what the soul says
the voice prays
the prayer breathes
the breath thunders
the thunder reflects
the reflection shimmers
the shimmer speaks of being
the voice prays
the prayer breathes
the breath thunders
the thunder reflects
the reflection shimmers
the shimmer speaks of being
Reading about nature is fine, but if a person walks in the woods and listens carefully he can learn even more. ~ George Washington Carver
The snow predictions were right on target. Yesterday morning at this time it had just begun to snow. Now there are six inches of snow covering the ground. I went out early yesterday, about an hour after the storm whipped into Madison. In the thick of this hardwood grove, there was the silence of nature. Nothing much to hear, unless I stopped and stood still. And listened. And waited.
The snow pelted the ground without sound, but vibrated the pile of oak leaves still attached to their branch. I heard what sounded like the breath of the wind blowing gently, the tremble of a leaf as the snow fell heavier. A single snowflake would not disturb a single oak leaf, but a swirl of snowflakes makes the branch of leaves dance.
The birds were silent. The wild turkeys, always a noisy crew, were strutting through another part of the park. No coyotes were out, not in mid-day. I hear them mostly at night, a siren-mimicking whine that always make me listen twice. Am I listening to the warning of a siren or the wailing of the coyotes? Even the squirrels had deserted this area.
My world is often silenced by the fall of snow, it blots out the sounds of man, and requires me to listen carefully to the sounds of the natural world around me.
——————–
Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Bo is exploring winter – close up and quietly.
Yellow maple leaves
Crunching and browning on road
Stone wall gently curves.
A perfect late October day for a road trip to Devil’s Lake State Park near Baraboo, Wisconsin. Autumn color is at peak and yellows and oranges stretch from forest floor to sky along North Shore Drive
If you strive for the moon, maybe you’ll get over the fence.
James Wood
The only fences found in Door County, WI are either rows of piled stones from field clearing or these wooden criss-crosses from forest clearing. Probably only effective for cows since at least they can’t jump (except over moons.)
Photographed in Ephraim, a hamlet of 400 people who tolerate 6 months of lake-effect, northern Wisconsin winter for 6 months of simple beauty.
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