Three days of wet, soggy weather at the cabin. The landscape is shrouded in fog and gray light, and the only sound is water on the roof, coursing through the gutters. So much silence that it’s almost heavy, droops over the valley.
When I went for a walk on the Wild Basin trail, the clouds had sealed off views of the higher peaks, and on this inward day, swaddled in my poncho, my vision narrowed too.
Mushrooms are already sprouting from the ground, a month earlier than usual, some so tiny—the size of my thumb—my camera barely sees them. Water beads glisten on the bluebells and wild roses.
It takes a practiced eye, I think, to start noticing these small parts of nature, but once you do, a whole other world opens up. On boulders, where any water has collected, miniature gardens spring up from the moss.
On this trail to Calypso Cascades I was looking for the calypso orchid, a small, delicate flower that is easy to miss. I didn’t see any on the way up but coming back down I spied one, almost hidden by a huge leaf.
On this wet day, the river steamed, a frothing mass of white water amid the dark pines. Rain polished the boulders; even the bark of the ponderosa pines gleamed.
When the sun comes out briefly, before the clouds band together again, the light seems a miracle.
Love the photo of your cabin and aspens--wow.
Posted by: shoney | July 12, 2015 at 01:53 PM
Beautiful atmospheric image of the aspens in fog. Love all the close up images of the forest floor. I remember the words by Jerry Apps: "listen for the whispers, listen to what is not ordinarily heard . . . don't just look where the bright light shines, learn to look in the shadows, because it's in the shadows that there's a whole 'nother world."
Posted by: Brent Zeinert | July 16, 2015 at 04:50 AM
What a beautiful quote. Perfect.
Posted by: Kathy | July 16, 2015 at 09:26 AM