I wandered down from my home near the ravine to Trout Lake,
criss-crossing through fields, alleys, bike-paths, the signs of Fall becoming.
I was on my way to a Photo Shoot,
but the journey between two points is so often my favorite place,
as I so love to wander, and see what gifts I encounter.
Here is wonderful Copley Community Orchard, an old spot where folks have likely gathered for ages to plant, to harvest, to picnic on the slight rise gazing over our glorious mountains. Old gnarled apple trees gift ‘imperfect’ sparkl
ingly delicious apples. A sole woman quietly offered, ‘There are apples in the basket if you are hungry.’
I pause, breath the air deeply and marvel at human’s interaction with nature, with the land, with her fruits. Grateful.
I wander, pause, breath, smell, listen, look. I pick an apple. I snap a photo.
I love my life so deeply at these moments.
And, I want to share them with you.
What wild or tended green spaces, growing spaces do you love?
is a way of using what you’ve got, it’s a kind of deep noticing, of gathering,
of gratitude for nature’s bounty.
I use my camera’s eye to gather signs, gifts, fruits and seeds, birds and bees,
mostly the wonderful, sometimes startling,
always deeply inspiring creative gestures of nature.
These images can stand alone, or they can document an adventure,
tell a story of place, or belonging, of food or medicine.
Even more so, though for me,
they can become an inner tracking.
After a photo forage wonder, I look carefully in my ‘basket of images’.
What treasures or signs are hidden there?
What song have I caught of the deep impulse of my wander?
Can I use the symbols in these images that speak to me to create
an intentional gesture of meaning and purpose?
Like reading the stars, listening to birds,
or tracking a wild creature,
my intuitive deeply creative impulse has a story for me.
The seasons are shifting once again, Fall is here, Fall with her winds, her rains, her darkening skies and blazing sunsets.
She carries with her always memories of Summer, memories of Winter, of Spring. For me she is the painter, the story-teller, the weaver, the song-catcher! She teaches us the cycles, the Life~Death~Life cycles with the fiery blazing of yellow, orange, red leaves, their boldest right before their fall, with the flying, spinning, rolling, and rotting of seeds, that need to fall and crack open in order to germinate.
Fall beckons to us, doesn’t she? Look at me, come hither, my bold brightness, my tussled locks flying, my stormy and bright moods racing across the evening sky. Come pick my fruit, do not be afraid if my bark is ancient and gnarled. Fear not the imperfect apple, uneven, speckled with brown spots, her tart sweetness will spark you awake!
Harvest, gathering, gratitude
So lovely to have this sole, quiet woman, resting alone offer me apples on my wander. Would I have stopped to taste if she hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t said anything in her very quiet way?
Use what you’ve got, stumble upon meaning, chance encounters are often our best teachers. The bees and wasps are very slow now, gathering their last morsels of sweetness, whiles spiders begin t weave.
What magic is here?
walk the wilds within
The images I gathered this day that stood out most distinctly for me
now that I ponder on them, and listen to my inner knowing,
are this one of the solitary woman, the brown-spotted apple,
the two crows ever present guardians, and the picked apple in my hands.
This quiet time is vital to me now, to hold space for my own deep nature connection,
I am the one who must tend to my inner wilds, and yet there are teachers on my path, friends and strangers alike, two-legged, two-winged and more…
The invitation is to notice, to practice focus and gratitude.
Also, this process of wandering, and gathering. Out here, out here, the crows remind me. They are the teachers of the skies, there blackness is etched in silhouette, like notes, letters, song tracks. It is ancient and ever-present, like the voices of my ancestors.
I will follow their musical lines…
When I pause to accept the gift of the apple, I am not cast out of Eden, I am invited in. When I bite into her deep bursting flesh, I am not poisoned, but rather blessed by the sweet knowledge Grand Mother Apple Tree, she knows she knows, she is rooted, she has seen it all, the spiders are weaving in her hair.
The message I receive is that I too am getting old, but I am planted here and thriving still, their are spiders starting to weave webs in my hair, but my gifts are many if I only I notice, take heed, express gratitude and follow my deep impulse to share them.
If you’d like to know more, go on a photo forage wander with me, or participate in Forage Photography Workshop, please contact me here at Apple Star Photo, or email at firstname.lastname@example.org