Somewhere in the dim and dusty recesses of my noggin, the inexorable progress of the season and the passage of these all too brief summer days are being marked. A great celestial clock is ticking away in the background, and on hearing it, I can't help thinking about the simple fact that this golden season is passing away.
The other three seasons of a northern calendar year are splendid of course, and there are surely other fine summers ahead, but this summer is fading, and its shining days are numbered, just like everything else in life. Thoughts of coming and going are ever inscribed on summer's middling pages, and they're unsettling notions, making for restlessness and vague discontent, a gentle melancholy concerning transience of all living and earthly things.
An awareness of suchness (or tathata) is a midsummer thing, and for the most part, one goes gently along with the flow, breathing in and out, trying to rest in the moment and doing the things which need doing. Once in a while though, melancholy floats to the surface, and along comes the ancient naysaying crone who dwells at the back of my sconce with her tattered bag of troubling questions. What is the point of these pathetic ramblings with camera and notebook, all the long wordy paragraphs and morning blog entries, she asks slyly, brandishing her wooden spoon and stirring the pot, widdershins of course. What on earth do you think you are doing, and what is this really all about?
The two images here are from summer potterings around a favorite beaver pond on the Two Hundred Acre Wood, and on seeing them, my inner naysayer took a long look and went slinking back into the shadows, hopefully to remain in her cave for quite a while. Was it the confetti colored leaves and strands floating on the surface that sent her packing, the satiny ripples moving slowly outward on the pond, the reflected trees, or the peaceful deep blue of the water? Whatever it was, she got the message.
Sometimes, just sometimes, one catches a glimpse of the Great Mystery when prowling about with camera and notebook on summer days. That is the point of all this - that is what it's all about. Why (however) do I have to keep reminding myself?
7 comments:
Tell the crone that there are many of us who cherish your words and pictures!
Because we are perversely forgetful creatures. But you (and we) are returned to the present by your lens and words. It's your gift and we are grateful.
Beautiful answer to your own question - "...this is what it's all about.....catching glimpses of the Great Mystery." Beautifully said. A reason to get up in the morning!:) Doing what you love doing - "pottering" in Nature and sharing it with us (the world) so that we can share in The Mystery too... With much gratitude for your perfect passion for life and living, and the lens through which you share it with us...
This blog is the only one I visit everyday. There is a reason for that.
Cate, as a quiet woman it is a real struggle to comment on any blog. Usually I read, listen and try to learn something every day. Thank you for allowing us, those silent followers, a glimpse of the mystery.
HI Cate
I loved the photos but I am not ready yet!!!!
Guy
i can only speak for me.
my sometime melancholy
lurks and washes over me
most often in nature presence
just yesterday in the middle
of working on one project
i thought, what does any of
this matter? the reading
the photographs, the planning,
looking ahead, continuing to seek
and learn. i'm almost 66 how can
the things i do matter. sigh.
then another feeling washed
over me. because these are
the days and time that I
must live.
(Walt Whitman: "These are the days that must happen to you."0
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