The Air Wild with Leaves

Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves ~Humbert Wolfe

Last week, a misty morning  turned the garden into a place of magic and mystery.

A few days later, a wild wind carried winter in its arms and spun the color from the trees into the air.

And then it snowed for two days.

In spite of the recent snow and freezing temperatures, the garden still offers moments of beauty. In a world that seems to have gone mad, the garden remains a place for quiet reflection, solace for frayed emotions and restless thoughts. Everywhere I look, there is richness of texture, of color, of light sifting through the trees, mist flowing down the hills. As I step on carpets of fallen oak leaves rimmed with morning frost, the world seems alive and abundant. A family of deer sidle by the fence, the red-tailed hawk whistles its distinctive cry, chipmunks scuttle under the stone walls, bluejays and cardinals drink from the birdbath. A few roses linger next to the russet leaves of autumn shrubs, the carpets of Ajuga glow with their dark winter foliage. Until the snows come in earnest, the garden is a cornucopia of life.

At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth ~Rilke

autumngarden

For my American friends, I wish you a joyful Thanksgiving; to all my friends and readers, I wish you a cornucopia of abundance in your lives.

There is a lie that acts like a virus within the mind of humanity. And that lie is, “There’s not enough good to go around. There’s lack and there’s limitation and there’s just not enough.” The truth is that there’s more than enough good to go around. There is more than enough creative ideas. There is more than enough power. There is more than enough love. There’s more than enough joy. All of this begins to come through a mind that is aware of its own infinite nature. ~Michael Beckwith

Here’s a link to Jude’s November garden challenge on trees and leaves, worth a visit, especially if you like woodlands and Shakespeare.

Unless otherwise indicated, all photos and text ©2016 Lynn Emberg Purse, All Rights Reserved

Turbulent Transitions

I stood on a hill in Dunoon, Scotland, in the middle of March many years ago. Powerful winds brought a succession of rain, sleet, snow, hail, and sunshine over and over again in the course of an hour – a microcosm of the turbulent transition from one season to another. The change of seasons this week in Western Pennsylvania was less compressed – spread over days rather than minutes – but otherwise not so different. The week began with a warm evening on the deck, listening to what surely would be the final cicada and frog chorus of the season.  Gusty winds brought cold temperatures and days of rain, followed by an enchantingly beautiful misty morning immediately followed by a snowy morning, all in less than a week.

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Though I’m reluctant to acknowledge the end of the gardening season and the coming of winter, I must admit that I love the turbulent changes that the seasons’ transitions bring. There is a certain security in knowing that one season will follow another, an overarching stability of structure. But the passage from one state to another is filled with chaos, unpredictability and extreme fluctuations. It is this push pull of change and stability that fascinates me, and it seems to be at the heart of my artistic endeavors as well. Achieving a balance between the familiar and the novel, the security of what has been done and the adventure of exploring new ideas, is an ongoing dynamic in my work, and perhaps in my life as well. 

A video celebration of nature’s transitions in my garden, set to the music of “Falling” from “Three States of Being.”

Here’s another take on the idea of transitions as passages, courtesy of Margie Strosser.

All text and images of “Turbulent Transitions” ©2011 Lynn Emberg Purse, All Rights Reserved