hidden in plain view

I haven't written for almost two months, succumbing to the chaos I see in much of the world. Silenced by the pain. The tears I can't dry. The children I can't comfort. The lies I can't erase.




As I live in comfort in a home I own, in a country that supports my health and well-being, I often feel overwhelmed by the inequality and inhumanity I see around me and listen to on the radio.  I haven't watched network news since my children were infants, when I didn't want them to be seeing and hearing the violence and anger that appeared on the television newscasts.


It was a lullaby in comparison to what people are exposed to now.

I remind myself again and again that while racism, anger and brutality exist, so too does inclusiveness and love. So too does kindness.  Today & tomorrow and in every day that follows, it is up to each one of us to tip the scales towards goodness.  Towards gentleness and decency. Towards tolerance.


While I make donations to agencies and to local initiatives and volunteer where I can be of service, ultimately it is my camera that, once again, is my ally and companion in this scale-tipping practice.

I have been exploring a very small area near Cattle Point for several months. If it's not raining, I bring my camera and look once more at the grasses and the bent and beautiful stands of Gary oak. These trees, growing on First Nations land, appear like a grouping of spirits, ancestors looking over land & ocean.

  

Protectors.

      November's setting sun burnished the earth and bark
       and the few remaining clusters of leaves on these trees.








The dancing glow is less vibrant now, shimmering where my camera tries to focus.






My picture-taking becomes less about capturing an image and more about immersing myself into the image itself.

Being one with the glow and with the silent power of the trees,
                 my heart opens.



            In a single moment I feel hope, hidden in plain view.




To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life. -- T. S. Eliot (1888-1965)