August 9, 2013

Friday Ramble - Just Wild on the Rocks

In early August, mornings are cool and refreshing for the most part.  Later, temperatures may be in the thirties, sometimes even hovering near forty (Celsius) when humidity is factored into the equation.  Rural waters are receding as is usual at this time of the year, and in many places one can cross over without ever getting wet above her ankles. The rains of September will replenish northern lakes and rivers, and we long for the cooler days to come in just a few weeks.

At one end of our pond is a shallow waterfall punctuated by stones, and the sound of the falling water there makes a pleasant music in late summer.  I can sit there for hours and sometimes do just that in August, accompanied by scores of tiny jewel eyed frogs basking in the cool stone-scented wetness and quiet. (Another capture of this scene made an appearance here a few days ago.)  "The falls" is a fine place to hang out, and one of the scenes I remember in January when snow lies deep on the land and the waters have been silenced - the susurrus of the cascade is like a mantra, late summer light and floating leaves dappling the surface, reeds swaying to and fro, the watchful repose and Zen posture of my little friends on their cool wet perches.

Summer time is kairos or nonlinear time anyway, but in August, hours seem to pass in another way altogether, perhaps more thoughtfully since I am indoors for the most part and beset by health issues, respiratory problems among other things.  My voice comes and goes (mostly goes), and being without a voice makes for interesting moments. I make lunch plans with friends and often just sit there waving my hands in the air and making faces to go with my gestures.  I run for the telephone and remember only as I am actually picking up the receiver that I have nothing to say, or rather that I can say nothing. I find myself laughing when such "stuff" happens, and the laughter is an odd sound, lacking the grace of flowing water or floating leaves but still organic - it falls somewhere between a rasp and a hollow creak like an old tree in the wind. "Just wild", I say to myself, "you're becoming just wild".

4 comments:

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

Cate, your sharing means so much to me. Your nature sharing brings a sense of calm to me this early morning. Health issues I understand as they are here in this cottage also.
Please take care of yourself and know that there someone thousands of miles from you, who lives at the edge of the woods, that keeps you
in her prayers...

B. Rogers, Living in Black Mountain said...

Lovely pictures, and you also paint pictures with your words. I also lose my voice, especially if I'm around any chemicals. The choir I'm part of has stopped wearing any perfume just for me. So far so good, but it's always iffy.

the wild magnolia said...

love the frogs or toadies, whichever, their forest green slickness is compelling. don't know that we have such beauties here.

"...just wild." i like the words and i crave wildness. it sets us apart and sets us up for other worlds within our own.

thank you Cate.......

Kameshwari said...

When I saw the photo of the frogs, I thought of making an affectionately snarky comment of your love affair with frogs. They are all so beautiful and sexy. But after reading of your health issues, I think that snarky, no matter how affectionate, is not quite fitting tonight. But with your fabulous photos of frogs, I'm finding myself developing a bit of intrigue with the handsome water creatures. I would love to see more. Be well.