“Only that day dawns to which we are awake.” Henry David Thoreau (Walden)
Barefoot in 32F weather, I found myself hunched over some frost-dusted groundcover in the semi-dark of this November dawn, a day when the people of our divided nation are voting for our 47th President and two very different visions for our nation’s future. Looking back; looking forward; somehow it feels right to have camera in hand, looking down to see what’s up. A storm is on the horizon, but I am squatting here, observing the florets of frost, knowing it will melt soon, knowing the groundcover will die over winter to be reborn in spring. I am waiting for what is to come, whatever comes. And so it is. I am reminded of Ansel Adams and the slings and arrows he faced for photographing rocks while the nation was in turmoil. Far more politically motivated and socially-oriented than he is given credit for, he nevertheless understood the value of paying attention to the natural world. Comfortable with paradox and enamored of its cycles of time, it is wiser than we. The frost is melting; the storm is coming. The groundcover is dying; the seeds are waiting. And there is beauty, so much beauty in the dawn. And so it is.