Yesterday, Henry and I drove to the grocery store. Periodically, I'd pull over to the side of the road to snap photos. Henry said,
Mommy, why do you keep puwwing over and taking pictures?
Because, I answered, I keep seeing beautiful things.
Things that used to speed by but lately, I've slowed. I took photos of the rustic beauty: of trees. Of light. Of shadows. I feel interwoven with the stalks, the snow, the chipped bark and barren, regal branches. I'm reminded that I'm just one part of this majestic, pulsing world. I sit in wonder as I consider the seemingly barren tree, bubbling with spring and fecundity just below her winter's casing.
Winter landscapes inexorably mesmerize me; while I absorb their beauty, I feel a carbonated gratitude bubble through my being. Nature demonstrably exhibits resilience and fragility--one of life's paradoxical metaphors. One which I identify with so, so much. Strong and weak. Driven and lagging. Inspired and flat. Up and down.
Just like life.
Just like me.
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