The return of sunshine after days of rain is a better than winning the lottery!
"The sun is the epitome of benevolence - it is lifegiving and warmthgiving and happinessgiving, and to it we owe our thanksgiving." -Jessi Lane Adams
http://www.worldofcolorgallery.com
Showing posts with label sun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sun. Show all posts
Monday, September 21, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Nature Quote - May 15, 2009 - Galileo and Farmers' Markets
This one is for my daughter Abbey who, upon our first visit to the Farmers' Market this season and greatly to her mother's joy and surprise, thought the fruit tables were much better than the candy in the checkout aisle at the grocery store.
When I informed her that we weren't buying peaches (I was going to wait for riper ones to appear on Saturday morning), Abbey protested "But, Mom, we NEED peaches."
When a kid's right, she's right.
Speaking of people who were right. . .
"The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do." ~ Galileo
http://www.worldofcolorgallery.com
When I informed her that we weren't buying peaches (I was going to wait for riper ones to appear on Saturday morning), Abbey protested "But, Mom, we NEED peaches."
When a kid's right, she's right.
Speaking of people who were right. . .
"The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do." ~ Galileo
http://www.worldofcolorgallery.com
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Springing Into Spring
This piece was written for the April edition of Moonshine magazine. To view the whole magazine, please visit www.moonshine.southerncreativity.com
I recently had the good fortune to travel to Virginia and back over the first weekend of spring. Driving northward from the bountiful blooms of the Florida panhandle to the still-skeletal trees of the Appalachians, it seemed at first as if we were traveling back into winter. On the contrary, though, the longer I spent staring, rapt, out the windows, the more attuned my vision became to the subtler signs of mountain spring.
Where the azaleas, tulips, redbuds, and daffodils had already danced onto the stage of the deep South, singing “Spring is here!” the trees and plants of the mountains seemed, still, to be holding their breath, anxious and waiting in the wings for their cue.
This made me think that spring is the season of held breaths. Starting with that poor, beleaguered groundhog in early February, we’re all waiting for Mother Nature to tell us “It’s all right. You can breathe. I’m going to bring the flowers and the leaves and the warm sun and the soft breezes back this year. I keep my promises.”
And we wait and hope and wait and look for buds and tiny sprigs of peridot green and wait and then one bright morning, the natural world bursts forth in its party ruffles like a line of can-can dancers. The birds strike up the chorus and it’s time to celebrate!
So, artists, photographers, sculptors, crafters, knitters, jewelers, weavers, and writers, it is time for us to join the party. Not just to document the joy, but to take some time to revel – to let our own party ruffles fly out around us as we twirl in the confetti of petals. To strut our fine feathers. To turn our faces to the sun, smile, and say, “Welcome back!”
So get out there and party with the primavera! Take all of your supplies outside on the next sunny day and let loose. See your work in the truest (and prettiest) light: sunlight. Listen to the springsong and feel the warming wind, smell the blossoms on the fruit trees and trace the softest petals with the tip of your finger.
Take it all in and then let it go freely into new and inspired work. And, try to remember to dedicate at least one piece to Mother Nature – she deserves a thank you for always keeping her promises.
www.worldofcolorgallery.com
I recently had the good fortune to travel to Virginia and back over the first weekend of spring. Driving northward from the bountiful blooms of the Florida panhandle to the still-skeletal trees of the Appalachians, it seemed at first as if we were traveling back into winter. On the contrary, though, the longer I spent staring, rapt, out the windows, the more attuned my vision became to the subtler signs of mountain spring.
Where the azaleas, tulips, redbuds, and daffodils had already danced onto the stage of the deep South, singing “Spring is here!” the trees and plants of the mountains seemed, still, to be holding their breath, anxious and waiting in the wings for their cue.
This made me think that spring is the season of held breaths. Starting with that poor, beleaguered groundhog in early February, we’re all waiting for Mother Nature to tell us “It’s all right. You can breathe. I’m going to bring the flowers and the leaves and the warm sun and the soft breezes back this year. I keep my promises.”
And we wait and hope and wait and look for buds and tiny sprigs of peridot green and wait and then one bright morning, the natural world bursts forth in its party ruffles like a line of can-can dancers. The birds strike up the chorus and it’s time to celebrate!
So, artists, photographers, sculptors, crafters, knitters, jewelers, weavers, and writers, it is time for us to join the party. Not just to document the joy, but to take some time to revel – to let our own party ruffles fly out around us as we twirl in the confetti of petals. To strut our fine feathers. To turn our faces to the sun, smile, and say, “Welcome back!”
So get out there and party with the primavera! Take all of your supplies outside on the next sunny day and let loose. See your work in the truest (and prettiest) light: sunlight. Listen to the springsong and feel the warming wind, smell the blossoms on the fruit trees and trace the softest petals with the tip of your finger.
Take it all in and then let it go freely into new and inspired work. And, try to remember to dedicate at least one piece to Mother Nature – she deserves a thank you for always keeping her promises.
www.worldofcolorgallery.com
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Got Any Change?
It is one of the great ironies of my life that, as a person who has trouble with change, I have fallen in love with a subject (the mercurial Mother Nature) that seems to be nothing but change.
I'm not sure why I have trouble with change. As a kid, I used to rearrange my room every few months and change my outfit every few hours. As an adult, though, I have the strangest reaction to change.
Take for example an average Thursday evening. All day at work I had been planning in the back of my head to spend the evening doing the laundry. I'd finally get through a whole week's laundry in one go. I really dislike doing laundry, but I was excited about it, in a cute, obsessive-compulsive sort of way.
Then (there's always a then, isn't there - it's the marker on the spot where the plot thickens) my husband called me at the office.
"I want to take you out to dinner," said my sensational spouse. "You're a wonderful woman and I want to take you on a nice date."
Now, I loved the compliment (the man has always been a stickler for accuracy, I might add), but the concept of a night out gave me pause. The little hamster that runs on the wheel that operates my brain stopped cold and said "Oh, no! What about the laundry?"
And I hate laundry. (Did I mention that? Oh, I did? Well, it deserves to be said twice.) That is the degree to which I have trouble with change. I mean, I got on board with the romantic date thing pretty quickly, but just the change in plans from what I had had planned was tough. It's like the brain hamster has trouble operating the clutch, disengaging one gear and switching to another are just a bit much for its furry little faculties.
So how is it that I can love so deeply nature, which seems to be nothing but change? For instance, off the top of my head:
-The planet is warming.
-The coyotes are actually expanding their range despite humans sprawling all over the landscape and paving paradise.
-Our nation that has suffered under a frighteningly anti-environmental administration has new hope, today, in a President whose platform is all about change for the better and who intends to do better through green projects.
-Even the moon changes shape every minute (predictable, yes, but still changing) and the sunlight on every flower I attempt to photograph changes every nanosecond.
Okay, that last one was cool. The fact that a flower or leaf or stone can appear wholly different because the sun is sashaying across the sky while our planet tilts toward or away from it in our annual Do-Si-Do, well that's just awesome.
I suppose, in the end, constant change means there will never be a shortage of surprises, never be a shortage of hope. Certainly there will never be a shortage of romance with this planet, because it is the heart's unchanging tendency, when presented with the glories of this place, to open in wonder and joy, awe and love.
Perhaps the lesson to learn is that embracing change is the only way to adapt and survive. (I'm reading Darwin's The Origin of Species via a daily post from dailylit.com - adapt, eat, and breed or sit still and wait to die seem to be the two main life choices there.)
Be like the coyote. Let the laundry pile up, go out into the world, experience the best it has to offer, and then try to give your best back to it. And then, if you're lucky enough to have been taken to a romantic dinner, and are therefore inclined to a little life change, go home and make more people like yourself!
www.worldofcolorgallery.com
I'm not sure why I have trouble with change. As a kid, I used to rearrange my room every few months and change my outfit every few hours. As an adult, though, I have the strangest reaction to change.
Take for example an average Thursday evening. All day at work I had been planning in the back of my head to spend the evening doing the laundry. I'd finally get through a whole week's laundry in one go. I really dislike doing laundry, but I was excited about it, in a cute, obsessive-compulsive sort of way.
Then (there's always a then, isn't there - it's the marker on the spot where the plot thickens) my husband called me at the office.
"I want to take you out to dinner," said my sensational spouse. "You're a wonderful woman and I want to take you on a nice date."
Now, I loved the compliment (the man has always been a stickler for accuracy, I might add), but the concept of a night out gave me pause. The little hamster that runs on the wheel that operates my brain stopped cold and said "Oh, no! What about the laundry?"
And I hate laundry. (Did I mention that? Oh, I did? Well, it deserves to be said twice.) That is the degree to which I have trouble with change. I mean, I got on board with the romantic date thing pretty quickly, but just the change in plans from what I had had planned was tough. It's like the brain hamster has trouble operating the clutch, disengaging one gear and switching to another are just a bit much for its furry little faculties.
So how is it that I can love so deeply nature, which seems to be nothing but change? For instance, off the top of my head:
-The planet is warming.
-The coyotes are actually expanding their range despite humans sprawling all over the landscape and paving paradise.
-Our nation that has suffered under a frighteningly anti-environmental administration has new hope, today, in a President whose platform is all about change for the better and who intends to do better through green projects.
-Even the moon changes shape every minute (predictable, yes, but still changing) and the sunlight on every flower I attempt to photograph changes every nanosecond.
Okay, that last one was cool. The fact that a flower or leaf or stone can appear wholly different because the sun is sashaying across the sky while our planet tilts toward or away from it in our annual Do-Si-Do, well that's just awesome.
I suppose, in the end, constant change means there will never be a shortage of surprises, never be a shortage of hope. Certainly there will never be a shortage of romance with this planet, because it is the heart's unchanging tendency, when presented with the glories of this place, to open in wonder and joy, awe and love.
Perhaps the lesson to learn is that embracing change is the only way to adapt and survive. (I'm reading Darwin's The Origin of Species via a daily post from dailylit.com - adapt, eat, and breed or sit still and wait to die seem to be the two main life choices there.)
Be like the coyote. Let the laundry pile up, go out into the world, experience the best it has to offer, and then try to give your best back to it. And then, if you're lucky enough to have been taken to a romantic dinner, and are therefore inclined to a little life change, go home and make more people like yourself!
www.worldofcolorgallery.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)