I woke yesterday, before five to gather my photography bag, a large thermos of black coffee and off to pick up a photo buddy to drive around the lake in the darkness to the place rumours of an owls nest were whispered. We arrived as the first slips of early light found their way through the dark trees and we walked the day camp trails listening, but while we heard the haunting laugh of a pileated woodpecker and the sweet song of a winters wren, no owls called our names. We follow the path chiseled by the fast flow of the water from the rush of the falls, mist bathed our faces and the wind brushed our hair. There is a lovely Khalil Gibran quote, ‘And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair’ and so no tie backs allowed. We sat lake side beneath bare branches of a cottonwood and sipped coffee from metal cups, a juvenile eagle with partially white head feathers circled by landing briefly in the boughs of sturdy pine while the rain fell softly. My companion stated a lyrical spanish phrase, one she learned from a husband of days gone by that named this kind of persistent precipitation. It translates to, the rain that soaks the fool!  I smile again at the truth of it and the memory. Yesterday was a fill the well day, one that painters, writers and those seeking their softer side need to give themselves with a promised regularity. I have a daily version but Wednesday walkabouts are on my list of life essentials.

(be patient with me as I learn the computer side of this page that wants to nefariously crop my photos to a strange viewfinder image and place them at the beginning of a post regardless of my wishes!)


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