To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven...

More than anything else, the process of creating and maintaining my garden as a backyard wildlife habitat has taught me the true meaning of the wisdom found in the Old Testament of the Bible in Ecclesiastes chapter 3:

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak..."

For almost seven years, I've blogged about the journey that my garden and home have taken me on. It was a season when I needed to write of these things—"a time to speak". Now I am entering a new season of sharing my view of the world through the photographic image without using words—"a time to keep silence".

I want my photographs to not be a reflection of my own experience. I want each of my photographs to tell a different personal story depending on the person looking at the image. My words would simply get in the way. This is also why I am turning off comments. Comments won't be necessary. I want you to simply enjoy the images I share.

Here's to the beginning of a new season!  

The autumnal red of leaves turning

What is it about the autumnal red of leaves turning?

Hubby and I were driving to the nursery to look at pots yesterday. We rounded a bend in the road to see a stand of trees with the topmost leaves brilliant and bright red. It made us both gasp in a bit. My finger pointed reflexively at them, and I could feel that Hubby had unconsciously lifted his foot off the accelerator to slow just a bit as we drove by.

Why does the red of autumnal leaves make us do that... make us act like little children again?

Perspective

How many of us look at the backside of a flower?

I asked myself that question yesterday as I was photographing flowers in the garden at Rosehaven Cottage. The late afternoon light was perfect for photographing. Flowers love the sun. They face the sun. Flower petals also look deceivingly opague when in fact they are quite translucent. The only way for me to photograph the translucency of the petals was from the backside of the flowers as they stretched upward to the blue September sky.

Perspective...

It got me thinking (careful, you may smell smoke)...

From my perspective in this world, September represents golds, oranges, russet reds, and bronzes that shimmer in the sun. However, many of my blogging friends are in the southern hemisphere in this world. For them, September represents new life and a respite from colder months. It is a new dawn in the garden with pastels bursting forth through the dark soil.

Perspective...

How much more in our lives is only relative to our perspective in this world?

How much more would we glean from our lives if we thought to consciously change our vantage point just a bit?

Would seemingly opague areas of our lives suddenly come alive with inspiring light being shed upon them, exposing their translucency?

Would we discover beauty that was there all along but we just failed to see until we changed our vantage point?

Would we see the blue skies that span over our lives creating a wonderful horizon of possibilities and at the same time providing an umbrella of security?

I'm realizing more and more that it's all in our perspective.

There's A Special Light in the Air

There's a special light in the air that sends a thrill through my heart. It is the light that tells me the summer is ebbing to a close, casting its longer shadows throughout the garden. It is the light that brings to mind pumpkins, amber leaves, and chilly evenings.

A thrill rushes through me as I look at the sunflowers around my garden. They are the flowers of August to me; the flowers of the month that is the cusp between the celebrations and vacations of summer and the harvests and warm spicy aromas of autumn.

I try to glean something from each season as it is occurring, to live in the moment and wring from each one as much as I can. Yet I can't help but always yearn for autumn. It is a month full of colors that make me feel alive and smells that awaken childlike giddiness deep in my core.

As I sat out on our front porch this evening, I noticed that the light is beginning to change and the sense in the air is changing along with it. The temperature is not noticably different and will in fact get much hotter off and on for the next month or two, as Indian summers are more the norm than not in Northern California.

But there is a feeling in the air that says autumn is coming. It's in the way the breeze moves, in the way the grass is brittle and smells like the hayloft of a barn under my feet. With each step I took on my evening garden stroll, giddiness sparkled and shimmered deep within me. Autumn most definitely must be coming.