Saturday, November 25, 2006

mornings

Looking across Sturgeon Lake, southward from Sturgeon Point towards Lindsay.

In the shade where the sun has not reached yet to melt the frost, the remnants of a crystal-embroidered brocade carpets the forest floor. I am very susceptible to this momentary, tiny, aching beauty. Not remembering the beauty frost can create, I was not anticipating these small moments of delight. They are a gift, reminding me of the changing seasons, the cycles of life and death. It is time for frosts, but I had forgotten how it can sparkle on the edges of grass and leaves, or later, in the dead of winter, paint my window panes.

I have to stop and literally crawl around on my hands and knees, trying to get a decent photo or two. I have ideas running around in my head for doing watercolours of this...

What did I read recently about that heart-breaking aspect of intensely beautiful moments, especially long-anticipated moments? Here it is, a quote from Karen Armstrong's A History of God, about the consciousness of the ephemeral nature of everything, the ineffable that always remains unseen beyond what we see:

post coitum omne animal tristis est

p.s. The red-tailed hawk just rose up from behind the cedar-rail fence at the edge of the yard and flew westward, where the mists are being burned off by the morning sun.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Loretta said...

Such a beautiful post, "remnants of a crystal-embroidered brocade carpets the forst floor".

Lovely words and photography.

2:07 PM  
Blogger Annie in Austin said...

There's a similar phrase that turns up in some articles about Japanese culture, "Mono no aware". I have no idea how to pronounce it, and haven't studied it, just run across it here and there.

Annie at the Transplantable Rose

3:41 PM  
Blogger Kati said...

Loretta, thanks for stopping by and for your kind words.
Annie, "mono no aware", tell me more about the contexts and what it means.

11:29 PM  

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