Last weekend, my son said,
"Mom, I can smell SPRING in the air."
I smelled it too.
It was a SURE SIGN
that there would be another snowstorm around the corner.
And my dog would have to dig through a blanket of white stuff
to find anything worthy of interest.
During storms like these,
the canyon is full of mystery and splendor.
This year, I'm patient with this extended winter.
Even under current circumstances,
I see the signs that SPRING will eventually arrive.
HERE'S ONE OF MY FAVORITE SIGNS:
the crimson resiny sap on the tips of the Cottonwood leaf buds.
This sticky stuff is quite fragrant - both sweet and earthy.
The Native Americans used it for teas
(sore throats & lung issues)
and as a salve
(rheumatism, wounds, inflammation).
I use it for photography
and reassurance that spring will undoubtedly arrive.
SOMEDAY.
Last shot taken from the top of my driveway with a telephoto lens.
The other ones - in the canyon near my Utah home,
during the first week of March 2010.
"Mom, I can smell SPRING in the air."
I smelled it too.
It was a SURE SIGNthat there would be another snowstorm around the corner.
And my dog would have to dig through a blanket of white stuff
to find anything worthy of interest.
During storms like these,the canyon is full of mystery and splendor.
This year, I'm patient with this extended winter.
Even under current circumstances,
I see the signs that SPRING will eventually arrive.
HERE'S ONE OF MY FAVORITE SIGNS:
the crimson resiny sap on the tips of the Cottonwood leaf buds.
This sticky stuff is quite fragrant - both sweet and earthy.
The Native Americans used it for teas
(sore throats & lung issues)
and as a salve
(rheumatism, wounds, inflammation).
I use it for photography
and reassurance that spring will undoubtedly arrive.
SOMEDAY.
Last shot taken from the top of my driveway with a telephoto lens.
The other ones - in the canyon near my Utah home,
during the first week of March 2010.
1 comment:
Perhaps I should gather some of the sap. I'm CERTAIN I could somehow figure out how to process it and make it into a useful salve. Perhaps mixing it with buffalo fat? That shot of the ghostly ridge was almost frightening, as though - as you were walking, the mountain was shifting its shoulders, or bits of it had come alive, and in the fog were re-arranging themselves. As always, your eye sees beauty.
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