A week ago there was a lovely full moonrise. I stood by the lake and waited for the moon to clear the hill and the trees on the opposite shoreline. The wind slowly settled down, and there was a lovely quiet that wrapped around me. The waves calmed and the lake became still. Then the moon appeared – large and pearl colored, and as it rose it seemed that the tops of the trees were supporting it and offering it up to the night sky. I watched and then my ears picked up the haunting call of a loon at the other end of the lake. It all seemed a perfect rite of spring, and I savored this respite from the many worries of the world right now.
landscapes
Pasque flowers for spring
Today is Easter – a day filled with promise, hope, and spring. Yet this year is not like other years. Many of us are celebrating the day without friends and family and without the many traditions that we have come to associate with Easter.
And usually Mother Nature is on board too, but that’s not the case in Minnesota today. I’m looking out the window at snow coming down and collecting on the grass and trees. When the temperature was 60 degrees yesterday I thought the 3-6 inches of predicted snow was wrong, but that just may hold true. Somewhere there are lovely small pasque flowers that are keeping their blossoms closed to protect themselves from the snow. They too know what’s necessary for survival. And yet I know spring will turn the corner, and these flowers will open up again and be thankful for the moisture and the sun. There is promise and hope.
Finding our way
Being home-bound inside, due to not only the directives on COVID-19 but also my broken leg, I have been looking at some of my earlier photos. This image remains one of my all-time favorites and it seems to have much symbolism for our present times. The old weathered barn has stood the ravages of time – peeling and faded paint, a hinge askew, a window missing. What events has it been through? What stories can it tell? The sunlight streams from an angle across its faded front emphasizing it’s age. The sun doesn’t reach the inside of the barn where it is dark and black. And yet on the far side of the barn, through the opposite openings, there is a green field. Grasses are blowing, a fence line and trees are visible. There is renewal beyond the old barn. There is sunshine and green grass ahead.
Stay safe and be well. There are greener pastures and sunnier days ahead. We will weather these times.
A snowshoe hike through the prairie
It was a cold day with a temperature of 16 degrees, but the sun was shining brilliantly and beckoned us outside. We packed our snowshoes and went to Hunt Hill Audubon Sanctuary in northwest Wisconsin. The wind was brisk, but if we could snowshoe along the tree line there was a welcome wind break. There was even protection from the wind as we headed across the prairie, and in the valleys of the steep hills we could bask in the sun’s heat. It was late afternoon so the sun threw its shadows across the landscape at a sharp angle. We soaked up the sun and the crisp fresh air of the day and enjoyed the exercise.
A morning coat of hoarfrost
I awoke last weekend to an amazing winter wonderland. The air was cold and still and everything was coated with white hoarfrost. The tree branches were outlined in frost, each individual leaf was outlined, and everything was shining white. I wandered the nearby roads and saw pine trees and shrubs, oak trees and weather vanes, all outlined in white. Even though our snow pack had gotten old and not-so-white, the hoarfrost brightened the entire landscape and gave it a magical look.
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