-town cafe mid-morning, you know the feeling I had as I 

emerged from the woods;   heads turned to eye my entrance when 

I joined these mallard ducks at their regular gathering spot.

After a moment, they went back to stamping their feet and discussing 

their plans for the day.  I took this photo, then wandered further up 

the river.

~ Hal