Yesterday I wandered down the lane with the camera instead of the berry bucket hoping I'd walk faster but there was beauty everywhere starting with our front garden:
and more phlox
It had cooled considerably and I knew it would be time to pack away the summer clothes;
the air already smelled of autumn, that distinctive pungent smell of earth and leaves.
These last damp days have brought up many new mushrooms like this magnificent specimen.
The highland cranberry has come to fruition early because of the warm summer.
This is a special time of year for me. It holds a wistful beauty, a culmination of most of what I ever wanted from life: beauty, abundance, promise. When I was young, my mother would get my sister and I to the giant discount store to buy new school clothes and supplies. I loved the freedom of being allowed to find a new plaid skirt and black tights, new sweaters and winter boots. New pencils, erasers and pencil cases, exercise books with finely blue-lined pages tantalized me. Promise. The great unknown awaited. School, however, was a mixed bag for me. I did well enough to get by and getting by seemed well enough. But I always knew I wanted to "do art". I didn't know exactly what that meant and, quite frankly, I still don't. I see a myriad of choices every day for self-expression, probably because each day I am incrementally changed, reborn a newer version of my self.
The opportunity for creation is everywhere. Each time one's eye is held by a colour, a perspective, a composition never seen before, one is on the threshold of creation. Every time one hears something in a way never heard before, one becomes part of creation. We learn what we already know. We are finally aware of what we've already seen or heard many times before, digested in the nether regions of the mind before "the penny drops".
Every moment is an opportunity for self-discovery, but we are more likely to look outwards. To look inwards involves a paring away of the self-mythology we've built around ourselves in order that we may function in a world of illusion. It is a rare person who can truly walk their own truth, consciously connected to what is real. Few of us have the tools, depending on some social structure to get us through our day, defining ourselves by someone else's standards. So it is with authenticity in art.
This milkweed is still ripening, its gossamer seedsack hidden for a little while longer,
looking more like a cucumber as it bides its time to burst its progeny forth.
The profusion of jewels and tapestry strewn about the forest with abandon
are far more magnificent than any I could own or reproduce.
I marvel at a world thrown back at me through the murky mirror of a natural ditch.
Which is more beautiful? Which is more real?
One need only stop. STOP. What is the big almighty hurry? What is there to be gained?
I am telling you we must stop. Together. It is paramount that we learn the lesson of humility so that we may be able to evolve into the magnificence we are meant to be.
Please. This is where Creation is sourced.