… and it was so.
Bits of two days in the past week spanning about 1/8 mile on my favorite Sandy River Gorge trail.
All images, Loree Harrell; 2013
It was raining lightly when I got to the woods last night after an overcast day. That was good after days of beautiful blue sky, as it meant we had the trail to ourselves.
In the rain, under gray skies, the forest was glowing with a light all of its own.
I never remember how it is.
Or maybe I choose not to remember.
So that each shift is fresh wonder.
When I was a young girl, what I knew about trilliums was that each one will only bloom once every seven years.
I don’t know if that is true, or if it was something to tell a child who wanted to take the treasure of a perfect flower home for her own, or if, maybe, I am remembering something that never happened at all.
I don’t expect I’ll ever punch the buttons to find out.
Because do you know what happens when you find out that this beautiful, this perfectly white, this immaculately formed, miracle first flower of spring in front of you last bloomed in the year you were born?
It creates a miracle in every next time you see it for the rest of a whole life. Something joyful that is only for you.
The first trillium appeared on my trail to the Sandy River on March 26th. Every day, the first was joined by the next and then more, until there were dozens. Right there and just for me. And for the past twenty days, I have hiked that two miles down, two miles up, with more delight than the everyday peace that place is for me.
They are starting to fade. White petals tingeing to lavender, today’s deluge of rain and hail bowing their heads.
It’s okay. The wild strawberries and the salmon berries are blooming and will soon be a different kind of delight. The ferns are showing new furls, and will fan out to obscure their winter-killed fronds. The cottonwoods are leafing and, once again, the understory will contain no clear paths through.
I hope that when my season is done, I turn gently to lavender before I sink back to ground.
Mama, thank you for teaching me this love of wet and green and mud.
I borrowed this post from The Mirror Project page, because we wound up with a couple spots on the walls needing a sparkle after we installed the new art in the public spaces last week (math not being my very best thing) (don’t tell Jatin, I think he believed I could add before he handed me his hotel to run), and Mirror 539 was one of the eight additions delivered today.
I had to have Steph hold the print up and then back off ten steps to tell if it was upside-right or not, because, frankly, at 16×24 size on top of my desk,
it was just a bunch of leaves.
It’s not. Can’t wait to see this one framed and hanging. : )
Mirror 539 reminded me of how elusive / changeable / fickle the beings in the middle of The Mirror Project images can be. With the caveat that you are undoubtedly not going to see the same as I do, watch this…
I see a princess (lonnnng curly locks, slight 5:00 shadow, hint of a tiara) on the back of a possibly winged, and clearly friendly, lion with perfectly defined eyes and muzzle.
However, one click larger…
The lion is still there, but the princess has become a slightly crazed warrior-type.
One click bigger, and…
The lion has now become a rather handsome native in war paint and full regalia. The crazed warrior is still a crazed warrior (sneaking up on the rather handsome native and about to ruin his day). (No worries, the rather handsome native always wins.)
It’s pretty much a bunch of leaves.
It’s a fascinating world, isn’t it?
[Sandy River Trail, October 31st, 2012]