Post 211
Article
November 18, 2018. Sunday

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White-washed Grey November Morning

The landscape outside my window has the appearance of a painting that has a pale grey wash applied over the entire canvas. Diffused, soft, and still – a morning of quiet autumnal beauty. Breathless. Solitary. Silent.

I take my camera and leave for a spontaneous search. Though I am still in my slippers, I don’t have to go far because the world of nature begins with my first step out the door. I breathe in the freshness of this moist and chilly November day. My eyes glance over the landscape that surrounds me. It feels like I’ve stepped into this dreamy landscape painting. I am looking for little details that matter. My focus is on the essence of this new day. I look for the core of everything I see. I have an idea that I might be able to distill the quintessence of a soul somehow. The Divine spirit, I know, is in the skeletal trees; fallen leaves; soggy grass; withered bushes; drops of cold rain dripping on my hands as I clutch the camera and try to keep it dry.

I’ve realized, eventually, that the entire world of nature is not one of “winner takes all,” or “brute-force survival,” or “survival of the fittest.” No, what I view through my camera lens is a natural world that does not understand competition for resources. The trees, bushes, grass and sky are not in any sort of competition for a prize. Each one has its own particular beauty and mission to fulfill in every season. Each one is unique. Ours is a world of mutual respect and harmony.

Through my lens, I see evidence that nature is a world where every living object and entity matters. Details. The entire landscape lives in an intentional synchronization where each fragment is intimately aware of another.

I painted pictures and wrote poems and articles about nature for most of my adult life. I’ve studied the nuances and changes intimately. Yet…
not been so acutely aware of this majesty in such a personal way as I am at this moment.

But, I can say that in my seventy-fifth year, my eyes have opened to new realities. I’m a life-long learner and I am learning a lesson today.
Without the distractions that most people have in earlier decades, I now have the time and cognizance to look more deeply and appreciate more fully. The septuagenarian years are the most beautiful years of my life in many ways. The landscape whispered this to me this morning.

A golden leaf clings on a thin bare, thorny branch beside the plentiful crop of dangling, wet red barberries.

The sharp and persistent call of the red-tailed hawk brings my attention upwards again.

The morning sky holds no hint of summer’s shimmering shine or warm colors mingled with the somber coolness of whitewashed grey of a freshwater pearl. This day has a soft patina of a fine, hand-crafted piece of pewter. Patiently created by skilled hands. Perfection in craftsmanship and design.
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Copyright, November 18k 2018. Lynda McKinney Lambert
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