Journal of Change

Not so long ago the full moon drew one of our largest tidal swings through the nearby bay. Nearly 12 feet of water coursed in and out, and I went down to have a look. What I found was a journal of change. Its lines were written with light and water and feet; and, as I looked more closely ice too. Such a journal put me in mind of Henry Thoreau and his journals of change.

The whole bay on which I float often was mud to the horizon, and dotted here and there were clammers, who, during this tide, had a chance to dig in beds that are usually submerged. A lot had opened up, even as the season feels devoted to closing inward.

Here are some visual notes from the day, with brief interpretations beneath. You may, of course, read them differently, see different stories. Let us know what you see.

Is not the patterning of the light writing? Can you read it?

Is not the patterning of the light writing? Can you read it?

 

A think line of tracks suggests the ruffled mud is the digging of a clammer.

A thin line of tracks suggests the ruffled mud is the digging of a clammer; the other furrows are the writings of water.

 

Split by ice

Split formatting by ice

 

More words from the long wash of water

More words from the long wash of water

 

Perhaps the thin light lines are the markings of ice sheets of different heights.

Perhaps the thin light lines on the rounded stone are the markings of ice sheets of different heights.

 

Water at slow work wearing away the land; tree persevering.

Water at slow work wearing away the land; tree persevering.

 

And, of course, fall's painting.

And, of course, fall’s painting.

3 Comments

Filed under Arts, Environment, General, Henry David Thoreau, Living Deliberately, Nature, The Roost

3 Responses to Journal of Change

  1. Donna Marie

    The photos of the rocks and stones remind me of the endurance of nature through time. I think to the beautiful rock formations of the Southwest. The free standing Delicate Arch in Arches National Park makes me speechless and moved to tears every time I see it. The various shades of yellow and orange against the blue sky attests to the magnificence of the creator.

    Bryce Canyon with its hoodoos creates a fairyland that resembles the sandcastles made by children. Imagination runs wild here as one may think of gnomes and fairies in this mystical place. The sun creating shadows against the rock enhances its beauty and mystery. I often wonder what words they would speak to me if they could talk. So, I sit in my silence and listen and use my imagination to understand what this special place has to say.

    When I think of rock, I also think of Capital Reef and hiking to summits to watch the setting of the sun. The peace and tranquility fill me with unspoken gratefulness of being able to partake in such beauty.

    When I am in the Southwest, I know that man’s life span is so small compared to the natural world. How many generations of man have walked the same trails and washes as I? How many ancient civilizations have lived and carried out daily lives as I roam the rocky trails? Long after I am gone, future generations hopefully will thread the same paths and be awestruck at what they see.

  2. Tina Shan

    Sandy – your astute reading of nature leaves me in awe of the wonders of this world. I feel liberated in thinking about time in the eye of nature, and find such joy in seeing my surroundings, be it a stone or my neighbor’s window across the shaft, as a canvas. Looking is an art in itself, and I have both you and Thoreau to thank for reminding me to keep a practice at it.

    Best,
    Tina

  3. Thank you for this. For a time I lived on Virginia Road, and was pleased to visit Thoreau’s beautifully restored birth home on his last Birthday.

    I so enjoy your postings
    Marjorie