Storm

4 December 2008. Wind and snow pummel the little evergreen as it clings to its perch on the side of a sandstone cliff. The rock holds the tree in its cleft, gently, protectively, though with a restraint dictated by its rigidity. This is the rock's nature--to hold back, motionless, shaped slowly by wind and rain and time to a purpose it does not consider.

The tree will live a long life, but the rock will proceed at a pace that is glacial. The tree will come to an end long before the rock crumbles, but both will disappear in time, and appear again, elsewhere, in the twinkling of God's eye. We will, I think, be in both places, both times.

In the meantime, you and I look on, capture a moment like this, here and there, from time to time, and think much of ourselves. Foolish we are in a way that the tree and the rock are not. We struggle, while they obey. They do not strive uselessly. They do not rage against the darkness or press needlessly into the storm. They simply endure, according to their natures.

We do also, but with much opinion and manipulation, often lacking the dignity of a rock or a tree. Rocks and trees are not distracted by what we call a higher consciousness. We should consult them about our affliction. We might then learn something of our origin and our destination.

First Snow, Garden of the Gods

Wednesday, 22 October 2008. The first snow of indian summer fell on Colorado Springs today. I set out early, alone, to see what might remain of this mantle of white in the Garden of the Gods, before the morning sun warmed it off the rocks.

Mine were the only footprints in the Garden. It was cold, mostly due to wind chill: My mittens came on immediately after each shoot, and I took careful steps over hard surfaces where beads of ice had formed overnight.

Autumn and winter were greeting one another. The snowfall had been light, and the leaves of the deciduous trees and shrubs were just passing through their peak of color. Indian summer was bowing out gracefully.

I have seen beautiful pictures of the Garden in winter, but I do not remember having seen pictures of so light a touch of snow as I saw and photographed this morning. There is no place on earth where I would rather have been. I hope my work conveys some of this joy to you.