“That’s the trouble with March—the warmth never lasts. There’s that narrow stretch when it parades as spring, just enough for you to thaw if you’re sitting in the sun, but then it’s gone.” 

― V. E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Determined to not let March bowl me over with the rain and gray skies, I get myself outside whenever I can. We get the vegetable garden ready; I redo the beds, turning in new compost, while he puts in a drip irrigation system for me! I plant snap peas, leeks and lettuce, and now wait patiently to get more in the ground. I go out most days with my camera, taking short walks and even get in the car with the soul purpose of finding wonder. We try a couple of new restaurants in town, and I marvel at the creativity and drive of young people who are brave enough to take chances. I spend time lost in a few good books, and watch The Elephant Whispers, crying at the beauty of the world. Percy comes on Thursdays, filling our home with constant motion as he gives up his afternoon nap. We take walks with his binoculars, marking a 16 deer-day one week, and he helps us ready the garden with his new rake and shovel. I give lots of thought to how I mark the rhythm of my days; leaning more and more about what brings balance, purpose, and integrity to my days. Finding the more I align myself to how I really want to live, the more fulfilling I find my days.

“Due to their short bloom time, Sakura blossoms are a metaphor for life itself: beautiful yet fleeting. You’ll realize when you’re as old as me to hang on to the good times because they won’t last forever.”
– Shannon M. Mullen

The day is fickle. Rain falls at daybreak, and clouds carry on until mid afternoon. It is so cold I wear my heavy coat to the library. Late afternoon arrives with full on sunshine, not just pockets of it, but warm rays and blue sky. I pick a few cherry tree branches and stick them in a vase with some water. They won’t last long, so I will be sure pay them their due respect.

“The trees are budding their new leaves and a thought comes into my head. They have a kind of rhythm in their upright trunks and their branches that start thick and then divide and get narrower and lighter and faster till they quiver in the air like breath past a clarionet reed. That is a rhythm you can see, not hear. Perhaps music happens elsewhere than in ears.”

— Anna Smaill

The older I get the more comfort I find in the rhythm of the seasons. And while the seasons have changed, summers bringing more heat, winter more snow, they are dependable. The rhythm of my daily life has changed often over the course of my 68 years. Each life season bringing new discoveries, new responsibilities, and things to focus on, along with heartache and joy. The vastness of living each day, the privilege of it really, is such a gift. One that can so easily be overlooked in the chaos of life. I walk into spring this year with less baggage to unpack. Arriving with some open spaciousness to explore and fill with what I want. It is a rhythm that I am still learning to listen to.

“The magic is not in the analyzing or the understanding. The magic lives in the wonder of what we do not know.”
― Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

I stand in the middle of a field of dead, brown grass along a county road and wonder what those who pass me by must be thinking. They might think I lost something, until they see the camera in my hand. I stand and watch the slight breeze move the blades of the tall grass. I watch the birds who are sitting now in a dead tree beside the field, as I have interrupt their search for seeds. They scold me, and I apologize, as I am on their turf.

I take my time, play around with the settings on my camera, try different angles, and try not to overthink things too much. I allow my intuition to lead me, for I am not sure what I am after. I am pleased when I upload the camera card to my computer. Not because the images are perfect or stunning by any means, but because they make me feel once more the slight breeze on my face, and hear the birds that sang in the tree . . .

causing me to suddenly to feel alive.

“A GRAY DAY … but, strangely enough, a gray day makes the bunches of daffodils in the house have a particular radiance” 

― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

We drive through the farmlands north of us to a dairy farm to get a load of compost. I throw my camera in the truck, just in case, and shoot these out of the truck window. The day is gray, but it is not raining and by the time we get home the clouds have cleared some. We spend the day among the rich soil, redoing the beds in the vegetable garden, and giving the flowers and fruit trees some much needed nourishment. I am sore and dirty by the time we call it quits, but bask in the familiarity, both physically and mentally, a day in the garden holds for me. Past gardens are remembered, and the anticipation of what this years garden might bring, fills me with joy, and nourishes my soul.

It has been a very long winter.

I shot these with my Lensbaby Velvet 85 lens
out the window of our moving truck.

“A tulip doesn’t strive to impress anyone. It doesn’t struggle to be different than a rose. It doesn’t have to.
It is different. And there’s room in the garden for every flower.” – Marianne Williamson.

A few short miles from our home the spring trees are in bloom. Our trees are behind. Maybe it is the cool wind coming up off the lake, or the slight of rise in elevation, where are home sits. But I know from past springs, that she will arrive. Until then there is Trader Joes, where I stop each week to buy a bouquet for the table. A simple pleasure that I have taken up lately, just because.

These were taken with my Velvet 85 Lensbaby lens. A beautiful lens to use on flowers.

 

“We are making photographs to understand what our lives mean to us.”

– Ralph Hattersley

There are times I fret over my photography style. Feeling like I need to identify my genre, be more precise, have a specific plan. But I find the photos that speak to me the most are the ones I leave to chance. I have come to realize that I live much of my life this way. Following my gut instead of a mapped out plan. For if I overthink it, the magic of the moment is somehow lost for me, and any creativity I had is weighed down in doubt.