Declaration – I tell you this with some urgency. Life is short, and we must make large of it. We must wake each day conscious to its possibilities. We must wake expectant. We must wake ready. We must participate. This is my declaration. Walt Whitman began his poem Leaves of Grass — I celebrate myself, […]Read more "We Must Make Large of It"
I smelled deeply the aspen leaves this morning. Holding the cluster of leaves to my face, I smelled their sweetness. I smelled new life determined to express itself. I felt the coming fullness of the new season. Peering up at the changing canopy, I saw the promise of spring delivered. Searching out wood […]Read more "Chronicling The Changes"
The chipmunk sat upon its branch, posing perhaps, or so it seemed. He or she gave me all the time in the world to kneel in the dry grass and focus my camera. She stayed in place as if asking me to see only her and not the tumult of competing thoughts thrashing about in […]Read more "Transformation"
This is a winter story. When I was young and trudging through the northern-Illinois snow, feet frozen in inadequate galoshes, my mittened fingers cold to the bone, I resolved that when I grew up, I would have warm winter boots to insulate my feet and mittens so thick I could stay outdoors for hours. I remember being […]Read more "A Winter Story"
January in northwestern Minnesota is cold. Fields lay beneath snowscapes of sculpted drifts, sometimes windblown in peaked escarpments, sometimes divoted as if by choppy waters, sometimes rippled in gentle waves. Ditches so deep that in spring they might serve as transport canals are in January filled with snow and flush with roads. This week’s blizzard […]Read more "Frozen Landscapes"