For the Love of Green

    One of the things I love best about late summer is the lush panoply of green it offers as a visual feast to those who take the time to stop and look. All that green somehow leaves me satiated and satisfied. This year we have had so much rain that nature and her display of green are dazzling in both their intensity and variety. Even the grass in my yard has fared well. Instead of the withered stalks that August usually offers, I am finding new growth of verdant shoots poking up each day.

    In just a month or so, the leaves will begin to lose their chlorophyll, but today I am thankful for all that gorgeous color that greets me everywhere!

    Here's a pictorial ode to the magnificent lush green of summer. Oh how I will miss you when winter rolls around...

And this one of the Smoky Mountains in East Tennessee

And here is lovely Radnor Lake, right down the road from me...

Another glimpse of Radnor's gentle green

How about this beautiful and symbolic ray of light

Or this one, where the sunlight seems to wink at you as it calls you to come and explore

And there in the midst of all that green are treasures untold...

Close up of the lovely wild geranium

You would have to look very carefully to find this friend

These tiny treasures won't last in the heat of day

But this little hideaway will stay cool all day long

In the words of William Wordsworth,

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth and every common sight

To me did seem

Appareled in celestial light

The glory and the freshness of a dream...

Such is the gift of summer!

Welcome to our World Supermoon

   With all of the hype surrounding the new movie adaption of Superman, 

I could not resist the allusion...

It's a bird, it's a plane, no, it's Supermoon! 

This Sunday, June 23, marks the occasion of this year's Supermoon. 

For you science geeks (I am one), this is the technical definition of what you are likely to see:

Also known as a perigee full moon, the Supermoon event occurs when a full moon lines up with the Earth and the sun at a specific point in its orbit, called the lunar perigee. That's the point at which the moon is nearest to Earth as it traces its elliptical path around our planet. 

The best viewing time for this year's Supermoon should be Sunday evening, June 23, 2013, shortly after dusk.

There. Doesn't that make you feel better? So now you know.

The moon has always entranced, intrigued and beguiled.

When we are children we sing songs about this glimmering orb that fills our sky with wonder.

There are the tender lullabies

I see the moon and the moon sees me

The moon sees somebody I long to see.

So, God bless the moon and God bless me.

And God bless the 'somebody I long to see.

And the silly nursery rhymes

Hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle

The cow jumped over the moon

The little dog laughed to see such sport

And the dish ran away with the spoon

And who could forget the words 

of the beloved children's storybook Goodnight Moon?

In the great green room 

there was a telephone

and a red balloon 

and a picture of

the cow jumping over the moon...

Goodnight room

Goodnight light and the red balloon

Goodnight cow jumping over the moon 

Goodnight room

Goodnight air

Goodnight voices everywhere...

And then there are these beautiful words from the British poet Percy Bysshe Shelley,

Heaven's ebon vault, 

studded with stars unutterably bright, 

through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, 

seems like a canopy which love has spread to curtain her sleeping world.

Step outside to see the show. Here she comes in all of her glory.

That glimmering orb that so entrances us is drawing close once again.

The heavens declare the Glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of His hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech
night after night they reveal knowledge,
They have no speech, they use no words
no sound is heard from them
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth
their words to the ends of the world
                      Psalm 19: 1-4

What celestial song does the moon sing?

What angelic music does she employ as she utters her praise?

What wonder, what beauty, what symmetry, what mystery 

she brings as gifts to the nighttime sky.

She is the Earth's fine evening song, 

not just for mankind,

but for all creatures everywhere.

Winter's Song

     Somehow winter seems not to have gotten the message. Its arrival here in Middle Tennessee is long overdue. Despite the gloom that winter sometimes casts across my soul, I love and appreciate the singularity of its beauty, for it is the very starkness that sleeps in the heart of winter that sets my imagination free to roam and wander at will.
    Moreover, I am always amazed by the articulated expectancy I find in winter; truly it seems as though the Earth is pregnant with a longing so deep that it nearly transcends words. It is a song of snow and ice and the fire that burns within. Longfellow says it well.

       Woods in Winter by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods,

The embracing sunbeams chastely play,

And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,

The summer vine in beauty clung,

And summer winds the stillness broke,

The crystal icicle is hung.

      

       

       Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

                     Pour out the river's gradual tide,

                        Shrilly the skater's iron rings,

                      And voices fill the woodland side.

             Alas! how changed from the fair scene,

                When birds sang out their mellow lay,

                     And winds were soft, and woods were green,

                And the song ceased not with the day!

         But still wild music is abroad,

          Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;

              And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,

          Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

            Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear

         Has grown familiar with your song;

    I hear it in the opening year,

       I listen, and it cheers me long.

Both images were taken by a former student of mine, Josh B. Carter.

Marvelous Wonderful Savior...Come to Earth as a Babe

I never grow tired of marveling over the wonder of it all...

Source: marvelouskiddo.blogspot.com via Kathy on Pinterest

 A Christmas Poem by Christina Rosetti (written 1872, later set to music)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

The words to this beloved and oft-sung hymn have never seemed more apropos...

Oh, Come, Oh, Come Emmanuel 

Oh, Come, oh, Come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come O Rod of Jesse's stem,

From ev'ry foe deliver them

That trust your mighty pow'r to save;

Bring them in vict'ry through the grave.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, O Key of David, come,

And open wide our heav'nly home;

Make safe the way that leads on high,

And close the path to misery.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,

And cheer us by your drawing nigh,

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,

And death's dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind

In one the hearts of all mankind;

Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,

And be yourself our King of Peace.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to you, O Israel!

O Come Let us Adore Him

    Since the Advent of the Christ, man has sought to capture the story of the Savior's birth with music, pen, and brush. I am drawn to the classical artists and their interpretations of the Nativity. I invite you to enter into the scenes pictured below and to become an observer. Perhaps you, too, will kneel in the straw to pay Him homage.

Gerard Van Honthorst, 1622

I love this interpretation of the Nativity. See how the light emanates forth from the Christ Child, and how he is the center of adoration. Joseph has laced his hands on the horns of the cow and seems comfortable with what is transpiring; his gentle smile says it all. I love the humble faces of the shepherds, and in particular the boy who is turning aside to say something about the baby while he points his finger at the child they have come to see. I like to think that there are other shepherds standing outside the cave, awaiting their turn to see this Savior whose birth had been announced to them by an angelic host.

Caravaggio, 1609

Here an exhausted woman reclines, just having given birth. Mary's weariness is portrayed in the bent of her hands, but her love for the babe she has borne comes through in the tilt of her head and the expression on her face. Note how the angel bends low as he seeks to look into the face of the long awaited One.

Adoration of the Shepherds, Georges de La Tour, 1644

This is one of my favorite paintings. The artist, Georges de La Tour, invites you to become the sixth person in the scene, bidding you to come and worship. All is still and quiet; you can almost hear a pin drop. Even the lamb does not utter a sound. There is such simplicity and stillness bound together with a sense of wonder and awe. Note that the illumination in the painting comes from a candle shielded from view by the left hand of Joseph. I love that Mary's face seemingly has an oriental cast to it and her robe is reminiscent of a kimono.

Here's a close-up of the lamb and the Christ-child who was born to be the Lamb of God. 

The following verse was written in 1656. That year, under the reign of Oliver Cromwell, England was in the middle of the Anglo-Spanish War, which began in 1654. Before it ended in 1660, the conflict had pulled in the Caribbean, the Canary Islands, and the Spanish Netherlands.

from THE NATIVITY 
Peace? and to all the world? sure, One
And He the Prince of Peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more again.

~ Henry Vaughan (1622-1695), Welsh physician and poet

All That Glitters

   It's the last gasp of autumn before true winter comes to claim what is hers. The leaves have mostly fallen to become curled and brittle shadows of themselves. Once again, the earth is preparing itself for sleep.
    But here and there the gold and the red still shine. These tender beauties cling to trees that have been protected from the North wind or have been sheltered by other trees.
    Their beauty is haunting.

Source: gbirlik.tumblr.com via Diane on Pinterest

Source: fineartamerica.com via Diane on Pinterest

And fraught with magic and a sense of the Divine.

Source: icingsofcolor.tumblr.com via Diane on Pinterest

Source: inspirationlane.tumblr.com via Diane on Pinterest

It is an otherworldly beauty that calls forth the longing for the immortal in the heart of mankind.

From Blue Pueblo (Callender, Scotland)

Source: fineartamerica.com via Diane on Pinterest

I cannot help but be reminded of this bit of poetry from J.R.R. Tolkien, a writer who knew all about the magic of the seasons of the earth as well as the seasons of a man's life. 

All that is gold does not glitter
and all that is long does not last;
All that is old does not wither
not all that is over is past.

Do not grow weary in well-doing. He is coming soon. Just as He said he would.

       Woods in Winter by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods,

The embracing sunbeams chastely play,

And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,

The summer vine in beauty clung,

And summer winds the stillness broke,

The crystal icicle is hung.

      

       

       Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

                     Pour out the river's gradual tide,

                        Shrilly the skater's iron rings,

                      And voices fill the woodland side.

             Alas! how changed from the fair scene,

                When birds sang out their mellow lay,

                     And winds were soft, and woods were green,

                And the song ceased not with the day!

         But still wild music is abroad,

          Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;

              And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,

          Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

            Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear

         Has grown familiar with your song;

    I hear it in the opening year,

       I listen, and it cheers me long.

Both images were taken by a former student of mine, Josh B. Carter.

Winter came down to our home one night
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow,
And we, we were children once again.
~Bill Morgan, Jr.

And this scene brings to mind one of my all-time favorite 

poems by the inimitable Robert Frost

 Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

 

We are enjoying what has become a relatively rare occurrence 

in our area: a magnificent snow.

The air is dry and the flakes are light and fluffy. The snow has been coming down steadily since mid-day, and I can no longer even see the taller tufts of grass in my yard. Along the fence line, it has blown into deeper drifts. My dogs have been in and out all day, running their noses along the ground, snorting the snow, chasing the birds and squirrels and coming inside to shake themselves dry. They run to welcome me with noses wet and eyes glistening. They are happy, and so am I. My refrigerator is stocked, I have soup simmering gracefully on the stove, 

and my loved ones are all home safe and sound. 

I love the quiet of the snow. I am taking time to listen today.