“Waiting for the light” – metaphorically or as an approach to photography or art – is sometimes a requirement to “getting the right shot”, or for capturing a certain mood. More often, it’s a matter of fortunate timing. Even achieving some measure of “enlightenment” sometimes means waiting for the light. (Certainly I’ve had very little success with chasing it.) Waiting is not the fastest approach to such things, but it is often what puts me in the right place at the right time to catch the light at a moment when it becomes transformative.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Qualities of stillness and light greet me at the trailhead this morning. I breathe in, inhaling the forest scents of summer at the river’s edge. There are bunnies frolicking at the edge of the meadow adjacent to the parking. The cloudy sky, although stormy looking, seems more comforting than forboding this morning. I feel relaxed and unbothered.
I sit with my thoughts, watching the robins and the rabbits, and relacing my boots. A break in the clouds reveals a baby blue strip of sky. No reason to delay, really, but I’m also in no hurry. Saturday.
Nice morning to put a couple miles on my boots. I dilly-dallying a while longer, watching the bunny and her little ones, who creep out of the dense brush slowly. The tasty grass is apparently more tempting than I am any sort of threat, but they watch me warily. Later, the dog walkers will arrive with their boisterous animals, and the rabbits will be scared back into the dense brush, and the robins startled back into the trees. I don’t feel like cutting their breakfast short, so I sit quietly enjoying them. I can start down the path any time, it does not have to be now.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit enjoying the lovely moment of quiet and stillness. This is uncomplicated and beautiful. I don’t need more out of it than this.
I think about the day ahead. I’m eager to get into the studio. I feel inspired. This vexing headache though… I sigh to myself. My fingernails are too long for comfortably painting. I’ve got a manicure today, and manage to resist the momentary impulse to just cut them short.
I pull myself back to “now”. I’ll live the moments as they come. I yawn and stretch and get to my feet. This trail is waiting for me. It’s time to begin. Again.
Evening Light 