The photo of the shoreline served as a kind of quiz,
its stark simplicity and vivid near-monochrome color
evoking a question from somewhere in my mind.
Four weeks have passed since we began.
Remember? This is your gift of lessons
in winter’s palette and forms. Pause now;
look back. See what you have discovered.
I’ve seen how winter’s gallery holds wondrous abstractions,
their lines and hues compelling a more studied view.
They call out, I see, our projections, our make-believe stories
of what we could be seeing. The brain is hungry
to identify this unknown thing, to name it as if
that would produce a more intimate connection somehow,
I’ve seen that wonders hide in the details, surprises and gifts.
I’ve noticed the sharpness of things, the crystal frost, the brittle ice
along the shore that layers and grows smooth in the lake’s center
and strong enough to hold a large flock of geese
settled there as the ice were grass. I’ve learned how to see
the way that broader horizons give you a context for things,
How you frame things matters. You capture one measure
of the song’s endless score to hold it still within time, gazing
at its intricate structures, the way it rises from and gives rise
to what came before, what’s coming next. You let it tell you
its histories and the meaning of its part in the song,
I’ve observed the juxtaposition of winter’s colors, and always,
of course, the play of the light, highlighting this, casting that
into shadow in a wild and graceful dance. But this seeing
is nothing I intentionally do, beyond allowing it to happen,
inviting it to show me what it will. I go into it with a motto:
Empty mind. Open arms. Much joy.