Here we are...

Just off the Port Bow—a place of uncertainty, adventure, and insight. Thank you for your ears, eyes and hearts. I hope to bring compassion, grace and beauty to your day.

What do you call it when...(Part III)

Enough whining. 

This is transition. 

My left shoulder and hip ache, and my gut is inexplicably filled with gas. I'm not twenty five years old...but I have a wonderful wife, children, family and a bunch of good friends.

Enough whining.

So, what do you call...a heavy frost on the field outside?

Frosted Flakes? 

We don't have any snow on the ground, but might as well have for the whiteness of the sugar coating on each tuffet of field grass; on each dried up goldenrod stalk, on the spider-webbing mown paths.

Whoever dusted it all early this morning made sure to cover the house roof, the wooden deck, the pachysandra beds, the car windows and the fine gravel of the driveway. From where I am sitting, looking out the large wall windows, I can see hundreds of individual crystals, each reflecting the low lying sun. Above me, on the green metal roof, that same sun is melting a higher frosting, bringing to life impossible streams of water from formed steel. The now steady drip from these springs is melting the deck frost, but only where it falls. The sharply angled sun rays on the deck have yet to reach thawing degree, but I can just now see a melting line working out from the house toward the still white-hard-frosted decking planks—in the same way the frost on the northernmost edge of the field is now giving way to the direct sun rays reaching into the field's heart.

In an hour's time all of this will have changed, and there will be a new story to tell. 

This is transition.

Thursday Images

What do you call...? (Part II)