lens of perception

autumn 2009 2

algonquin continues to whisper to me its promptings of homecoming; its refrain singing in me, ‘holy, holy, holy one’.   i find myself seeking beauty and belonging here in my backyard, in the midst and mist of where i live and breathe.   since I have returned to this time and place, i have been perceiving my home terrain as sacred space, the way i do retreat space, exploring it with curiosity and wonder, opening to its secret treasures.

last night, i played in the meadow, got muddy and covered in seeds (the earth is so clever that way) trying to capture an image of beauty.   i was delighted by its precociousness, by the way it has exploited a window of opportunity to blossom. right here, right now, at the cusp of autumn it bursts forth, prolific, profuse, persistent. no matter how brief, it blooms.

yet it is not only winter that looms on this parcel of ground. while the plow once visited here annually, in recent years it has been laid open by machines of another sort, the backhoe and bulldozer. excavated, scraped, stripped, hollowed out, piled high, rutted, scarred and tarred, the earth blossoms filling in and around scattered and strewn pieces of cast off equipment.   the down-turn of the construction industry has turned up construction of another sort. no matter how brief, it blossoms.

there is something terribly tender about the abandoned backhoe shovel become a flowerpot, something oddly welcoming about a concrete sewer form offering me a perch for to steady my lens.  and i am back to pondering that lens of perception by which i see. steady and still and open i take in beauty.  grateful, i perceive grace. can i envision abandoned junk with the same eye with which i am awed by the remnants of an abandoned beaver dam, a deserted nest, a forsaken lair.  can i whisper with reverence, look, humans were here?

oh autumn, teach me your ways.

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M.C. Reardon


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