Sunday Walk

Today was one of those rare days when neither my bride nor I had specific responsibilities at church. We took advantage of that circumstance and slept a little longer. When I finally made it to the kitchen window, I saw no horizon save mystery. A foggy day. 

I stepped into the back yard with my camera and snapped the hardwoods, branches fanned against the grey. It was nice, but it wasn't enough. I needed a walk. Somehow stuffy horizons help us to see beauty in unexpected places.

We live near a very busy highway in a densely populated county of Maryland. Several years ago, the state erected a sound barrier between our community and the highway. It has a gated service road that does a commendable job of keeping vehicles out. The walkers, though, have neatly circumvented the obstacle at several points from within the community. This gravel road divides the wall and a line of trees that marks the back property lines of several neighbors. It's become a dog walk, the scene of illegal campfires, an impromptu dumping ground, a collection site of bottle caps, and a convenient place to thank God for unexpected beauty. So we'll begin at the end, turning around to see our final destination.

In the time the wall has existed, it has become the support for plants seeking light. So much so that there is now a disheveled fringe of growth at the top. At this writing, I have not visited the mirror yet today, so the wall and I may have much in common.

One aspect of a foggy day that pictures can't capture is the hush and the sense of expectancy. On my way down the street to this site, I was loudly and somewhat rudely berated by a bird hidden in a spruce tree. Its protests were magnified by the dampened sounds of nearly everything else around us. 

Another elusive aspect is the cool, damp feel of the day. Dampness seems to be a pervasive theme of days like this, a theme visibly expressed in the revelation of a web woven into the plants along the path. To my delight, the dampness attended nearly everything I saw, adding a sheen to every surface and gathering in a sparkle of potential at the ends of twigs and the low points of leaves and branches.

Foggy days draw us close. When our horizon is limited or taken away entirely, we've little choice but to attend to the now. Rather than mulling over the "to-be" we see the charm of the curve right before us. We notice the little things dangling at the periphery of our vision and we are charmed by them. We look up and see the artistry of evergreens softening our view of the sky.

When we are present now, we can delight in oddities, such as streaks of color that surprise us by being where we might least expect them, or a group of plants humbly bowing to all who pass by.

We can be caught unaware by a lone sentinel.

We can see fronds that seem to be unfurling in a breeze we can't feel.

Or cottony tufts of white lending dignity to withering stems.

When we admit that the future, at best, is vague and despite our best efforts, the path we follow may not be as straight as we expect, we can choose to pay more heed to those things in the foreground or to, perhaps, look up and see the larger composition.

In the bare treeline, this little holly gave me hope. A splash of green defying the gray day.

I also liked that it took the fog and made it a fashion accessory.

I was frustrated in my attempts to get a good picture of water droplets. Maybe I need to trade my auto-focus camera and go back to an ought-to-focus camera. Really though, I do appreciate the simplicity of point-and-shoot, if not the execution. So do those shy water droplets. 

At the end of the service road, there is a containment pond. I was intrigued by the reflection. It was at once organic and also linear with the line of the wall bisecting the rounded edges of the pond.

Taken from the other side of the pond, the reflection looks the way we'd expect it to. Sure would be nice if more folks could get a view from opposite sides, wouldn't it?

I don't even remember what this was. Doesn't matter. I like it.

H2O exhibitionist.

Despite the hue of the sky and the reduced contrast, there was color to be had. I looked down and saw these leaves, stones, and whatnot in the gravel road. The bright green moss is covering the crest of the hump. 

Next I saw this streak of crimson next to the, well, the white stuff. No reason to be too technical about the labeling, is there?

I saw this and thought, "Hmm. Facebook cover photo?"
Yeah. I know. I left the moment for a moment.

I didn't notice the grate on the front of the overflow basin until I saw it in the water.

 How much am I missing by spending too little time in reflection?

I like the patterns. Go ahead. Proudly show your age!

So we're back where we began. A gate, a post, and a gravel road. When I walked up to the gate, I saw this and I had to agree. It is way too easy to buy into a commercialized Master.

Last picture. The wall has a door, but somebody at the State did not get the memo on Americans with Disabilities Act laws.

Thanks for walking with me. Grab your camera and take a walk. Shoot what you see. Write what you feel. Send me a link. I'd love to spend that time with you.