My green valley

I own the movie about another green valley but my valley isn’t fictional . Right at the moment it isn’t this green either. Christmas Eve  and my green valley is more brown than green and more gray in outlook but given my penchant for photography, I have a surplus of pictures of it. People wonder why I take pictures and write about nature but they shouldn’t. I mean, nature has yet to pitch a hissy fit about my photos and little paragraphs about its beauty. It never pours out its anger and frustration onto my shoulders nor pours condemnation for youthful sins  down upon me like corruscating acid,designed only to cause pain. It is quite simply beautiful , everyday ,even in the dreary gray of a rainy day, there is still beauty. Artistry created by God and designed to fill the soul with joy. I may never write the great American novel but if I can ,with my bits and pieces ,show this artwork then I will be content.

My love affair with clouds

I don’t really know why precisely I love to look and take pictures of clouds. It could just be their beauty, the white fluffy ones against the brilliant blue sky or the shapes they take on. This particular cloud formation  brings to mind a pirate with a parrot perched on his shoulder as he scans the ocean for another victim. Could be a snake about to pounce on his handler, who knows? It is  up to the eye of the beholder what they see after all. The clouds that are present at sunrise and sunset can also present breathtaking works of divine art. It’s that inticate dance between the sunshine and the drops of moisture that make up the clouds that draws me in and refuses to let go. Such a simple ,yet at the same time, complicated interaction that provides we cloud watchers with such exquisite artworks that change by the seconds at times . As a world we are so very busy now that we seldom look at the sky. Oh we take notice if it rains like it is today or something horrible and tragic happens and the sky is filled with smoke or like 9/11, the skies grow silent and no sound is heard except the sounds of sorrow and fear.  I say we should do more cloud watching and less of trying to control the uncontrollable. Look up and perhaps find your soul!

Sunrise dagger

Like a dagger piercing through the clouds, the sun came up that day. The clouds took no notice and moved swiftly to block out the warming rays. It was as if they wanted the earth below to remain cold and wet,dreary beyond belief. No break from the wet for the unlucky inhabitants, just more of the same. Day after day, the deluge had continued but in the wee small hours of the morning it had suddenly stopped and the absence of the pitter patter of raindrops had awoken her. She had become so accustomed to the rain that when it stopped even for a short while, it disturbed her. She had climbed down out of her high bed to peer out into the dark night as if she could see anything. A flash of lightning hit and just like that the sheets of water began falling again. after that sleep seemed the only thing to do so back to bed she went.

That morning when she woke up, it had quit raining  so she went for a short walk to check out her gardens and see if the incessant rain had caused any damage to the flower beds or the trees. She’d already lost several mature trees to the deluge, the ground being sodden and the the tree roots unable to hold them upright…….

Winter chill brings flower memory

There are those who utterly adore the bone chilling cold of winter and even exhibit giddiness when confronted with a blanket of wet snow.  I am so not one of these kind of people. I adore the spring and summer, when Mother Nature exhibits all the treasures God has graced her with. My arthritic bones rejoice in the warmth of the  rays from the sun and my eyes are over whelmed with the panoply of color that washes the landscape outside my room. Oh, there is color in winter  but it is restrained, not celebrating life but showing the shades of decay. Winter shows my discontent as it leads to introspection  since sitting or walking outside  and being active isn’t pleasant so I stay ,cooped up inside my aerie,thinking about  life and  all its chapters. This beautiful bloom would be considered a weed I suppose but just look at the color and the delicate petals. After all, all flora was wild and thought of as weeds till someone had the thought about planting the seeds of one plant and pollinating with another.  This practice has lead to a huge variety of  plants and some of the prettiest gardens in the world.  One day, I will have my garden and hopefully ,more spring than winter so that I may sit and dream while surrounded by total beauty!