Life of Light

Posted on November 28, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

In the spring and summer, Creation is simply bursting at the seams with new life, overflowing, like a too-filled glass – On any given day, the fragrance of green things, growing life, blooming flowers, the songs of love-struck birds and their birdlings, the murmur of the trees, all these combine to create an unmistakable portrait of freshness and life.

IMG_4840.1lowrez In the winter, though, when the snow flies and the drab brown of late fall is buried, a new sort of life appears. It is found in the subtle play of lights and shadows, the flicker and glint of ice, the sifting magic of the falling snow, the bewildering and enchanting shades of color found in a drift of snow or in the shadows beneath the trees, the lavender and pale blue and silver and grey and amethyst. The few hours of warm light call out what hardy animals remain above the earth, and they bask while they can in what warmth they can find.

The moonlit night is the most alive, when the snow-covered hillsides stretch out further than they do in the daylight, brighter than day, when the edge of the woods looms up dark and strangely welcoming, and when the light of the moon drowns out all but the brightest of the stars. The stars seem to shine instead from the glinting snow, flickering, changing, sparking, and it dazzles the eyes, the play of dark and light. It is entirely otherworldly, and it is sublime. Frost settles into the branches of the trees and onto the hip-high grasses, and then they, too, glint and flicker and take on an enchantment of their own. The moon of summer doesn’t compare with the moon of winter.

IMG_4827.1lowrez And then, at the end of the day, when the light is just right, the memory of fall is recalled, the memory of the end of the summer – gold and red and rich brown and the sagey green of lichen. That lasts only minutes before the sun disappears behind the hills and a deep blue shadow spreads out over the valleys.

Spring and summer are alive with breathing life, growing life, and blooming life. Winter is alive with sunlight and moonlight and starlight, reflecting off ice and snow and filtering through the bare branches of trees.

The life of winter is the changing, mystifying life of light.

Laura Elizabeth

Autumn waking

Posted on October 19, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Sometimes all it takes to clear the mind of distraction, sorrow, worry, weariness, and pessimism is the feeling of dew on my jeans, the sound of brown leaves folding beneath my feet, the rush of a scramble into a dry creek bed, and the glint of the sun through and in the trees.

It is impossible to capture the flicker of dew in the long grass, or to describe the captivating fragrance of the wet earth, a draught stronger than wine, the musk of earth, the sweet of grass, subtle and fresh and intangible. The flicker of scarlet and orange of berries clinging in the twigs of trees, the yellow of a fallen leaf. I wish I could put words to the changing touch of the air from shadowed ravine to sunny hillside – The chill kiss and the warm caress. Sometimes they blend – The warm caress of a breeze wafting into the cool of the ravine, or the chill wind curling and streaming into the warmth of a fragrant open trail.

The hum of bees blends with the whisper of wind in the pines, and the trail curves ahead and disappears from sight. The ground is dark with heavy dew and the green is greener, the gold golder, the brown browner, the red redder in the rich, warm light.

What a mystery, to be walking straight into the sun, which seems hardly to hover above the tops of the trees, the sky brilliant with light, but to be enveloped in cool, moist valley air, walking briskly and without effort – the mystery of autumn in the morning. Or to top a small rise, emerging from a twilight-shadowed creek bed, and find ahead a glowing warmly bank of red-gold brush and sheer wall of golden rock, the pine trees standing like sentinels against the line of sky – the mystery of autumn at dusk.

“The Heavens declare the glory of God,” the Bible says. “Man’s heart away from nature becomes hard,” said Standing Bear. Who can help but marvel at the silhouettes of trees against a lavender sky, the moon tangled in the evening branches of the reaching oaks? Who can harden the heart when the world around is glowing with life, and the air is ripe with sunshine and piney resin and heavy with the damp of morning? The clouds glow like gold in the fading sun, just dipped below the horizon, then turn to the dark of steel and sit heavy in the trees. The sky releases the last of its light with a sigh, a slumbering, sleepy, lazy breeze that quietly stirs the trees, and a few leaves drop.

How can I tame the wildness of the eerie howls of coyotes just over the hill, or calm the unbidden racing of my heart, relishing the delicious thrill of the woods at evening? How can I keep forever the ghostly beauty of the birch trees at twilight, and call to mind their silver glow? It is all too much, too beautiful.

What a glorious way to fire the imagination, to calm and awaken the soul, to revive the weary body. What a refreshing, reviving cup to drink from – The cup of God’s creation, the cup of the green earth. “God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone,” a man once said, thought to be Martin Luther, “but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.” The dew in the morning, the bees flying low in the grass, the heavens and trees, the moon and lavender sky, the stones underfoot and the dying red of the cliffs in sunset all make it impossible for me to believe anything other than that this world was created by a loving, awesome, infinite God who is worthy of my worship and adoration.

“To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.” said Helen Keller.

I agree.

Findings | Here and there

Posted on September 30, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Had to stop on the way to work to snap a picture of this side road underneath a layer of cloud…Not for the first time, I was awestruck by the views on my way to work. So thankful to be here. God is good.

The golden flame

Posted on September 28, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Fall has arrived, and with it the burning, brilliant, tingling gold of a thousand thousand birch trees, glinting their leaves into the sun as one might catch light on a mirror and then scatter it.

In Illinois, almost all the trees would turn their colors at once – First one or two small trees, young trees, would change to yellow or orange or red, and then the whole body of the trees would burst into color, flamboyant and showy and with the unmistakable spirit of autumn.

Here, the color comes differently. Most of our trees here are pine – Constant green throughout the year, no matter the season. But slowly, slowly, the birch trees, clustered together in little groves, take on the glow of fall.

Today on the way home from church, Sarah and I dawdled our way through Custer State Park, enjoying Iron Mountain Road and other side roads, and time after time, my breath was swept away by the sheer glory of the birch trees. As we drove through the winding mountain roads, the 4:00 sun filtered through the pines, casting shifting shadows through the pillar trunks. Even in the sun, the pines look dark. But just around a corner or over a hill, the whole landscape would change, suddenly a gold of such intensity the wood itself seemed to be glowing. The white birch trunks reflected the light, glinting paler through the pale fire of the trees.