The adage, “If you don’t like the weather in New England, wait a minute,” held true through the last 24 hours. During that time it was overcast, humid, cool, drizzly, sunny, oppressively warm, cloudy, dismal, and bright. Last night, I fell asleep to the soothing, steady sound of torrential rain on the roof and today, misty rain fell. But then, with my camera, I took advantage of the stunning, though moody, brilliant evening sunlight at the pond.
The opposing forces of light and dark played out
as the sun shone and retreated –
and the pond was held in the transition, in the balance,
its surface coal black and in a constant stir,
the effects of turbulence in the in-between.
The heart and mind of the human in transition
can get stuck in this place.
Maybe, briefly, illumination seeps through
and makes real again what has been obscured.
Or perhaps a beam of light shines and shows
not what was thought to be,
but a murkiness that’s been hidden in shadow.
How can you know where you should be?
How can you know what is constant and good?
Is this that moment?
Or was it part of yesterday?
Or will it be in tomorrow?
And is it light and darkness alone that shows you?
Or can an innocuous splice of time cause to be what should be –
though it seems to be missing something?
though it seems to be missing something?
In a time of change and while by myself,
these are the things I contemplate as I observe the pond.
Guess I’ll just take it minute to minute.
Guess I’ll just take it minute to minute.
SilverLining 