When seated in the country cemetery I described in an April post, small strange clouds floated above, like spirits visiting from another realm.
A crazy concept you say? Perhaps, but it was just one of those moments–like people say about a hilarious experience that falls flat with only mere words to describe it – you simply “had to be there” to believe it.
Each season holds its special experiences. Spring and fall seem the most spiritual to me.
October is another month when I begin to feel a closer presence of those who have passed on. But in a positive way. Nothing to do with skeletons and scary seances. The feeling comes to me as I see trees at dusk silhouetted in the sunset, feel the heartbeat of the earth, sense the imprint of all who have walked upon it.
I impulsively snapped this photo of a subject some would consider odd. But I loved the play of light and shadow on this window, the blue and green wine bottles on the sill, shaded by the reflections of breeze-swayed trees.
I’ve always loved moss, since the days when I played under the majestic maple trees in front of our huge white farmhouse.
I built fairy abodes and residences for my Barbie dolls amid the crevices at the bases of the massive trunks. The apartments for these creatures formed by myth or Mattel, came with plush wall to wall carpeting of beautiful green moss.
Not a fan of shag rugs, into which crumbs pass, never to be seen again, though we know they are there, or really carpeting of any variety, I might change my mind if I could bring moss inside.
I hope this walnut, accompanied by golden leaf doesn’t mean we will have a full crop of nuts to pick up this fall. Maybe there will be less full size ones later if they are falling when small and barely noticeable. We can only hope—though there were few if any nuts the past two years, so I suppose we are due.
Country legend says these trees produce a large crop every other year. From memory of a lifetime living with them, I think that adage is most often true, but I believe there are exceptions.
Readers familiar with walnut trees are welcome to share thoughts.
The muggy June 10, 2020 day turned into a scary evening for travelers dodging branches and homeowners worried about wind damage to buildings and trees, and power outages.
Seldom seen mammatocumulus clouds followed the thunderstorm, as a strange yellow-green and then pink glow bathed the landscape as if a color filter had crossed the sun’s face.
I haven’t heard of any tornadoes but the gust front held tremendous power. Perhaps it was a downburst?
Following are a couple more of the many photos I couldn’t resist snapping to record the rare skyscapes of the evening.
I’m alternately fearful or fascinated by storms. Trees, which I love, suffered significant damage. I had to dodge limbs as I drove home, and many people are still without power 24 hours later.
I was a bit nervous as I took these pictures, as another bank of clouds threatened from the horizon, but I was so in awe of this sight I only see every few years, that I remained outside. Thankfully the cloud bank didn’t turn out to be another set of thunderclouds.
The cooler air the storm left behind made sleeping much more comfortable.
Springtime seems to finally be coming to the Midwest. This lovely seasonal view of a normally mundane parking lot seemed so unique I wanted to share. A momentary distraction from the recent worries we all face.
Discovered it in a search prompted by a co-worker’s reminiscences of her childhood tree which she still puts together every few years. Not every year, as it’s getting a bit fragile, as we all do as we age. She hopes it will last through her lifetime. She’s not certain her children would even want to keep it and the other traditional decorations she cherishes, in spite of their dilapidated state.
I have a photo of my first Christmas, held in my mother’s arms. We had an aluminum tabletop tree then. I think by the next year, we had the green one I helped her assemble for many years after.
I’ve always wanted an aluminum tree, in silver or blue . . . a local drug/variety shop features a row of them this year, in a variety of colors – less than a foot tall . . . perhaps I’ll indulge myself.
Do you have an aluminum tree, or did you as a child?
So many plants with beautiful blooms also contain thorns. I had forgotten Honeylocust trees were one of them. Their foliage and blooms look so delicate from a distance, they don’t seem to be a dangerous plant.
This young tree is growing on the beach I most often visit. Sitting close, I noticed the jagged branches amid the lovely, unique, drooping blossoms that filled the air with a sweet fragrance.
There must be some lesson for life in the the fact that we must pick with care the lovely blossoms or fruits of many plants, skillfully avoiding the thorny obstacles.