Calm Photos

3H041 Sunset Ridge by Jim Crotty

Originally uploaded by jimcrotty.com.

The day before Thanksgiving. November brown. The final glory of October’s autumn is now over. The calm blanket of chill white has yet to arrive. It’s one of those times of the year that lies between here and there. Not fall, but not winter.

There is always good light in a November sky. Crystal-clear sunrises and sunsets shine behind branches laid bare, casting the long shadows of the late hours of of life.

I awoke this morning and watched the eastern horizon alight just outside my window. On the ground was the thin layer of last night’s frost. Grey branches filled the ridgeline. The a quick flash of black and white with a dash of red. A Pileated Woodpecker was at work.

I walked to the edge of the pine forest trail that leads to Rose Lake. At first the only sound was the “scratch-scratch” of dead leaves still on the branch, moving with the morning breeze. It reminded me of the skeletal fingers of an old man at twilight, sending his final signal before going to rest. Then came the usual call of a gang of crows, on the prowl for mischief, no matter what time of year or day. Above the pines came the silent shadows of the few remaining vultures. The first big snow would be their final push southward.

The endless cycle of the seasons. Birth, life, fading and then death, and birth again. Now it was time for dark days and long nights to take their turn on nature’s stage.

November brown covers the hills. An early sunset provides a final splash of red against a blue-black sky. Following the setting sun is the whisp of a crescent moon, and it too falls below a thousand bare branches, all reaching into the cold night to come. I depart another November day with collected images as millions of digital pixels on my camera’s disk and a hundred thoughts and hopes that have passed through my mind. Thoughts of what was and what could have been. Of love lost, doors shut and walls built.

But just like that soft glimmer cast by the setting of a bit of moon, and the stillness of life beneath the brown leaves, I hold on to the hope of what still can be for the seasons to come.