Walking. It Ain’t Disney on the Sabbath. Live and Learn

 

 

Image – David Kanigan

5:50 a.m.

Go ahead, lip sync. I’ll wait.  362 consecutive days. Like in a Row. Morning walk @ Cove Island Park.

I can see her from the parking lot.  She’s up.  I rush to grab the camera gear, worried that she’s going to plop down again and I’ll miss the shot.

Yet, Something is off.

A raven approaches the nest with his shrill KRAA! KRAA! KRAA! […]


read more- Walking. It Ain’t Disney on the Sabbath. (Live and Learn)

 

the Quiet time…

“Dawn is coming…… I step quietly from my bed, alive to the silences around me. This is the quiet time, the time of innocence and soft thoughts, the childhood of the day. Now is the moment when I must pause and lift my heart – now, before the day fragments and my consciousness shatters into a thousand pieces. For this is the moment when the senses are most alive, when a thought, a touch, a piece of music can shape the spirit and color of the day. But if I am not careful – if I rise, frantic, from my bed, full of small concerns – the mystical flow of the imagination at rest will be broken, the past and the future will rush in to claim my mind, and I will be swept up into life’s petty details and myriad obligations. Gone will be the openness that comes only to the waking heart, and with it, the chance to focus the spirit and consecrate the day. “

We rise to this day in anticipation. It is the first day of the new year in the Christian tradition. It is the first day of Advent.

May it begin with quiet time – time allowing for ‘ the openness that comes only to the waking heart’.


Quote: Kent Nerburn, Small Grace: The Quiet Gifts of Everyday life

Photo: David Kanigan

Autumn Light

Autumn light is the loveliest light there is. Soft, forgiving, it makes all the world an illuminated dream. Dust motes catch fire, and bright specks drift down from the trees and lift up from the stirred soil, floating over lawns and woodland paths and ordinary roofs and parking lots. It’s an unchoreographed aerial dance, a celebration of what happens when light marries earth and sky. Autumn light always makes me think of fiery motes of chalk dust drifting in the expectant hush of an elementary school classroom during story time, just before the bell rings and sets the children free.


Quote: Margaret Renkl, from “Our Days Have Always Been Running Out.” I greet autumn with a stillness I never felt when I was younger and in such a hurry. (NY Times, Sept 20, 2020)

Photo: DK. 10/4/20. 6:17 am. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

Thank you, David Kanigan

A moment of twilight

Twilight has been my favorite time of the day for a long time. I am certain that if it’s caught just right we witness a thinning in the veil between places concrete and divine.

This reflection beautifully describes the experience of twilight.


From Live and Learn – David Kanigan

 

75 minutes before sunrise, I start out in darkness, and slide into Twilight.

90 consecutive days, same loop, 5 miles, Cove Island Park and back.

I had to Google it, because I didn’t know what it was called, the in-between time between night and sunrise.

Twilight: “the soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon, caused by the refraction and scattering of the sun’s rays from the atmosphere.”

I have no clue what all that means —  and no interest in learning more.

I’m deep into Kate Zambreno’s new book: Drifts: A Novel. My kind of book. She describes it as “Prose, little things, I stammer out.” (I wish I could stammer, spit and cough out anything close to this.)

Her words: “A shock of color out of nowhere.” And that’s exactly what it was. Look at it. The photo above, taken @ 5:24 a.m

. 24 minutes before sunrise. 24 minutes before sunrise. Where does this light, this ‘shock of color’ come from?

In a different time, a different scene, she goes on to talk about “the light of Vermeer’s paintings. Their silence and mystery…So often the painting seems to be of the same room, at the same picture window… whether the sun floods in directly or diffusely.”

And so here we are. 90 consecutive days on this same walk. The same room, the same picture window, a new Vermeer each morning.

I tuck my camera into my bag, and head home. I twist in my earbuds and listen to Audible pumping in the narration.  She closes out her book on an Albrecht Durer quote, back in the 1500’s (before the internet, before digital cameras):

“What beauty is, I know not, though it adheres to many things.”

And so it does Albrecht, so it does.


Notes:

  • Photo: 5:20 a.m. The Cove, Stamford, CT. July 30, 2020.
  • Inspired by: “The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” ~ Eden Phillpotts, from “A Shadow Passes
  • Book Review of Kate Zambreno’s book “Drifts: A Novel”: “Locked in a Creative Struggle, With Rilke as Her Guide” by Catherine Lacey, NY Times

Fear and courage

Morning Light, David Kanigan

 

At night our fear is strong. . .
but in the morning, in the light,
we find our courage again.

 


Quote: Malala Yousafzai
Photo: David Kanigan

quote shared from Gratefulness.org