Twilight and Transition – Shadows Deepen Upon the Earth

Prairie Twilight

Wisconsin Twilight © 2014 Bo Mackison

“I love that the morning’s sunrise does not define itself by last night’s sunset.” ~ Steve Maraboli

Last evening, twilight was not a fiery, orange blaze sunset, filling the sky with colors indescribable.

It was instead of red ball burning through the haze of clouds, dropping off the horizon in grays with streaks of pinks. A quiet affair, as sunsets go. Still awe-inspiring. Always awe-inspiring.

I watch every sunrise and sunset, weather permitting. It is ritual for me.

They mark the beginning and the end of each day cycle for me, not only their beauty, but deeply in my consciousness. Beginnings. Endings.

Tonight ends and so ends this day, and I have done all I can.

Morning comes and I begin yet another day. What opportunities will this day offer? What opportunities will I accept? No comparisons required, no “this sunset was better than yesterday’s sunset”.

Each sunset – magnificent. Every sunrise – a blessing and a gift.

Endings and beginnings.

It is a lesson repeated daily. It’s easy to grasp on to what is, resistant to what is yet to come. And still sunrise follows sunset, endlessly throughout our brief time on this earth.

Always an ending, always a beginning.

Grounded, Fiery, Drought and Ice – A Prairie Survival Guide to Beauty

Prairie Sky

Prairie Sky © 2014 Bo Mackison

Survival

Prairie survives the extremes.
Frigid winter, forty below, snow cover measured in feet
and blazing midsummer heat, a hundred degrees and more.
Tolerance to the extremes; hallmark of survival.

And always, always, the winds blow, fierce,
plants loose, nimble, they tolerate the constant forces.
Grasses, shrubs and forbs, some eight or ten feet high,
bend to the earth and still they survive,
not only survive, they thrive in these extremes.

Raging fires only strengthen the prairie. Re-birthing,
it knows survival when left to its natural course.
Let it burn, let it burn, fiercely burn; it seeds the earth.
The fire sustains.

Extra-ordinary, these plants. With sparse rain,
summer drought, the prairie conserves,
exposing only the most essential.
Two thirds hidden, it protects – deep-rooted,
stretching far into the darkest of depths.

Grounded and firm in their intention to hold on,
sucking moisture from the ages. Satiated.

Evolution’s choice, managing on just enough.
Just enough.

Survival.

Gaze Beyond the Walls – What Discoveries Await?

Walled In © 2014 Bo Mackison

Walled In © 2014 Bo Mackison

 Gaze beyond the walls; behold the sky eternal. What discoveries await? ~ Bo Mackison

Tackling Transitions

Twilight, Roosevelt Lake, Arizona

Twilight, Roosevelt Lake @2013 Bo Mackison

I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order. ~ John Burroughs

Transitions! I’ve learned that when dealing with transitions, I need to give myself some space and some extra self-care. In order for me to keep moving forward, I take baby steps. Even then, I occasionally feel as if I cannot take one more step. What is uncomfortable becomes uneasiness, then verges on panic, and I want to cry out, “I can’t do this!” —  exactly the place I’ve worked hard to move away from.

So in the wee hours of Saturday, I decided that fretting about my upcoming transition from Southwest to Midwest was unhelpful. Worry seldom, if ever, leads to positive results.

I needed to get out of my head. One of the ways I’ve learned to do that is to get on the road. So I packed clothes, food, and my camping gear, and by mid-morning I was on a mini road-trip.

I traveled north, stopped to see an ancient Hohokam site at Casa Grande National Monument. I walked around the ruins, most probably a gathering place for these ancient Desert People. It was quiet and sunny, and the lizards and I enjoyed studying the ruins, imagining life as it was then, long days of work to provide the basics for living.

Then I headed east, through Globe, and followed the ascending road into Tonto National Monument. I walked the mile trail to another ancient site, the 700 year old Lower Cliff Dwelling. I wondered in awe at the Salado, the adaptable people who thrived in a dry and harsh environment and built housing with creative solutions for safety, tucking their homes high above the ground along the rim of a cave. I wondered how the young children and the elders managed the ladders and multiple levels of living space.

The wildflowers were blooming wildly and the riotous effect made me laugh. Orange, pink, bright blur, lavender, red, purple and yellow – a spectacle of colors!

Western Rattlesnake, Sunning Itself Mid-Road

Western Rattlesnake, Sunning Itself Mid-Road © 2013 Bo Mackison

As I was leaving the park, I saw a rattlesnake coiled, sunning itself in the middle of the road. I stopped to take some photos. I watched as an oncoming car sped down the mountain road and nearly hit the snake. With amazing speed, the snake transformed from sun-sleeping to its attack mode, an instinctive dance of sorts, rising up nearly vertical in the air, striking, rattling. I watched from my car, safe from harm, but it was an amazing show of the snake’s natural response to threat. I was stunned and thrilled, simultaneously.

Though I enjoyed the hikes and nature experiences, late afternoon began to turn to early evening, and the internal quiet I sought remained elusive.  Moving out of my comfort zone, I chose to camp in an isolated site, separated from other campers, and with a view high above Roosevelt Lake.

I lit a small camp fire – there was a pile of dry cedar at the site left by the last campers. I listened to a CD of Native American flute music, Walk Between Worlds, by Golana, gentle and evocative. The sun slipped behind the Superstition Mountains, and the reflected pinks and oranges and blue-grays in the sky were the very colors of the glowing embers in the fire pit.

Finally! The combination of setting sun, campfire, and flute music worked its magic. My heart stopped racing and my breathing calmed, and I sat there, thinking, “I am OK. I can manage.”

I’d paid attention, my instincts were good – they led me to a calming place.

While I watched the camp fire shoot sparks and dancing flames, I thought of lighting candles, lighting them with intention. My campfire was burning with intention, too. It reminded me that, even though I experience times of discomfort and feeling lost, I can hold strong my intentions that I am whole and good, and that through my creative efforts, I can make a difference in my life and in the lives of others.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She’s finding strength and inspiration in the desert, and she’s working on transition skills. (More photos of the National Monuments to come…)

 

Life is Like a Puzzle

Tree Silhouettes

Tree Silhouettes © 2013 Bo Mackison

“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”
~ Yoko Ono

On my month-long break from the Southwest, I returned to Wisconsin’s winter, and discovered this year’s snow season felt more brutal than in the past. The nearly two feet of snow that fell during the earlier part of my visit has had no opportunity to melt. The snow is as deep as the day it fell, though it has been swept aside from walks and roads to make it more manageable for travel.

Even so, my outdoor explorations were limited to walks around the neighborhood and a few sojourns by car. There is no such thing — for me — as a wander in a forest or a tramp through a field or prairie if I have to plow through depths of snow with each step I take.

And so the photos have been few. They all fall into a single category – trees in snowy winter. I do love the trees in winter, the branches exposed, the skeletal trunks and limbs showing the soul of the tree. Even the conifers have a minimalist feel to them.

This morning’s sunrise  – I’m watching it as I write – will be my last in wintry Wisconsin for quite a while. It’s a pale sunrise this morning, as if the cold has frozen the rays into a cool white light.

The snow is a beautiful sight from my windows, but I miss being in the middle of nature, in the midst of the weather and the breezes, tramping on the land.

There is much I miss when I am away from Wisconsin and living in the Tucson area. There is much I miss when I am away from Arizona and living in Wisconsin.  Life is rather like a puzzle — you fit the tiny pieces in as you find them, not sure of the big picture. Each day is a new puzzle piece, and they all fit together to make one huge whopping, incredible, messy life.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Tomorrow is a transition day – travel, comings and goings, many opportunities ahead. Keeping my eyes open in anticipation.