mystery of light

mystery of light

It’s raining today but I don’t want to show the rain. I want to show the black road glistening between white banks still tall from last week’s storm. I want to show the shards of icicles, half buried in the spongy snow. I want to show the chickadee, feathers fluffed against the cold, hopping from branch to branch. I want to show the inner life of the forest, the way the treetops hum and sway in the wind, the sheltered pockets beneath the wide-boughed spruce, the soft fragrance of cedar.

It’s dark today, but I don’t want to show the dark. I want to show the mystery of light.

Photo taken on January 6, 2011

let there be light

luminato

Today is Remembrance Day. I have mixed feelings about this day. On one hand, I think of the awful cost of war, the sacrifice of so many lives, when dreams are crushed and lands laid waste. I think of the war movies I have seen — ranging from Gallipoli to Das Boot — and the almost daily news stories of ongoing conflict, the death of soldiers and civilians, and the hurts borne by those who have returned. We remember them.

On the other hand, I think of the machinery of war. The frequency of violent clashes around the world guarantees a thriving market for weapons and all the supplies needed to maintain conflict. Our culture continually markets war games of all kinds and models violence — and winning by violent means — as desirable and praiseworthy.

How can we remember the sacrifice of war without praising it? How can we work for peace and conflict resolution without dishonouring those who must fight on our behalf when words are not enough? I don’t know the answer, but think it would make a difference if leaders and ordinary citizens could resist the paranoid “us” vs “them”propaganda, begin to recognize strangers as neighbours, and find a neutral space where we can look into each other’s eyes without fear.

Let there be light,
let there be understanding,
let all the nations gather,
let them be face to face.
– Frances W. Davis

Photo taken on October 11, 2010

that summery feeling

There are a few memories I’d like to take into winter with me. I’d like to remember the hot breeze on my forehead, the warm sun against my back. I’d like to remember the whispering of the pines and the tinkling of the poplar leaves as they dance in the wind. I’d like to remember the hot sand beneath the soles of my feet, and the soft grass tickling my bare toes. I’d like to remember this: standing (carefully) in the dappled shade of a thorn tree, hearing the buzz of flies circling lazily in the noonday sun, gazing at the wide open field under blue blue skies.

Taken on August 11, 2010

night falls, energy rises

A friend complained to me one day about our “cheap energy”, saying that we don’t pay anywhere near the true cost of our power. So we squander it. Every night, when the sun goes down, lights go on all around the world, but no place beams brighter than the largest cities and richest populations. Check out this view from space to see what the earth looks like at night. It makes me wonder how we would spend our energy if it was limited, if we truly saw it as a precious resource, if we were rationed to a certain amount per day. I suspect that beaming light out into space would not be our first priority.

Taken on December 2, 2009

Lamp on Grannan Lane

It was noon, and the bright sun was lighting up the buildings on the other side of the alley. I turned to the shadow side, and found this symmetrical wall with its understated 19th century architectural elegance.

Taken on May 21, 2010