growing old, haiku, philosophy, photography

Wisdom in Wood

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The haiku titles in my response to

Wisdom ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #124

stretch the word.  Another response stretches it similarly.

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After the leaves have fallen in a wooded area, the good news is that we get a relatively unobstructed view of the tree trunks and branches.  The bad news is that it is not clear which of the trees are alive.

With one exception, all the trees and branches shown in this post are alive.

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Wisdom in Wood #1
|Singing silent songs
|of injury and healing,
|trees refuse to quit.

Wisdom in Wood #2
|Never die?
|No, the choice is to
|never quit.

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growing old, haiku, humor, miracle, photography

Mundane Miracle – Pond

For me at least, a major consolation for the decreased mobility that comes with age is an increased appreciation of mundane miracles close to home.  One example is considered here; I hope to post a few more in coming months.

Long ago, I drove/flew/drove to a motel in the town on the western edge of Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado.  Soon afterwards, I hiked into the park, admired an alpine lake, ate a trail lunch, and hiked out in a thunderstorm that mocked my “waterproof” boots.  Nothing epic, but well beyond me now.  That’s OK.  I did it once (which was more than enough for the thunderstorm part).

Some people consider it a miracle when the government does something right.  Over the years since that trip to Colorado, the EPA adopted (and enforced!) vehicle emissions standards.  I can walk the roads near my house w/o being assaulted by trucks and school buses belching black diesel crud.  Their exhaust is still smelly and unhealthy, but not bad enough to ruin a walk on a breezy day.  So I can often walk about 1.5 miles to the far end of an artificial pond beside the road.  An artificial pond ringed by hilly pasture land is not the same as a natural lake ringed by mountains, but water is water and blue sky is blue sky.

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After a few rainy days, excess water in the pond rushes thru a culvert under the road and into the little brook that was dammed to create the pond. I can admire the exuberant splashing on the rocks in the brook w/o dwelling on the artificiality of the scene.

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Sound of Sunlight

Rushing waters bring
joy to those who hear them sing
and see them sparkle.