I imagine one his photographs might look like this:
It is that time of year when coyotes are more active in urban areas. People and our dogs are more likely to have an encounter and we want to be safe, not only for ourselves, but for the coyotes as well.
Coyote mating season: January through February
Birth: Mid-March through mid-May
What to do if you encounter a coyote while walking a dog: https://urbancoyoteinitiative.com/what-to-do-if-you-encounter-a-coyote-while-walking-your-dog/
The winter grass and wind sings her song.
Ravens join the chorus.
Returning to roots and origin.
Lulled to sleep by the natural world.
The northern cold and snow arrived late this year.
Huddled against the wind we walk icy paths to the hilltop.
A clear view of the cloud-skewed sky.
Pockets of white, grey, and rare blue.
Various footprints scattered from trees to grasses.
We stop briefly to admire the apparent stillness when only the wind is heard, when only the wind is moving, and everything else nestles into warm pockets of earth, or nests high in the trees.
When our feet began feel the cold, we continue down the other side of the hill, back onto the icy path, and head home to our own nests.
Living in the present with thoughts and energy
firmly cast into the past with vivid memories.
Each sunrise across the morning sea,
each moment spent here is with your memory.
So many years have passed,
it feels like yesterday,
the heart is heavy,
the void still waiting.
When the sky turns to gold and the path
I have spent years waiting for on the shoreline
finally appears all my worries and burdens disappear
and I know you are out there waiting.
The video below is 2-minutes of the sun rising over Lake Superior on 01-JAN-2019 in northern MN. The temperature was around -5 with a 5 to 10 mile per hour wind.
The rolling waves, growing sun, and steam rising from the shoreline was focused, calming, and soothing. The morning provided an opening for me to escape the city and walk into the light and energy born from the universe’s beginning.
We know there is no land within what we can see with the naked eye or binoculars, and the maps we poured over in the outdoor gear store confirm this when looking due east. However, in the very early morning as the sun reaches over the top and the sky lights up exposing low hanging clouds above the horizon, the mind will project images of a lost landmass just out of reach.
The jagged skyline filled with mountains rising from the sea. Peaks of unknown height capture light and our attention. Glowing with radiance, they become a wall of fire. I imagine these to be walls of granite glistening from the sea, monoliths showing the power of nature, and the secrets, what we do not yet know. Showing us boundaries of our knowledge, and the limits we must continue to reach toward.
I imagine these lands to be a sanctuary. Perhaps this is heaven, where we go after this life. With the mountains, we live at sea, bathed in the morning golden sun, forever connected to this world, yet free of pain, lose, regrets, and war.
Midnight sky filled with more stars than we’ve ever seen. Trapped in the city lights and pollution we see only the moon, a few planets, and a handful of stars. Here, we are treated to the vastness our home, this planet, swims within on its journey through the galaxy and universe.
Distant lights dancing in the early morning. Is that a ship? A lighthouse?
Columns of grey clouds hold up the morning sky as the sun appears.
The last sunset layers of long thin grey clouds and the subdued orange and purple.
The sea calms as night descends upon us and we retreat indoors to watch the sunset.
Every 2-seconds the lighthouse in Grand Marais, 7 miles away as the crow flies, passes our view.
We have seen no ships close to shore today. We last saw one 2-days ago.
With more time here, I learn the subtle voice of the sea, the movement of the animals, and the words spoken by the trees.
During the transition of day to night, trees grow taller reaching toward the sky free of shadows they consume the landscape until I become one with the night.
We have been visiting this location on Lake Superior for 10-years. Through every season and every weather pattern.
Regardless of what is happening and going on around me, I always come back to that tree.
On the cliff above the turbulent waters, standing tall against the wind, drenched in summer rain, or encased in ice.
A beacon in the frequent storms, a symbol, resilient, always there waiting when we arrive.
I am not clear or aware of the draw I have to this tree, but I choose to let that go and not dwell or search for reasons, and lose myself to the energy.
I suppose the reasons do not matter at the end of the day as I find myself calm, connected, and reflective when in the presence of the tree.
Is something imagined in my mind, or does this stem from beyond here, beyond the horizon that I see?
In some versions of this image, the sky and clouds emerge from the tree-top, and morning steam flows from the cliffs as the sun emerges from the horizon scattering light into waiting clouds, bursting with orange and purple hues.
In other images, the scene has no movements, everything frozen in thick ice reflecting the grey clouds and water absent of the sun.
In all iterations of the scene with myself standing on the shore looking at the tree, I am content and at peace.