1.22.12 Eye of the Beholder

As usual, I left the house this morning with no idea what thoughts and observations might accompany me home and comprise the content of the day's blog post. I simply trudged off with eyes and mind and heart open to my surroundings and let them suggest what they would. I didn't have long to wait. Not even a stone's throw from my home, this sturdy fellow reared up to hail me. Normally I breeze right past him, but this morning he caught my eye and compelled my interest, as though he has something to tell me. What I think he said was: "I was here before you were born." To which I could offer no rebuttal. He was surely right. Whether he would still be here after I was gone, however, was another matter. Time would tell.

As I went on my way, I mused upon how the perception of beauty differs from one person to another. You may see beauty in something or someone that I simply cannot see or appreciate. This, I guess, is as it should be. And yet, all too often people are swayed by the opinions of others, siding with them unquestioningly and unhesitatingly, as though their biases and judgments were beyond reproach, as though they had enough brains and taste to speak for us all. I think the world would be a much better place if every person trusted and acted upon his or her own thoughts and instincts only, if we each were brave and confident enough to speak our minds and challenge views with which we do not agree. It's okay to learn from others, even necessary, but there is a difference between thoughtful learning and blind obedience. How did a tree stump ever get me to thinking about such things? Wise old stump.


Why do I see beauty in an old fencepost someone once painted yellow, now dirty and rusted and corroded? I'm not sure I can say, I only know that I do. It has sturdiness and character, like the tree stump. It testifies of someone long ago who cared enough to install and paint it. It has weathered seasons and endured. What was its original purpose, I wonder, and how long has it stood there beside the Mississippi?

Here I am on the other side of the island now, taking note of something else bearing a residuum of yellow paint--part of a fence or other structure, it peers out from underneath a wooden platform that has been built on top of it, as if to say: "Look at me, I'm still here!" Was its coat of yellow paint applied by the same hand that painted the fencepost? My deductive and imaginative faculties say yes.

Standing in the same position, I shift my glance so that it travels past the Merriam Street Bridge toward St. Anthony Main, and there on the hill stands Our Lady of Lourdes, injecting the pale and sickly sky with its long sharp steeple. It may be a dull day, but I see beauty in this image. The angle of the bridge beam, the angle of the building on the right, the church's imposing ascension between both--it is like a prayer tossed up to heaven, not casually but with force and direction and purpose. Other elements contribute to the beauty: the river kneeling at the church's feet, the STOP sign, the American flag blowing in the breeze, the dusting of snow like a sprinkling of powdered sugar, and the wispy tree branches that hang limply above me. They bake and sell meat pies out of that church--an odd factoid I just happen to know (though I've never tasted one).

Here, a shot of ruby red in the snow seizes my eye and demands a photograph. Upon close inspection, it appears to be a leaf, prompting an internal WTF? Everywhere the trees are dormant and their leaves either long gone or dead, yet here is a brilliant red leaf in the snow. It must have been waiting just for me. This instance of beauty alone was worth my walk in the cold.

This picture could and should have been better. The slight fuzziness shows that I hadn't held perfectly still (I must work on that), yet the picture still reflects the crystalline and slightly cakey texture of the snow, while also showing the contrast between this brilliant leaf and the other forms of flora--brown and withered--which haven't fared so well. I title this picture: Snow White & Rose Red.

My next aha moment comes as I am crossing the railroad tracks: the image of a rail and a spike arrests my eye. The spike protrudes farther than it should, as if it has awakened and poked its head out of the snow to check on the rail, to ensure it is doing its job. The rail imparts a sense of movement to the shot, while the spike represents a state of permanence. The spike says stay, the rail says go.

I wish this shot had come out brighter because it doesn't quite convey the neon green brilliance of this post someone has stuck in the ground and spray-painted. To the unschooled eye (i.e., non-Minnesota resident), this post in the ground may appear to have no purpose. Actually, I suspect it is intended as a marker for indicating the parameters of the path where it stands, which leads to my home. You see, it may be difficult to judge where the path lies when covered by a three or four foot deep (or more) blanket of snow. For the same reason, fire hydrants, electrical boxes, generators and the like, are usually equipped with a tall antennalike marker, so that they may be located when buried.

A few steps farther and my attention was captured by this last stubborn leaf clinging for dear life to its moorings. It struck a poetic note to the aesthetic of this lone wanderer, and so I took its image with me. I suspect it will not last the night. Like all things, it will have been here for a time, and then no longer. Things are always on the move, it seems, whether living or not. Even the yellow fencepost and the trees in its midst will one day take their leave. The subject of my final picture is on the move at this very moment. Who and what is he, and where is he now?

I'm no zoologist, and certainly no expert on animal tracks, but they don't look like rabbit tracks to me. Neither do they look like the tracks of a four-footed animal such as a dog or a deer. Two prints close together, separated by a distance of perhaps 12-14 inches. Bigfoot? I wish someone would help me out because it's really puzzling me! Maybe I need to get up and out earlier in the morning, so as to catch these mysterious creatures unawares. Whoever or whatever left the tracks, I thank him (or her) for the pleasant stimulation they provided, a final trace of beauty with which to conclude my morning walk. I wonder if, at this moment, another creature is out there puzzling over my own tracks. Bigfoot indeed!

Life flows on, in and around us--filled with beauty for those with eyes to see it--while it lasts.

D.E.S.