Flight of the Butterfly

When on a walk inside the deepness of the Park, I moved slowly through it's circuit of trails, each leading one leading off to other places. The day was peaceful, except for the hungry mosquitoes had, but I didn't stop too long to feed their taste for blood. Nearby, a butterfly landed on a Dandelion; it was yellow and dark with tints of blue over the wings. I stepped closer, bent down, and fixed the insect in the center of my lens. The butterfly danced around the golden center of the flower, sometimes sideways or flattened out in shape. The pictures clicked in succession the different steps within the dance. I knew somewhere along this path, a freshness of sight would find that moment's view. Afterward, I left with the hope that other secret moments still were there along the trail, when all was silent in the flight of a butterfly--perhaps a gift for someone else to see.

Geraniums

The Geraniums lay within the thickness of Horse Tails near the fence. They glowed in lavender colors. Closer inspection of them revealed a wealth of details--of smaller, but still unopened buds in the busy spaces between the flowers. The lighting had superimposed the shapes of stars around the petaled structures. From here, the exploration of angles and positions was movement into unknown country, inside a small area alongside the busy road.

The Lake in June

The day started out with a cast of gray, but I didn't mind. Here at Ptarmigan Lake, the fullness of Mountains held it like two giant hands. The four miles to the back of the lake traveled around cliffs, over the rolling shapes of hills, alongside rocky south slopes, where snow slides had hurled down their loads from a mile above. But now a cool breeze and humid heat interplayed as the day advanced. The sun rolled through the thick layers of cloud, and by afternoon danced in a million points on the lake. And here in the shady coves, on the edges between the water and woods, the small enclaves of flowers stood, so colorful against the gray clouds that mixed with the swirling waves that rolled up upon the shore. The purples of Lupine, reds of Columbine, and greens of Cow Parsnip made this place a garden by the lake. The beauty was an outpouring in June,when the light was near maximum in length. And in other small coves and even on the cliffs, the colors appeared, and only I alone was here to share this moment by that distant shore.

The small flowers, especially the ones that lie deeper in the woods, are often overlooked. Yet in their simplicity, the white flowers have a delicacy--a feeling of softness against the wall of green grass and plants. In their tiny habitation, the scale of size only makes them a center of interest. Move in closer, observe the minute spaces of less than 1/10th of a foot. Even here the detail is intense and the wonders only now make themselves known to the eye.

The Columbine

Along the cool and sequestered trail, with the morning light touching the tops of foliage, in this fringe-land are accents of red, of Columbine. On tall and slender stalks the Red-Yellow flower bends as though in prayer. Looking closer, I see the star of Red, and composed of yellow, the center hovers above the ground. And from below the insect must ascend one of the five yellow chambers of the flower. The Columbine comes early to the woods, and sprinkles the wayside with her colors. Each plant brings a gift of time, and shows to the world a fashion statement of this land.

The World of Flowers

They appear in yellows, then soft pinks and blues, and as the summer moves along, the whites and reds burst into view. This succession has a worked out design. Nature allows for a time and place for her creatures. In each phase of late May, June, and in the high part of July ( When the building light now fades), the flowers of many colors have come and gone, given place to other ones to shine. If they all came in June, then the world would not support the explosion at once, and the seasons would not be.

Red House, Birch Tree, and Black Cat

My friend Josh likes old houses, historical types that have integrity about them. Sunday came and we drove around the older parts of Anchorage, from Government Hill to the area near the bay and downtown. I begin to realize I had passed these areas many times without a thought of how the architecture combined with the natural setting. The terminology was scant and nebulous in my mind.Josh explained and described the pieces and the parts, the historical time lines for the houses we passed by. I realized that that to know another kind of beauty was to learn another language in the musical movements of form.

The Upper Class View

Even in the urban landscape, windows of far-off vistas peek into this everyday human world. What can make the picture speak in a language of artistic sensibility? The city has mirrored the patterns of growth through human hands, recreating Nature's plan. Trees are trimmed,pots are planted, and architecture built along the bay. Through the empty spaces, the wide stretch of inlet and cloud banks lie. These people here, I think, are blessed with a view that others cannot share, except in passing through. They feel the ownership that others only dream of--they are the upper class whose long work days pay for this claim. Manicured lawns and alder mix, of city and Nature combined. I catch the view of a sunny afternoon, then return to my neighborhood filled with houses and only the sky above.