In summer 2010, I bought a stunning candle—a bust of the Buddha, pearl white and 12" tall by 12" wide at the base. With his head bowed and his eyes closed, the Buddha is peace. The following New Year, I created this blog to share something beautiful every week until this candle has burned through. Finding the time to meditate to burn this candle is hard, let alone photographing/ posting on a weekly basis. But I have made this vow to myself, because beauty persists in this world, no matter what.
Many mornings as I walk into my school building I am greeted by the sun. On this Friday morning it felt as though the sun were calling out to me by burning extra bright through the trees and extending its rays of soft orange hues for me to follow.
And turning around I saw, for the first time ever, a golden pine tree. It occurred to me then that any time the sun is shining on us it is showing us its love for us. We are its golden creations.
Hiking today on one of the beautiful trails at Hybid Farm here in Acton in our first real snowfall of the year, I was introduced by my neighbor to this "burly" tree (one that has "a swollen area of callous tissue"). This burl is funny in that, right side up, it resembles someone's tuckus. But to me it was just nature again, sneaking in its love. I rotated the photograph 360 degrees and this is what I got.
At about 8:30 on Thursday evening I was driving up our street, when I encountered the full moon blazing just above the horizon. It was so unexpected, that I gasped.
And tonight, stepping outside into the ice cold, my heart was warmed by the colors of the sinking sun reflected in the clouds. Darkness descends and, if we watch carefully, the distant light will bring us peace.
I've been thinking a lot about water lately. As I walked through the Acton Arboretum today I noticed running water at the bog, frozen patches of water in the streams, and droplets of water perched on the boardwalk.
I remember as a child I would stare at the clock in my bedroom, hoping to catch its hands move, but always it was in vain. That's sort of what it felt like today when I tried to photograph the running water; the camera just couldn't capture it. So I videotaped the water instead, taking in the gentle trickling sounds along with, yes, the drone of the airplane flying overhead.
Often those near death feel parched, and water is the last thing they cling to. Water runs through us, cleanses us, and keeps us alive.
