Once again, I headed out today with ambitious goals, deep into the lush green we see around us. Back pack on my back, camera ready, and visions of what I might discover inside my head. Then came the moment when I felt so fully "lost." The sadness settled in over my opaque anticipation from realizing that Nature was saying something much different today than I had hoped.
Certain birds have now gone to moultening, i hear or see nothing. No loud songs, no excited ghost noise that inhabits even this closeness in the summer, full of near violent petty, chirping. The symphony of the forest corruption we could hear so clearly before, now silent, or at least a whisper. An empty promise near my ear. I was waiting, hiding in tall grasses and hiding amongst the old tree, hopelessly with the risk of just perhaps capturing other wildlife. A shy deer, a nimble fox, anyone, a very unlucky bird of prey. But that too was nothing. Just heat of the day heavy upon the leaving, with shadows waving slowly backwards deep within the forest.
I know perfectly well that I often set expectations too high when I go out there. If only because I know what's out there in nature, out there in the forests. A majority of the time I feel like the silence is just camouflage, the mantle of immersing silence hiding in the folds many stories that refuse to show themselves at least for this outing. But, then some days you step out and everything is dead quiet, not a single bird singing during molting, the sun beating down mercilessly and humanity seems to be holding its collective breath.
Yet even in that foreign silence, in that apparent nothingness I found beauty in the moments of nothingness. Its almost always some trivialities which reveal themselves in the moments of nothingness in our lives when the grandeur pauses ever briefly. I was able to find an intriguing marbled white butterfly resting on a burdock, it's delicate black and white wings sometimes look like small pieces of art that no one can own. A silent monarch perched on a throne of painful prickles. And then the Chamomile, so understated was the bashful little flower, which appeared so luminous in the intensity of its yellow white flowers each looking skyward. They speak their own language in unison with their re-emergence through narrow footing edges of the path. The tansy was in intense yellow blossoms shining outward like small suns providing the only color in otherwise stark surroundings, idiosyncratic beacons of hope. The few brave insects that waded out into the heat, were drawn out of hiding below the commanding cluster of yellow flowers. And just when I was thinking it was time to enjoy a snack and give up, another butterfly floated through the frame, a magic appearing unto be, once again reminding I that nothing was ever entirely devoid.
It is often in this imperfect stillness that we learn to see more deeply. We are nudged to let go of our expectations and see what is in front of us, as opposed to the imagined possibilities we are trying to conjure. So I walk away with one lesson from this day: That the real magic found in nature is not bounded by spectacular moments, but often stillness and resignation, patience and perseverance, and small miracles revealed when we are daring enough to listen in the silence. And those moments are worthy of capturing regardless of grandeur.
Thanks for being here and have a wonderful weekend!🙃✌️
