This ski season was a disappointment due to certain body parts having struggles, so, my ski outings never got to the ‘the ridge’, which is unusual for me. Today, with both shoulders freshly professionally taped, I set off to remedy that before the weekend’s predicted rains. It was a heavenly outing. The sugar snow slowed me down and I was ‘here’ wherever I was. I felt I could have stayed there forever.
I loved seeing all the animal prints alongside exposed water patches. They were all over the place and I imagined them being there all together having some sort of party.
And then there were the swamps. I’m so drawn to swamps in the other seasons with the plant and animal activity creating their own special beauty. Today, I found a special beauty with them being all snow covered. The surrounding shrubs and trees provided lovely subtle colours. And I loved to see that skiers traversed them. I would have loved to do that but not with the ice cover softening.
Today I felt a bit like Mary Oliver when she said:
“My work is loving the world..
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.”
The photos below might appear rather boring – snow covered swamps – but if you look closely, you might see some of the beauty and life. (clicking on each photo expands its size)
Mary Oliver’s poem follows the photos.
Messenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
- Mary Oliver
