[A Retrospective] An individual spark starts a small fire…a small light, barely visible, its smoke rising into the air between us in small curling wisps. These seemingly insignificant smoke signals seem to vanish in the air above us and fade into memory…From above, we look down upon a thousand such sparks as they each kick up smoke and ash onto the breeze…What was once small and insignificant, now, appears as a firestorm covering the earth as the combined effect of each little spark alters the atmosphere that surrounds us. No act occurs in isolation, whether grand or small, good or bad, thought or deed, the effects of our actions and interactions are all of ours to share.
Stop for a moment and listen to the morning breeze as it flows across the landscape…Sometimes it’s different, a harmony amid flat tones, a signal to pay attention, engaging and enveloping, a call from across time. Sourceless music emerges from silence as though the radiance of a sundog appearing in a dark shadowy sky. Discerning this radiance, aural or visual, is the essence of perception.
A dear old friend passed from the earth yesterday…An enlightened soul, she saw signs and connections, and paid close attention when a an unfinished song lingered on the wind yearning for completion…She was the embodiment of a sundog mysteriously radiating light in a darkening sky…she projected and shared her energy, leaving us awestruck as if bathed in the light of a brilliant sunset…her light now lingers on the horizon and her song now drifts upon the breeze.
[A Retrospective] An old friend lost a child, a tsunami swept a village out to sea, and an entire species teetered on the brink of extinction…meanwhile another life was saved, we caught a glimpse of interstellar space, we dreamed a few good dreams, and the sun touched a face from out of the darkness and brought it hope….All the foretelling in the world could not prepare us for the joys and sorrows that we simultaneously feel each day, but watching the sky as the soft morning light slowly creeps over the horizon, we can stop to imagine how it illuminates us all indiscriminately. We all experience that which the other experiences, each in our own way…We can be like the light, washing over each other, pushing back the shadows, sharing in one another’s sorrow and joy, and letting each other know that no one is alone.
[A Retrospective] When one’s home is graced by surrounding splendor, it is difficult to imagine a moment without distraction…constant sensory infusions of the spirit of earth…the subtle voice of the landscape inviting us to communion. We spend our days traveling over such magnificent scenes, but often fail to hear the call, to engage with the landscape, to honor the earth as we wrap ourselves in all too common concerns of work, time, and stress with our window shades drawn and our senses dulled by electronic distractions…casting off our self imposed distractions and opening our eyes to the world around and beneath us, we open our hearts and imaginations to mingle with the wonders that await.
[A Retrospective] In the quiet of the evening sky, something emerges that leaves me begging for more…The scene is set in a place of solitude; it may be one’s vision of heaven or it may simply be that place where the chill of a great universe scintilates and penetrates our skin, overcoming us, leaving us, not shivering but, quaking with a sense of the unfathomable greatness of which we are a part…The languid movements of light through the atmosphere, lazily and effortlessly rolling in and out, touching elements that are defined in our world, illuminating those things which we otherwise would fail to percieve…This is the story of “Quiet” and Light is the animator.
[A Retrospective] Everyone perceives a slightly different aesthetic in the setting sun. Perhaps it’s the amorphous nature of clouds or the rapidly shifting spectrum of visible light…Flashes of color painting the sky, illuminating the dust and vapor, subtly changing as the sun slips toward the horizon.
[A Retrospective] Anticipation. Premonition. A sense of knowing what’s over the next hill. Marking the moments as we approach a place and perspective of which we dream, we paint images in our minds of what we expect to see. We fill the dark void of senseless imagination with color, texture, and the electric sensation of first sight. Casting our view toward the advancing canyon floor, we feel the place as much as we see it…two sensation, indivisible…and we engrain the contours of the landscape forever in our consciousness. Preserving these places is tantamount to preserving our souls.
[A Retrospective] It’s a simple phenomenon when the air above is warmer than the air below. Ordinarily, it creates layers of weather that we hemstitch in search of smooth, ice-free air…but sometimes, it can create another world where the clouds become sea and landscapes, while mountains become dramatic cloudscapes. These secret worlds created above the earth are our sanctuary. We pass through them inspired, only to descend beneath the overcast into the world that others see, all the while holding onto the sensations of the world we left up there.