The first snows have fallen in Toronto, soulless Xanadu of the Great White North, and its citizens are in an uproar of disbelief, their carping, narcissistic distress bringing to mind Mark Twain’s wry comment that
“everybody talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it…”
Snow and cold, winter’s long, dark nights and pale pink dawns, are reminders that, despite the hubris of Homo sapiens, Nature rules, and with placid, psychopathic indifference. I live in a country where it’s possible to die simply by being outdoors at the wrong time of year. From that frightening possibility comes, or used to, the quintessential Canadian trait: Fortitude.
Without light there’s no dark; no modelling of volume, no chiaroscuro. Digital photography entices with bright bright bright, but that way lies images that might as well be passport photos. You’ve seen flowers countless times, so why take the picture? Because you’ve never seen these flowers in this light of this moment…
I like to see how little light I can get away with.
Five Things Flowers Can Teach Us: #2
Flowers have the soothing gift of being right where they are. They don’t race around on a mission; they aren’t engaged in secret, frantic agendas. They just stay there, and we go to them, and willingly. If I can risk sounding silly, they are content with where they are.
And when the air is still on a warm summer night, they are buddhas: Motionless, inward, yet light at heart.
Nothing to change, nothing to do.