Tag: Photography

The Golden Moments of Spring

I was walking on the beach one morning. One glorious morning. The waters were glittering in the morning sunlight like a million little diamonds had been sprinkled on the waters. Maybe it was the effect of the rose-colored glasses I was seeing the world through, or the fact that the world felt brighter and more colorful that day, but the beach was filled with … Gold? I scrubbed my eyes beneath my glasses and looked again. There was no fooling me. The sands sifting beneath my bare feet, and glistening with what looked like gold particles.

Fool’s gold?

It must have been. For if not, I am sure, there would have been quarries there, and not contented looking seagulls trying to bully smaller sanderlings out of the way. I admired the unruffled sanderlings – holding their own, outnumbered as they were by the aggressive seagulls. It was a pleasant sight.

Golden Hour

A few evenings later, I strolled during sunset drinking in the fresh green after the rains. Really, I have raved about this before so often, I feel like a bit of broken record myself – but spring in the Bay Area is the most wonderful time of the year. The hills are bursting with tiny yellow and purple flowers set against lush green grasses. Entire hillsides of it. Simply waving and swaying in the mild breezes of the season.

I sat upon a rock to take in the sight. There were deer grazing nearby, and I turned my serene senses towards them.

“To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment“ – Mansfield Park, Jane Austen

What’s this?

I was composing a pedantic piece for my blog on the tranquillity of the lives they lead – blah, blah, blah.. when they started to, I kid you not, fight. Fight! Like stallions in heat – on their hind legs, kicking each other. I started laughing, and sensitive as ever to human sounds, the deer audience noticed me. The drama in front of them was too much to resist, they turned back. The smaller one walked away, and taunted from a distance, to which the older one rose up again.

Golden Truths

In geese, I rarely stop to notice anymore. Aggressive as they are, they are always chasing each other off or splashing off. But, so often have I gazed upon deer on my walks. Always drawing from them beauty and grace. It was different seeing ..  was it a display of power, anger, annoyance, or just dispelling of nervous energy?

I would never know. Not until our human systems make headway into animal cognition and translation. Apparently, some of our big and beautiful AI models can now decipher whale sounds.

https://www.npr.org/2024/05/20/1198910024/ai-sperm-whales-communication-language

Really, nature knows how to entertain us almost endlessly – if we stop and watch. Sometimes, in slow waves, other times in passionate displays of spring time, and maybe in the future using the ultimate lure of humankind – through stories.

Nature’s Sense of Purpose

Cloudy Skies : Inspiration or Melancholy?

The week-end was fabulous in terms of weather in the Bay Area. The rain-washed Earth was beginning its early spring blooms. The trails were scented heavily with sage, eucalyptus, and the occasional squashed lemon or orange. The clouds made for a perfect backdrop – lighting wise. Cloudy skies do give the best pictures even if the blue skies lift one’s spirits up better. Feeling in the mood for a bit of rumination or deep thought? Cloudy skies are there for that. Or maybe it is the other way around- the melancholic strain inspired by the cloudy skies. Either way.

The son and I started off on a bike ride when the skies were cloudy, threatening rain. We pedaled, each lost in our own thoughts, when some fat droplets reminded us of the rainy day forecasts. The son, always the mature one, when it comes to things like this, insisted we turn back, and so we did. Though, I did try my whining first: “Let’s try for some more time – maybe it is just a drizzle, and we shall be ready for it to break into mild blue skies afterwards. “

The skies doubled down, and so we started back away from the lakes, and the bay, towards our home.

But the rains were taunting us. They came, and then didn’t. Then came again and didn’t again.

By the time we made it home, the clouds had said their good-byes and didn’t shed a single raindrop for another 2 hours.

Oh well.

The Next Day

The next day, I set off on my own. This time, the cumulonimbus clouds had given way to cumulus clouds, and the day felt bright, clean and inviting.

I biked on. By the river. To the bay. Through the bay, and finally emerging on some hills.

It was beautiful. I had the trail to myself. Probably because most folks had attempted and wrestled with the ‘will-it won’t-it’ the previous day, and decided to stay indoors. I felt my spirits rise, like the ebbing of the bay waters. I sang – my pitch nowhere  as shrill and clear as the blackbirds, and nowhere as cacophonous as the ubiquitous geese, but enough to make me happy.

I am a sap when it comes to nature. Every one knows it. Everyone indulges me with it when I get going. But even I felt all nature had a purpose that day: a purpose to make those outside to feel grateful, to feel fulfilled. The mustard flowers threw their stalks back and danced with that intent. The blackbirds sang with a kind of devotion that saints wish for. The deer grazed looking at you as if daring you to find fault with a day like this.

What would Mary Oliver have done?

Mary Oliver would’ve written a book by the time she came back. That’s the sort of day it was.

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” — Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

What was to be done with such a sense of purpose? I yielded and gave myself up to this – pedaling, humming, looking every which way. One time, I wobbled looking at the hawk overhead and straying off the trail. I swear the hawk smirked. I heard it’s laugh or cry.

Another time, the heart gave a few lurches and sputtered and stuttered, as I spotted a dead snake on the trail. “Would you have preferred a live one?” whispered Mary Oliver, and I genuinely had no answer to that. I shoved my hammering heart back to its spot behind the ribs and pedaled on. Eyes resolutely keened away from the dead snake. 

When finally I reached home, sighing with the contentment, I knew the aching muscles were a small price to pay.

What is your favorite post-rain activity?

Literary Inspirations from Nature

Amazonian Strength

It was a somewhat tumultuous setting to wake up to. I had just crossed the Amazon river on a bike. Did you know pedaling through water looks easier than it feels? Especially, when the waters are flowing west-east, and you’re biking north-south. 

But still, it was beautiful to bike across a wide, deep river. Water is so soothing, isn’t it? Feels like floating – only every now and then, your ankles get wet. I think I rather enjoyed the ride after a full 3 days of council meetings with the Queen. Have you been to any of these? Turns out, they aren’t as fun and impressive as they seem. But that is corporate err… royal life for you I suppose. The nitty-gritty – the treaties, the documents and the hundred disagreements that arise between 35 council members is truly draining. While I was happy to say my good-byes and head across the river, I wasn’t quite ready for what lay for me on the other side.  

Scene cut. 

Retake River-biking scene.

The aerial view of my biking across the Amazon river is cool. Was Wonder Woman an Amazonian woman? 

Cut. Cut. Cut.

“You’ll be late – time to get up!”

I moaned into my pillow displaying the kind of weakness for sleep that Amazonian strong women most certainly did not according to the myths. I got out of the bed though as a good citizen must.  

Still, I felt a little unsettled – aerial surveys, biking across rivers, social council meetings and strange amazonian men pointing me to a different boat (That was the last part of the dream – not important) – can do that. I decided a short walk around the neighborhood was all the time I had before my day started. 

The Heron on the Roof

So I legged it. Trying to listen to the grounding sound of chirping birds, and taking in huge gulps of the fresh morning air. Did I tell you how bright it was for a February morning? Well, it was.

Anyway, I was tripping along, when I saw the strangest sight. A blue heron: perched on a rooftop in the middle of our housing community. I love watching herons and cranes as regular readers of my blog know. Watching them seems to settle a certain restlessness in my soul. 

Watching the grey heron on a grey house’s rooftop after a tumultuous morning, I felt a new respect for the bird that lives this reality with ease and calm. Aerial surveys – wasn’t that what it was doing just then? Wading through the river waters? They love it and they excel at it. Watching the waters sanguinely from near the shore – again, their specialty.

Literary Inspirations

As I watched the heron, an unrelated nugget of information rose – it has been a while since I had read Kelly Barnhill’s book, The Crane Husband. In an interview, she went on to say that the story had come to her one day  after seeing a crane sit still on a rooftop. 

We see plenty of birds perched anywhere and everywhere all the time. But there is something incongruous about a heron or a crane perched on a rooftop (not in the middle of some fields) , but in a suburban locality, that stirs the imagination. At that moment, I could understand the author’s inspiration for the book.

I stopped to take in the beautiful ringing sounds of a winter robin on a bare tree, and headed back feeling far more settled than when I set out. The heron had done it again. Patience, stillness, sun-bathing, rivers – all in a day’s game after all.

History & Herons

South Indian Meals

The vegetables were neatly sliced & diced, the tomatoes were pureed, the tamarind was soaked, the rice was boiling merrily, the rasam was simmering gently at first and then with a ferocity matching the chillies in them. A South Indian meal was in progress. We do not set much store by one-pot meals in South Indian cuisine, and consequently all the burners were on. 

Efficiency. A production. An orchestra. 

I was listening to an audible book on The History of the United States  that was making me gasp in places, as I cooked.

After one particularly intense chapter ended, I stopped the podcast. In the ensuing silence an image arose in my mind.

Unbidden, unhurried, and unsullied. 

The gray heron

It was from my morning walk. Before the frenzied cooking spree to get food on the table. 

The gray heron. 

I have seen many gray herons. The common refrain in the household is that I have more photographs of the herons and egrets than I do of the children. This one, though, was the very first time I saw a heron go in for the kill at close quarters. 

The heron was less than 5 feet away. Standing still immersed in knee deep waters. Stark against the morning light. It was still cold – January colds of California – and then, slowly it waded into the waters a little more. Stealth. Strategy. And then, in one swift motion, it plunged its impressive beak into the water, and caught a shimmering fish in its beak. 

A second later, the fish was eaten, and it went back to standing in the waters. 

Whoa!

I couldn’t help contrasting the efficiency and speed of the heron’s meal against the one I was preparing. Dozens of spices, different boiling points, cutting angles for the vegetables, the right consistency, the right temperature, the right time, the right ingredients. 

In fairness, the heron was also probably listening to its version of American History from the walkers nearby, as it contemplated and went after its meal. All those opinions and snippets on Noble Peace Prizes, Venezuela and Greenland. But there, the comparison ended. 

Now, I cannot compare the taste – was the fish as tasty to the heron as the meal I had made was to our palates? I honestly cannot say. But the heron seemed content enough. When later, the family gathered around for lunch, they seemed content enough too. Wasn’t that the point? 

The Tyrant’s Daughter

Early morning vibes

“What do you mean we have to jump in the ocean at 6:30 a.m.?” We were planning on snorkeling in Maui. Islands, especially those closer to the equator like Hawaii, have a sort of early morning energy to them, that dwellers from the mainlands like Yours Truly have difficulty comprehending.

The husband shrugged, and said either something to the effect of only-time-available or only-time-it-is-done. He was already tucking into toasted bagels, sounding happy and energetic. I whined. “You’re such a Tyrant for waking us up at this ungodly hour!” He laughed, and thrust a cup of coffee into my hands.

The daughter gave me a scolding, “Amma – if you have to go snorkeling you have to get up at 5:30. You can nap the rest of the day like a sea turtle sunning on a beach if you’d like, but you have to get up now.”

“Well – buddy up with him, why don’t you? You’re the Tyrant’s Daughter. That should be title of my book – The Tyrant’s Daughter! Why does he have to be so peppy at 5 in the morning?”

“Because we’re snorkeling. You kind of have to be!” She said, and I scowled at her. I sent baleful glances the whole way to the boat. I still wasn’t sure about the whole jumping in the ocean at dawn thing, but apparently fish don’t listen.

“You jump off here – and you can swim up to there – you’ll see some turtles if you’re lucky. Keep your distance..” I shivered, as the captains of the boat went on with their instructions.

The waters shimmered and looked beautiful. I am not denying that. We had spotted two whales and a baby on the way there. Granted, they didn’t look cold, but they hadn’t been pulled from a downy comforter in a room that already had the thermostat set to a comfortable temperature, had they?

Flip Float & Fiddle

I watched braver souls splash into the waters and flip off with their flippers and snorkels in place, while I just stood there praying for strength and warmth. Finally, when it was getting a bit shameful to put it off any longer, I took the plunge too. Once I got the hang of it, it was marvelous. 

I don’t know what the whales were thinking just about then, but I could’ve told them, the waters were not cold at all. Getting a healthy swim right around sunrise is the heartiest thing to do.

I flipped off and peered down into the most beautiful coral reefs. It was teeming with fish, and there up ahead was a large turtle having his shell cleaned by the reef fish, It was a gorgeous sight to behold. The sun’s rays piercing through the waters combined with the silver and black fish that were in abundance in the reef, and the turtle, put me in a sort of trance. I felt my heart stop several times as the turtle swam towards me – why do turtles look like they are smiling? Before I knew it, I heard someone holler at me to come back to the boat.

Note: Picture not from snorkeling, but elsewhere

Our next stop was equally breathtaking, and here, we saw rainbow fish, yellow sun fish and so many happy creatures, it was amazing. The corals are true marvels of creation. Here we are, trying our best to hold leaking roofs together, plastering walls, soldering outlets, while the reefs build and hold with grace and pressure.

I feel the tug in my heart to quote Gerald Durrell here. It is from one of my favorite essays in the book, Fruit Bats and Golden Pigeons by Gerald Durrell. Titled, The Enchanted World.

Quote:

Any naturalist who is lucky enough to travel, at certain moments has experienced a feeling of overwhelming exultation at the beauty and complexity of life <….>  You get it when you see a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis <…> You get it when you see a gigantic school of dolphins stretching as far as the eye can see, rocking and leaping exuberantly though their blue world <…. >

But there is one experience, perhaps above all others, that a naturalist should try to have before he dies and that is the astonishing and humbling experience of exploring a tropical reef. You become a fish, hear and see and feel as much like one as a human being can; yet at the same time you are like a bird, hovering, swooping and gliding across the marine pastures and forests.

You Are Not a Tyrant!

When finally I hauled myself back on to the boat, I started to feel cold again. But down there, in the waters, it was heavenly. I shimmied up to the husband and said, “You are not a tyrant for waking me up! It was so lovely – thank you!” He gave me a loud guffaw, and laughed.

The daughter said, “I think I need an apology over here as well.” She had a sort of shine that happy mermaids get after a morning of frolicking, and was chomping Hawaiian chips. “If I remember correctly, you were writing books about the Tyrant’s Daughter a few hours ago.“

I smiled sheepishly. Or Turtlishly maybe.

“Fine! You get an apology too. It was beautiful!” I said, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I thought I’d left my heart in the reefs, but then what was that huge tug I felt in my torso as I beamed my love out into the world around me?

Note: These pictures were taken in Monterey Bay and not under the seas at Maui. I did not take underwater cameras with me to record. I simply drank in the scenes and a bit of the Pacific Ocean too.

Do Skunks Eat Ducks?

A few years ago, an aunt asked me, “Don’t you get bored looking at the same trees and park everyday?” She looked genuinely concerned because she had heard my mother-in-law say, yet again,  that I was setting off on my walk. 

They could not imagine why I would take the children on walks, or if they weren’t in the mood, then set off by myself. 

I was genuinely shocked. Not because of the question but because nature is very rarely boring. It is full of adventure and mystery, not to mention humor, and joy. 

Take for instance the morning walk a few days ago for me. 

Hibernation would be a marvelous pursuit

Winters in California can be tricky – cold, foggy, misty, cloudy, cold (did I mention cold already? Well – the cold this week is worth mentioning twice, so I’ll leave it). 

I went reluctantly for a walk. See climatic conditions mentioned above for explanations. When I get up in the morning these days, I fervently wish I was born a bear. Hibernation would be a marvelous pursuit. The self-help channels and articles are all banging on about getting enough sleep, and yet society wants you to be up and about for long hours and at absurdly cold times too. Ridiculous!

That morning I moaned about being awake, and the husband gave me an amused look. I snapped petulantly, “What?! I have to be awake all the time once I get up – till I sleep again!” 

“Isn’t that true for all creatures who aren’t nocturnal?”, he said, and I apparently replied in gibberish. Semantics. The point is, I did not want to get up. I do not want to get up. I do not want to start my day in the cold. But I do – everyday the alarm seems to go off earlier and earlier. It could not have been the whole night gone, could it?! I just got warm and comfortable. The comforter took that long to trap body heat, the heater did not turn on, the frozen nose took awfully long to thaw. 

But human-beings are resilient if nothing else. So, I dragged myself out into the cold. On my morning walk, the fog was still lifting, and the cold made me look like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. Even the birds seemed to be quieter. No chirping, no loud squawking. 

Down in the riverbed, that I stopped to take a quick stroll before starting the day, life was slow too. I saw a great white egret with her little chick, some geese, some ducks, and a grey heron. All lethargic enough to match the atmosphere around them. 

What is that – a rat, mole, otter, weasel?

That’s when I saw the sleek quick movement of the water mole. The water must have been biting cold. The frost on nearby rooftops could confirm that much at least. Yet, the water rat or mole or weasel or otter (I honestly do not know) was sleek and fast. 

I was fascinated. I started walking to keep pace with it, and looked on amused as it kept away from the waiting blue heron. Smart.

That’s when I saw a duck family nearby. The duckling must’ve hatched late. For it was the only one its size in vicinity. The water rat was gaining on it, and I held my breath.  That’s when I caught the white streaks on its tail. Ahh – it must be a skunk. 

Do Skunks Eat Ducks?

Would I be witness to a tragedy that early in the morning? A creature’s got to eat, sure. But can’t it be less gruesome than watching a little duckling being pulled under water? 

I willed the duckling to fly away, but it seemed oblivious. After what seemed like an eternity it sprang to life and ran away from the skunk. Slapping its webbed feet rapidly on the water like a basilisk – those creatures the children were fascinated with in elementary school. 

I released a huge breath of air – I hadn’t realized I had held my breath in for that long. 

Who says there is no adventure and mystery in nature? 

There’s plenty of it. I will have to tell the aunt all about it. 

The water-skunk went on its way, the sun slowly started to peek its way through the misty morning, and I jogged my spirits up to get back home and start a day of work.

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.

-Rachel Carson

From Precious to Abundant: The Shift in Photography

“I may have just filled your phone with a bunch of useless pictures!” said the son. 

I nodded. Par for the course. Not like in our childhood, when you had to think through getting a picture developed in a store and wondering whether a picture is worth the wait, is it? You just delete them, or worse archive them, never to be seen again. Somewhere. Sigh. 

He was still thumbing through his pictures with a commentary on the side. Apparently, on several artistic ones of M&Ms on a plate  👀, when he stopped and said. 

“Oh well – now I don’t feel so bad!”

I looked up. What was he on about?

Komerebi – The dappled sunlight shining through the trees

“There are a whole bunch of pictures of … yep…. Pretty much all of them of trees! Goodness!”

I laughed. Then, feeling a little embarrassed, I confessed. “You know? On my walk the other day, I had this urge, nope…scratch that … It felt very important that I must try to see the differences in the way sunlight filtered through the old oak trees, the weeping willows, and the pining pines.”

“Oh Amma! You are a kook! How long did you do this?”

“I don’t know. Not very long, but I kept clicking knowing fully well that I may not exactly go back and see them again.”

Many to Solitary

Oh! How technology has spoiled us? I don’t think there is a single photograph in our childhood albums of light filtering through the leaves. If there was a leaf you liked, you picked it up, and crowded as many people as you could around the leaf to get in that picture! The poor leaf squished and forgotten, and all of us looking mildly surprised at being included in a picture of a leaf that isn’t even visible. We did the same thing when we met up decades later at our school reunions. We crowded in front of the lawns, jacaranda trees, clock tower,  and the bougainvillea plants, no clue why the background was so important, and the background completely forgotten with all the noises and laughter with folks in the foreground. It was marvelous.

I peered into the phone, and saw he had started looking at selfies taken a while ago by his sister. A teenage phase I’d like to call them – but these were all solitary hearts beating alone. Only context made it known that there was a crowd of loved ones around her that day as she took pictures of her nose from a 30 degree angle, and of her reading a book from the 130 degree angle. Obtuse. (I meant the angle.)

Precious to Abundant

Was that the trend of technology and advancements though? This move from crowded/community to alone/aloof lifestyles? Precious to Abundant. 

Hmm…I peered out into the rays of the setting sun, and shelved philosophy for another day. “Maybe we should get a picture of the sun’s rays through the filter on the M&Ms,” I said, and we cackled. It was time for another picture – combining our objects of interest this time.

Marine Magic

We had that hopeful gleam the moment one of us thought of it. Monterey Bay Aquarium. The one place we can all agree upon for a day trip in Summer. It has seaside charm, magical beings in a world so different from ours, and yet still ours, and somehow, manages to wrap you around its world every time.

There are a few new exhibits every time:  new inhabitants, new shows, new facts to learn, and the ethereal magic that stretches through time, space and water. 

The poetry is in the little moments.

When one gazes fondly as moon jellies bonk each other while drifting up and down, 

Or in watching the beautiful fractals in a porcupine jelly. 

The way the otters flips themselves in the water as they preen and play,

Or the way the flat ray cruises and slices through the waters.

The assured and sturdy movements of the giant turtles,

Even as hammerhead sharks and leopard sharks dart about.

The way the corals grow – miniscule and exquisite like little pieces of jewellery on the ocean’s floors,

Or the way the kelp forests sway like cathedrals catching and swirling the light from above. 

This is life.

This is magic.

Every time, there is the feeling of immense fullness of the soul, and of the visual. The summer is brimming with young explorers of the deep all wanting to touch and feel and gasp and squeal at the enchanted occupants of the oceans.

As always, we walked around trying to take in all the sensory inputs around – the quotations of the tides and the seas on the walls, the dynamics of the schools of fish, the eerie feeling of an unblinking fish eye.

One wall fascinated us all equally. The one that shows all the different careers one could have while studying and mapping the vast oceans of our beautiful Earth. The oceans may be the last frontiers left to explore, and the allure of the oceans is a yearning of the soul.

Witnessing Nature: A Baby Egret’s Journey to Independence

 

No swimming No diving No fishing

The sign that greets the visitor to the riverside can be daunting. 

If one wonders why they never heard the whooshing sounds of the gushing river waters as they made their way up to the riverside, it is because there usually isn’t any. The mighty river retains its classification by becoming a river for about three days a year when there is heavy rainfall. Like a courtly princess who only dresses in regalia at Christmas.

The rest of the year, it trickles like a stream, while the major portion of the riverbed is lush with vegetation. It is the teeming home to plenty of wildlife – deer, blue herons, geese, coots, ducks, grebes, red tailed hawks, blackbirds, egrets, harriers, turkeys, turkey vultures, owls, wild cats, squirrels, rabbits, the occasional fox or coyote, possibly small snakes and fish in the simmering strip of waters. 

The trail by the riverside is, however, a charming place and one that always manages to lift your spirit. The stirrings of spring are in the air all around us, and we decided to go for a run / walk / bike / drive (No guesses for matching the family member with mode of transport ) to enjoy the river. Pale pink and white cherry blossoms on thick dark brown branches, clusters of chamomile in gardens, squirrels bustling up and down garden fences and hugging trees, geese squawking their way out in the world. It is a beautiful world and one that can ensure one forgets all the breaking news if only for the hour or so by the riverside.

An Egret’s Dash For Independence

A few minutes into the run, I watched fascinated as a baby egret chick stood by its mother in the marshy waters. Even in my first glimpse, my heart leaped, for the egret chick showed a fierce determination for independence. It edged away – throwing a look towards its mother, and the mother let her (or him) go. By this time, I had jogged on a bit, and the egret chick had clearly had enough of waddling away from its watchful parent and took to flying. The mother let it go, and then followed a few minutes later, setting herself down a little further upstream so she could keep an eye on the little one. It was a charming scene, and the egret and the watchful mother kept me entranced for several minutes. 

There is so much to learn from springtime with regards to parenting. Nest building is happening in earnest, and it is a common sight to watch a crow or a wren pick up some twigs to line their little nest. The geese will have their goslings soon, and those are the best to watch. The same loud, sometimes rude geese, somehow have the most obedient goslings. 

I was attracted once again by the egret chick and found myself looking for the mother. This one had certainly taken off a ways, and I watched a little nervously as a rambunctious dog broke into a run and came careening into the riverbed. I almost stopped and called for the egret mother and urged the chick to run. But I needn’t have worried. Long before I saw the dog, the chick had heard, and flippantly flew across the stream landing elegantly on the opposite side. The egret’s mother flew by too, and went back to fishing a little further away. 

I was impressed – she kept an eye on her chick, gave it the space to learn to navigate danger, and kept giving the little one the space and security to grow. 

All was well. Everyone was having their fun, their adventure and their springtime joys. I smiled and peered ahead to see the son way ahead of me.

The Beauty of Rainy Days and Mystical Mornings

Some say that talking about the weather is exceedingly dull. I disagree.

Take for instance, this adventurous morning:

Misty mornings

I stepped out to the early morning air and found myself completely enveloped in a misty, foggy, cold, moisture ridden world. I shivered delightfully at that. Somehow the atmosphere lilted the eucalyptus scents towards me even if we could not see 10 feet in front of us. 

The atmosphere yanked me by my navel and took me in beautiful swirls of thought to the beautiful Nilgiri Hills – a place where the Western Ghats meet the Eastern Ghats in the South of India. Almost all of my childhood was spent in misty mornings, and rainy reveries. In my mind, if ever there was Utopia, it was there, soaked in that magic.

The slow lifting of the mists as the suns rays pierced through the clouds is divinity itself. 

<pic of the sun’s rays bursting through the clouds>

The crisp sunny afternoon followed by a cloudy and rainy evening sang its Christmas carols all on its own. 

Heavy Downpours

We also received our first heavy downpour of the season and it brought leaky roofs, streams of muddy waters, and swelling rivers in its wake. It was delightful.

We had all been wringing our hands a bit, and saying to each with worried tones, “It is going to be a dry year again!” “Was it always like this?” and so on. Like worried climate doctors.  If I remember it correctly, even a decade ago, we had pretty good rains. But maybe I wasn’t as attentive to the data before. There seems to have been whole periods in life when the busyness of it dwarfed the ability to observe these things. 

I mused on these things, and read a book sitting by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree that day. 

Interconnectedness of the Universe

Some mornings, I stare up at the breath clouding near my mouth on foggy winter mornings while making a little fake-smoke-joke, and am astounded that the long dark nights still find a way to foggy mornings. If I go walking at night, to catch the Christmas lights twinkling in the community, I’ll look up at the stars if the sky is clear, and wonder whether our lives would be any different if one of those stars decided to not shine and sparkle. 

Would it be a cascading effect – or would the distance protect us? Who knew?

Then, I wonder whether it is as the children say: Is it a bit odd to be this enamored by a thing as simple as the weather at my age? At any age?

Still, it is wondrous that we live on a tiny blue planet, cloaked in a delicate veil of an atmosphere, that allows for all of this to unfurl around us. If that isn’t magical, I don’t know what is. There is a word for this – the feeling of wonder at the world around us. Several words, in fact. So, it isn’t odd and I can assure entirely satisfying to be this kooky about being excited by the weather.