On an overcast morning in late April, I am bending over a cluster of blooming Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) in a corner of the garden, training my camera on them and trying not to go base over apex (ass over tea kettle) among the emerging daylilies nearby. It's the same old game as in countless other seasons. While trying to stay upright and capture images, I am also trying to be attentive to spring's wonders in all their natural wabi sabi grace, their suchness. It's a Zen thing.
Then there is the matter of patience. I must learn to wait for the wind to pause in its madcap dance before clicking my shutter. Sometimes the exercises turn out, but more often I am rewarded by blurring, flickering and dancing coins of bokeh.
Spring is a time of brightness and radiant becoming. This is the seventh springtime without my soulmate, and it was his favorite season of the year - he loved the wildflowers that are lifting their heads in the woods and fields and fens now. The ache of losing him never goes away. On our morning rambles, Beau and I think of him as tucked in one of our pockets and enjoying the unfolding splendor of the great wide world. We miss him, and we send him our love, every single day.
No comments:
Post a Comment