A few weeks ago, I published a post that asked, “Who Needs Color, Anyway?“, showing beauty in black and white. The premise suggested that we find beauty in form, texture, and contrast; that color was just window dressing.
This post suggests that premise was a bunch of hogwash; that color is intrinsic to beauty, and the living colors of nature are exhibit A.
When we think of flowers, the first thing that comes to mind are the colors that give each of them their distinct character, beauty, and mood.
But are colors really necessary to make a flower beautiful?
And as we walked down the garden path, she sang to us, beautifully.
It seemed almost to have sprung up overnight. Long, lean, and wiry with a spiky mop-top. What was it?
Clematis. A flower, a vine, a celebration of spring and summer that on the face of it seems lovely, and pure, and innocent. Little do you know…
Every year, in late winter and early spring, Mother Nature sets a time bomb.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
There comes a time in every person’s life that a certain discussion needs to be had, either as the presenter of certain life-affirming facts, or as the recipient. While I suspect most of you gentle readers would consider yourselves well versed in these facts, perhaps today I can shed a new light upon them.
Yes, today we’re going to talk about the birds and the bees.
Winter.
Here in the good old USA, numerous folk are “enjoying” the style of winter that is often considered the exclusive domain of International Falls, Minnesota and their robust Canadian friends further north. Temperatures are brutally cold, well south of freezing, accompanied by ye olde insidious wind chill and ample amounts of that white stuff that wanted to be rain before Mr. Freeze squeezed its little liquid heart. While the Canucks and Minnesotans may shrug it off, for those less accustomed to this winter thuggery I offer a Spring Break – a reminder of things to come.
Imagine a place where the views are amazing, you get to hang out with your buddies, you can stuff yourself silly at a seemingly endless banquet table, and you can sleep in in a major way. Would it be fair to call it Paradise?
It was as black as sin that night, when I found myself alone, miles from civilization, wondering what happened to my ride home.
Plying Through Life 