To ponder upon distance and spaciousness speaks into the freedom we all yearn for, which surely is the birthright of all humanity. I felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration here as I gazed out to the misty horizon and felt the expansiveness of the sky above me.
I’ve always been fascinated by stone. Something in me believes that stone is not simply dead and inanimate, but rather alive and a kind of receptacle of memory and history. In some mysterious way I think stone gathers into itself and holds within itself what has happened around it. I would often look at a mountain and ask the question, “What have you seen? What memories lie in your stone? What would you say if you could speak? I addressed these questions to the stone of this church.
Tramping through this Wintery scene I was touched by the different textures and colours surrounding me. I tried visualising a world without texture and colour and just couldn’t. The sheer miracle of course is that hidden deep in this texture and colour another reality resides. In two to three months time this reality will burst forth in a profusion of the lush greens and new life of Spring. I look forward to that.
I was gazing into this Winter scene of the woods, when suddenly two birds started what was obviously a territorial fight. It was fierce and at times quite violent. As I watched I couldn’t help but think that “being territorial” is part of who we are. Is it right or wrong? The question, I think, is far too simplistic. It’s neither right nor wrong. It’s simply one of life’s paradoxes which we all need to negotiate. The truth is somewhere in the middle.
Thorns and leaves,
the sharp and the soft,
life in all its fullness.
I suspect there is a celestial dimension to nature hidden deep inside what we normally see. Every now and then it pushes itself to the service and we see it in all its magnificence. This was my experience of the above lake – a celestial moment. It was deeply captivating in the Winter light.
I was walking past these gnarled trees when two crows suddenly settled on some branches, squawked loudly, and flew off. There’s something rather foreboding in the sound of squawking crows in a Winter landscape. I felt as if I was in a Gothic novel. It was a mysterious moment.