Black and White

Most of us are taught that not everything is black and white.

Usually, I agree. Mature responsibility calls us to see the world with all its colors and nuances. People's stories may be shaded in colors that explain their attitude - how a person might responds to you and to his community.  People are not all the same. We are not homogenous gray streaks set against a white background.  We must be sure to watch our world - our community with patience enough to see its subtile colors.

There is a time, though, to turn off all that contemplation and revert to our black and white vision, if only long enough to gain perspective.  We must all have certain principles that are not overly fluid, basic beliefs that are not changed with every flashy light that shines.  

A good technician can make any subject appear blue or green or yellow. . . A good speaker may describe a table, and the snow with which it is covered, in such a way that we are convinced both are yellow.

That speaker may use our learned fear of yellow snow to make us afraid of the table. We will refuse to sit at the table or include the table in any of our activities. But is the table actually as yellow is we have been told? We must take time to view the table  for ourselves, without the color of language and hyperbole. Using our own principles of what is right and what is wrong, of what we know, not what we fear, we must take another look at the table.

Things are not always as we are led to believe.  A person who looks good and speaks well may be using flashy colors and lights to hide her true nature. It is up to us to turn down the lights long enough to see the real shape and form of a subject, be it a congressional representative, a social issue, or a few white tail deer, on a hillside, digging under a thin layer of fallen leaves as they search out acorns and beech nuts for sustenance.
There are many subjects that benefit from our black and white vision.  With each other, or in our places of government or in our churches, we talk about the many ways we should treat people that don't have as much as we have. The colored version tells us that there are many reasons these people are not doing well, they are victims of circumstances, they are lazy they don't have functioning families, they have temporarily lost their jobs, or have become disabled.   Our black and white version of the same subject simply shows us that we are looking at a person who is hungry when we have extra. We know people shouldn't go hungry.
We need the colored versions to figure out each person's story once he is fed but our black and white picture tells us to first get him fed!
This has been a snowy winter for most of us in the eastern United States.  In general, our temperature is warmer so the Great Lakes are not frozen in places that have frozen in our recent past. All that missing ice means that there is more water to be picked up by prevailing winds, turned into snow and deposited a few hundred miles away on my lawn.
I yearn for the sun to warm my garden, melt its snowy blanket and bring back its beauty. Then I remember to use my black and white vision.

Ignore the missing color, the reds of echinacea, yellows of day lilies, the lavender of a lilac.

Instead, I see what is there. . .

shape and form . . . 

. . . waves of shadow and light.

The snow has led me to use my black and white vision, but it is only  temporary vision, for color is what makes nature most interesting.  I love the color, the way light plays on an individual subject giving each its own unique image, its own story. While I will sometimes see the world as black and white, I'll never forget the color.

    

Winter Style

Winter White is always in style.

Even the wood shed is dressed for the occasion.

 Stacked wood is ready to provide the warmth of winter fires.

Evening Journey

December skies filled with fluff have given the mid Ohio valley more snow this season than we are used to.  Come along with me on a recent evening walk to accompany the setting sun.

A garden spruce, naturally flocked needs no sparkling lights to be a Christmas Tree.

The view from alongside my garden shows our home cozy under its comforting coverlet of white.

Do you see the road? Luckily I remember it is somewhere around here.

A remnant of this morning's tracks remains, leading us into the woods

These woods really ARE lovely dark and deep.

We should walk quickly under the snowy tree house, not tempting fate which has kept the structure held high on questionable support - its host tree rotting out from under it.  The tree house still stands in logic-defying suspension. Read Tree House Memories for more about the tree house and a boy who heart it holds.

Before we leave the woods, it is fun to see where we we have been.

And here, below are the feet that made those tracks.  Really, there are feet down there.

We enter the field as darkness seeps over us in shades of gray and lavender 

Let's venture out across the open land. We have turned toward the road which lies beneath the snow to the left of that row of walnut trees

Last light glows over an Ohio hill while we in West Virginia search the hill's edge for Jeff in the jeep.

If your legs are as tired as mine are from walking through the deep snow you're ready for a rest.

Theres our ride! Let's go!

Seeing Green

Life resists all attempts to hide it.  A short break in the snow revealed a world of green.  All types of moss are exploding throughout the woods.

A miniature jungle attempts to cover the every available surface, taking advantage of  the late winter wetness.  Close ups reveal more than one kind of moss, one whose chartreuse tendrals crawl across a fallen log

These broken trees provides a home at their base for  a bright contrast against the remaining snow

It is important for me to look quickly as I trudge up and down the hillside.  The sky is already changing to dark gray and I feel the temperature begin to drop.  The weather forecast is for more snow.  I return home just in time to build the fires back up and see that by late afternoon the snow has returned.  I must admit that while I am ready for the winter to quit its blast of neverending white, the snow is pretty as it forms puffs of white on swollen tree buds.

Morning Concert

Drip . . .drip . . .drip . . .
Nine o'clock in the morning, thirty-six degrees, drip . . .drip. . . drip! Have you others who live in snow-clad regions heard it? Drip . . .drip . . .drip.

Music comes off the rooftops, forming as the overflowing gutters drip . . .drip . . .drip.

The brilliant sun writes the melody. Heat is the conductor. Music from the logos drips in varying pitches that compete for attention under a perfect blue sky.
One front corner drips on a metal seed can bringing the sounds of Tobago pan to my ears . . .dr-clank, dr-clank!
The background chorus comes from shadows of robins singing from the trees, impatiently waiting for the melting snow to leave bare an earthworm meal.
Not only music for the ears but there is music for the eyes wherever I look.  The ice crystals on the sidewalk disappear rapidly as light melts away the shadow that protects them.
The metal sheet of the Dance Hall roof has formed a wide ribon of snow quietly curling until it falls from its own weight.  The snow bends under as if it wants to finally see what has been suspending it these long weeks.

Tracks of all sizes cover the field and lawn as warmer nights and hungry bellies encourage even the smallest animals to venture out seeking food. 

Last night a possum crawled under the firewood by the front door as Jeff brought wood in to stoke the fires for the night.  The possum was hard to see huddled there between the wood and stone wall.  Jeff offered to pull him out by his tail for me to take a photograph, but it seemed best to leave the possum alone.  We knew that it would soon be out cleaning up any scraps the birds had left around the feeders.

Back to this morning symphony.  While I would be content to stand there in the yard, turning to see the world as the world turns toward spring, I have things to do that need done soon.  I have just enough time to look again at the javelin forming near my front door.

Water drips from the roof above then rolls slowly down the length of the spire until it reaches the bottom where it slows down, clings as if for only a moment then freezes in its track becoming part of the path it once followed.

I know this won't last but the blue sky, the melting snow reminds me that the winter will soon be gone. For now I am content to watch . . .to see . . .to listen . . .to hear. . . . .

drip . . .drip . . .drip.