Mary McCloskey

Watching and waiting...

 

Warmed by the light

Tornadoes, dense fog, flooding.  Luckily, we are snug, warm, and staying close to the light.

Melting into blue

Sunday, Febrary 15, 1:30 p.m.

The sun makes all the difference in the world on another chilly, snowy Sunday in February.

Valentine's is gone. Next stop, St. Pat's. Then, what--daffodills in a vase on the dining room table.Days upon days to savor ahead. I long, yearn, ache for warmth. But after I've bundled up and taken the dog to the park all I need do is look up to see the deep, azure sky  to realize what a gift today is.

Past chance encounters with a lens

It's Thursday and I've spent several hours trying to create something with cold wax and ended up, discouraged. However, tomorrow is class so I'm going to be positive and hope that my creative flow returns by then. Meanwhile, I'm posting an old photo from several years ago. Something about it, the juxtaposition of several layers of vision, appealed to me.

Under the ice...

creatures live and breathe...

So why not you?

Why not you?

Willy, waiting

This is Willy, the dog's, favorite perch these days. Sitting on the couch, waiting. For the snow to end? For spring to come? More likely, for whatever bunny rabbit dares to cross the path of the front yard. Then there is barking and choking (from too much barking) and general mayhem. Thank God for Willy. If not for him,  I'd probably be in the house 24-7 these last few weeks. 

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles 
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come. 

Jane Kenyon

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A little Jane Kenyon in the afternoon

Let Evening Come

A slow meditation

A very sunny Monday and just a bit warmer. I run an errand to Wheaton to pick up some oil paint for my cold wax class and on the way home, I stop at the Arboretum for just a few minutes. It's lovely, so quiet, but finally, warm enough to actually walk around for a bit.  Looking at the photos later, I realize that it's all about waiting and watching right now. On a very cold day this weekend, I went out to the back room to look at the small buds on the shamrock plant blooming, of all things. And like a ray of sunlight, a bit of hope entered.  Then this morning at the arboretum, the serentity of the small prairie plants standing sentinel on the plain--teaching me patience. Finally, looking over the bridge at Marmo Lake, finding the rush, the flood of water. This is what's coming, I think. I only need to go out to the woods to be reminded.