Thank you. Once again you have named something hugely important in my life that I had no name for. I can easily recall a perfect example from my past, when I desperately needed to experience awe. I was deeply depressed and anxious, my life was falling apart and there was nothing I could do about it. I had always felt renewed after watching a sunset into the Pacific ocean, and though we were living in Santa Cruz we couldn't see the sun setting into the ocean because there was the huge peninsula of San Francisco in the way. The nearest beach with public access is north of San Francisco by several miles, on Point Reyes. We had stumbled on McClure's beach a few years before during a family trip exploring the coast, and I knew I had to go there. I couldn't explain why, but my husband had been with me for nearly 30 years by that time, and intuitively understood my need. So off we went.
Because we took our time driving a scenic route, we almost got there too late, so the fairly long road from the nearest town to the Point and McClure's beach was fairly panicked, and I was even more anxious by the time we arrived. In time, with about 20 minutes to spare.
It had grown windy and chilled, so we ran around collecting driftwood for the fire pit. I've never seen so much driftwood on one small beach! Some the size of telephone poles - which after the sun set, we used to build a wind break.
We paused in our firewood collecting to watch the sunset. We paused everything, including thinking, and just watched in awed silence as the big yellow sun kissed the horizon. The water began reflecting a flashing yellow road from us to the sun. I idly imagined walking on it. The sky around the sun, clouds, and water burst into brilliant shades of orange, red, purple shading to Payne's Grey as it darkened, and colors like magenta and aubergine, others that even as an artist I can't name...but didn't even think to. I said nothing. I thought nothing. I felt no wind or chill. I think I heard the seabirds and the seals, but not until the sun was only a blazing sliver at the end of the glowing road. The water turned blue-green and deep slate. I think what broke my trance was the chill of my wet cheeks - but it might have been my husband handing me a glass of wine.
We lit the fire and stayed until it was fully dark. The ranger station checks the parking lot after dark, and if they don't see you heading back they'll come get you...but the trip succeeded in restoring my soul and mind, and I still return to it when I need it, even from Boston.
I agree. A daily "stand and stare." Best physician freely available on this beautiful Earth with one other addition which is a moving musical piece. This poem by Welsh poet W.H. Davies comes to mind which was published in 1911:
Leisure
WHAT is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare?-
No time to stand beneath the boughs, And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
When you get down to the single leaf: yes! I have a treasured photograph of a gorgeous golden spider on a rose petal, clutching it's prey. (I don't apologize I took a picture!) One time I remember turning over a log, in the forest, and there was a momma scorpion with a flock of teensy babies on her back, and that was wonderful! But long ago, childhood, I remember hearing noises in the old cabin, and I went back on the porch to the supposedly screened-off pantry, and in my flashlight was a beautiful pack rat, standing up to look back at me, and I remember I just thought she (?) was beautiful!
I have a fascination with thunderstorms. Not catastrophic tornado storms, but the blitzes across the Sierras, small hail and fantastic thunderheads and the most wonderful smell conceivable: rain wetting hot sagebrush! To open the car window and smell that! Other than that, it's the great granite in the high places. Donnell Overlook on the road to Sonora Pass.
Nineteen months ago, I gave away most of my stuff, took what could fit in the car, and my doggie & I drove nearly across the country (Sasha was blind so I did most of the driving). We came not for the waters of Casablanca but for the mountains of Salt Lake City. At Alta, the slogan is: "Come for the skiing. Stay for the skiing." The added benefit is a sight to behold when the Wasatch Range is covered in snow...and that awe is, well, awesome.
Scanning a lush patch of clover, because I love finding 4-leaf clovers. I noticed a beautiful bee flitting from one clover flower to another. The bee was huge compared to the clover flowers. I watched each clover flower bend ever so slightly, as the bee, aloft, dipped into the pollen, without disturbing the equilibrium of the flower's stem. From one flower to another, graceful, gentle, unobtrusive, dancing lightly with perfect choreography, doing its part in the dance of the sweetness of life.
Thank you. Once again you have named something hugely important in my life that I had no name for. I can easily recall a perfect example from my past, when I desperately needed to experience awe. I was deeply depressed and anxious, my life was falling apart and there was nothing I could do about it. I had always felt renewed after watching a sunset into the Pacific ocean, and though we were living in Santa Cruz we couldn't see the sun setting into the ocean because there was the huge peninsula of San Francisco in the way. The nearest beach with public access is north of San Francisco by several miles, on Point Reyes. We had stumbled on McClure's beach a few years before during a family trip exploring the coast, and I knew I had to go there. I couldn't explain why, but my husband had been with me for nearly 30 years by that time, and intuitively understood my need. So off we went.
Because we took our time driving a scenic route, we almost got there too late, so the fairly long road from the nearest town to the Point and McClure's beach was fairly panicked, and I was even more anxious by the time we arrived. In time, with about 20 minutes to spare.
It had grown windy and chilled, so we ran around collecting driftwood for the fire pit. I've never seen so much driftwood on one small beach! Some the size of telephone poles - which after the sun set, we used to build a wind break.
We paused in our firewood collecting to watch the sunset. We paused everything, including thinking, and just watched in awed silence as the big yellow sun kissed the horizon. The water began reflecting a flashing yellow road from us to the sun. I idly imagined walking on it. The sky around the sun, clouds, and water burst into brilliant shades of orange, red, purple shading to Payne's Grey as it darkened, and colors like magenta and aubergine, others that even as an artist I can't name...but didn't even think to. I said nothing. I thought nothing. I felt no wind or chill. I think I heard the seabirds and the seals, but not until the sun was only a blazing sliver at the end of the glowing road. The water turned blue-green and deep slate. I think what broke my trance was the chill of my wet cheeks - but it might have been my husband handing me a glass of wine.
We lit the fire and stayed until it was fully dark. The ranger station checks the parking lot after dark, and if they don't see you heading back they'll come get you...but the trip succeeded in restoring my soul and mind, and I still return to it when I need it, even from Boston.
I agree. A daily "stand and stare." Best physician freely available on this beautiful Earth with one other addition which is a moving musical piece. This poem by Welsh poet W.H. Davies comes to mind which was published in 1911:
Leisure
WHAT is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare?-
No time to stand beneath the boughs, And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
When you get down to the single leaf: yes! I have a treasured photograph of a gorgeous golden spider on a rose petal, clutching it's prey. (I don't apologize I took a picture!) One time I remember turning over a log, in the forest, and there was a momma scorpion with a flock of teensy babies on her back, and that was wonderful! But long ago, childhood, I remember hearing noises in the old cabin, and I went back on the porch to the supposedly screened-off pantry, and in my flashlight was a beautiful pack rat, standing up to look back at me, and I remember I just thought she (?) was beautiful!
That is lovely
I have a fascination with thunderstorms. Not catastrophic tornado storms, but the blitzes across the Sierras, small hail and fantastic thunderheads and the most wonderful smell conceivable: rain wetting hot sagebrush! To open the car window and smell that! Other than that, it's the great granite in the high places. Donnell Overlook on the road to Sonora Pass.
Nineteen months ago, I gave away most of my stuff, took what could fit in the car, and my doggie & I drove nearly across the country (Sasha was blind so I did most of the driving). We came not for the waters of Casablanca but for the mountains of Salt Lake City. At Alta, the slogan is: "Come for the skiing. Stay for the skiing." The added benefit is a sight to behold when the Wasatch Range is covered in snow...and that awe is, well, awesome.
Scanning a lush patch of clover, because I love finding 4-leaf clovers. I noticed a beautiful bee flitting from one clover flower to another. The bee was huge compared to the clover flowers. I watched each clover flower bend ever so slightly, as the bee, aloft, dipped into the pollen, without disturbing the equilibrium of the flower's stem. From one flower to another, graceful, gentle, unobtrusive, dancing lightly with perfect choreography, doing its part in the dance of the sweetness of life.
Wonderful, thank you Thom. Where exactly is the grove of Douglas firs you referenced?