Wildflower's Dance

Perhaps as writer's nature inspires us all. But just as there are many sides to nature, so are there myriad ways in which we are inspired by it. Of course, it isn't just the writer who takes something away from this grand earth of ours. Everyone can gain from its beauty. From the photographer, to the musical director, to the singer/songwriter, to the painter, to the farmer, to the retired couple RVing across America to the toddler taking his first steps, grasping at anything that moves, watching a fluttering butterfly with rapt attention, seeing minuscule wonders we as adults inadvertently pass over, beauty lost in the rush of things.

Just as we each reflect upon and feel inspired by nature's beauty in different ways, so can we learn so many things from each other's point of view. Take the toddler's view for instance. A butterfly slowly folding and unfolding its wings on a wilting wildflower beneath a glaring, unblinking sun is a pretty sight to anyone but to a young child just beginning to turn the pages of nature, watching with infectious giggle and spit-streaked lips stretching wide in a grin that instantly becomes your own that butterfly is a world within itself. Colors fitting perfectly together on delicate wings, like paper-thin mosaics designed and set by hands more delicate than a mask of cobwebs shielding belongings beneath an attic's eves, fending off time even though time has deftly woven them there. He may reach out, chubby fingers unsteady, eyes reflecting the wonder before him, his mind reaching out along with his hand, yearning to understand, yearning to touch, to feel.

Whenever I'm a photographing mood I like to get down to the ground and see what I'm missing. Granted I stand a measly five foot two so needless to say I'm pretty close to the ground already, but I mean actually flattening yourself along the ground, aiming the camera up at something, rather than down. Nature is like a thick, worn book on a table. The ends of each page may be ragged and curling in all directions like a bad 80's layered cut or an even worse perm but that pockmarked surface just begs for you to reach out doesn't it? To reach out and fold back the pages, wondering if the rest of them are as peeled as the edges. Your eyes may travel to words upon the pages, faded and smudged into the slowly dissolving material of the paper itself. As if as it ages the book itself is digesting the words which birthed it, perhaps trying to claim its own identity, acknowledging the fact that it will most likely remain on this table which never gets dusted, for just like the table, it will never feel the weight of purpose. Their only purpose now is to reflect the passage of time with a steady sprinkling of dust, like rotten confectioner's sugar sprinkled atop a lumpy, fuzz-cloaked cake.

But before I go off on yet another simile gone crazy, let me get back to the point. Just as we should all yearn to discover nature from all angles, so can we learn from each other's point of view. Being interested in photography myself, which rekindled itself a few years ago thanks to my cousin living in Upper Michigan and her penchant for taking winter pictures, I began thinking of our own personal interests in photography when it comes to nature.

As I mentioned before, my cousin loves taking winter pictures. Now being from the U.P one would assume this to be natural seeing as that part of the Midwest receives more than their far share of snow! But she's told me that isn't the whole story. She loves winter because of its inimitable beauty. For its unending cloak of white tossed haphazardly or delicately upon the land, for the way mighty pines bend and sag beneath their fluffy bonnets of white, for the roads marred with browns and blacks only to have a fresh coat obscure man's stigma like a mother hastily bleaching a child's white shirt, desperate to see the stain gone.

Living in Wisconsin we get our fair share of snow as well, though not nearly as much as in previous winters. And I'll admit, living here in the city I don't appreciate winter like I do when I'm out in the countryside. There what looks like a mere square of white cloth sewn and cut to precise measurements in our neighbor's backyards and on their roofs become blankets that meld with the earth's gentle slopes and subtle rises and valleys. It melds uninterrupted with the pale sky above, straight lines of barren trees and snow-burdened pines like tightly sewn seams tying together this blanket white. Hoar frost is what really fascinates me. Everything is encased in a transparent jacket, as if someone had meant to shield nature from something but ended up shrink-wrapping it instead. Trees creak within their cages, perhaps viewing the world through blurry panes of glass like an old house staring at the world through the wavy panes of its windows. Streets and country roads become slick ribbons of silk, rivers rush gaily underneath their shields, a world ignorant of the frozen atmosphere beyond.

Also, when out in the countryside I love the crunch of snow underneath my boots. I love breaking through that crusty layer of snow on top and feeling my entire body sink into the real confectioner's sugar underneath, that sweet layer of frosting hidden below the hardened top, itching to dig into your teeth and dance with your taste buds. I love the way snow falls from a tree when you shake it, those whispers in a thousand voices raining down upon you, white snow saved just for you, snowflakes caught between your eyelashes, their beautiful intricacies melting away. I love the way a heavy snowfall looks from the safety of my house. The way the world is pushed back and a constantly shifting mosaic of hypnotic snow cascades in every direction, a thousand lungs expelling their breath upon the world, each melding with the other, dancing before you, luring you into a trance, into their depths until you feel like you are clinging to the curved edge of a glass globe and the hand shaking it is ignorant of your confusion, ignorant of anything but the blissful blizzard swirling within and the music playing as long as the handle turns and time is left to use at his whimsy.

Well there you go, it's the middle of summer and I'm talking about winter. Honestly, I'm more excited for fall. A couple weeks ago Sheboygan's experienced fall like weather and I felt my heart skipping in front of me, beckoning me to come find fall, come seek it out. I was anxious for the trees to turn, shedding their uniform green coats and donning their cheerfully colored cloaks of rusty reds and aged browns, golden yellows and flaming oranges. I yearned for that blissfully warm cup of apple cider to fill me in every corner and crevice, for that apple fresh from the orchard to break between my teeth, for its succulent flesh to burst upon my tongue like a dam unable to hold back its wealth. But most of all I yearn for those silent walks through the forests with color raining down around me and layering the ground below, as if two quilts woven with every shade of fall were on a clothes line billowing in the wind, each time sending forth another square spinning wildly in the wind, until they tangled with one another, snagging in the trees, sticking to the ground where they were sewn deftly together by the creator's hand, a thick blanket upon the earth, a cheerful welcome mat for winter to begin its descent from the mountain tops and from the very bellies of faraway valleys.

Just as each of us gravitates towards different aspects of nature that we draw inspiration from, so do we each like a different season. Granted we probably like all of them, but we may like a certain one for a particular reason. Through my cousin's passion for winter in the U.P and her excitement to capture its beauty I have come to respect winter and begin to pay more attention to the beauty she so often displays in her photo's. Just as I'm sure she has come to appreciate flowers and the beach due to my penchant for photographing them. I never got to talking about flowers did I? As you may have noticed from today's blog post title, I had indeed intended to talk about my passion for flowers, of all kinds. But, like always, that is for another time. My habit of writing whatever comes to mind has once again rudely shoved what I had intended to write about out of the way, like a petulant child shoving his younger sister out of the computer chair, then with a wild grin going on her facebook page and proceeding to reek havoc. Thank God my brother isn't like that!

Anyway, I intend to post pictures of the flowers I have photographed onto my blog, and perhaps sometime get around to talking about why I love them so much. But until then, to all you photographers out there, whether you be a person with a basic digital camera just following your passion or whimsy - like me - or a professional, traveling photographer capturing your passion on film every day - and to you people may I just say you're living a dream of mine! - happy photographing!