The Cantaloupe Moon

Photo by Catch-22 @deviantart.com

A friend shared this photo of the moon that he had taken on a particularly clear Oklahoma evening recently. After my initial "ohh, ahh" reaction to the crystal clear image and the beautiful indigo sky, I got to thinking - as I often do - of how much the moon looks like a cantaloupe. Seriously. Look at the shape, the texture, the lumps, bumps and even the uneven color of the surface. What is particularly striking about the moon in this image, is that there is a definite spot on the lower left side of the lunar surface that looks exactly like where the fruit would be attached to the vine if it were indeed a melon. I have heard people say that the moon is made of green cheese and I have heard of a blue moon but why has no one ever commented on how much like that wonderful fruit, the cantaloupe, the moon actually resembles? Hmm. Something to ponder on a cold November night...Garden of Eden, anyone?

Pink Light

Why is it that light changes so fast? It is a frustrating thing as a photographer and even just as an observer of all things natural - Right about the time you notice the color or texture of the light, it changes. Tonight the clouds were clearing after 4 days of freak early November snow and the mountains in the distance had this pink glow. Bright pink in some places, soft pastel in others, the snow covered mountains not white as one would expect. I have never seen anything like it. The clouds that hugged the tops of the peaks were a bit on the orange side with shades of pink in the undertones. The sky surrounding the clouds was a blue-gray, almost the color of metal. I reached for my camera and realized, of course, that it wasn't in my purse like yesterday. So I madly tried to feel for my iPhone on the seat next to me, all the while looking for the "best" vantage point to take a photo to memorialize this awesome moment in time. I pulled off the freeway and as I raised the phone to snap the image, the light was gone. Poof. Gone. All I have left of that little bit of heaven is the image in my head. I guess that isn't so bad.

Endings and all

Walking through my yard yesterday my mind went off in a strange direction - Death and dying. A cheery subject for a lovely afternoon, I thought to myself. You know those strange conversations you have with yourself from time to time, right? Anyway, the question is: Why is it that somethings die beautifully and others die ugly? I am not just talking about plants.

I saw these coneflowers near my driveway and my first thought was "Ugh, I am going to have to pull those OUT!" but I continued on my way to the other side of the house and as I looked up, I saw the most amazing colors in my Japanese Maple - Humm. Almost side by side, two ways to die. Dried up and hard or colorful and floaty. Is floaty a word? Now I know that the tree isn't exactly dying but the leaves are going to be dead and gone in another day or two - just another mess for me and my broom to sweep up! And yet, the coneflowers would remain exactly where they are until I physically pull them out of the ground. It's a puzzlement. So which is the preferable way to "go" I wonder?

Today I was once again in the yard and found myself looking at both the coneflower and the Maple. I had been busy all afternoon pruning, pulling, raking, burning, stacking wood and hauling...those brightly colored leaves, just a part of the burn pile now. The coneflowers? Still standing proud and tall in the flowerbed. I just couldn't bring myself to pull them out of the ground where they were obviously so deeply rooted.

I guess I admire the tenaciousness of the ugly death. That's the way I will go - prickly, hard and holding on to whatever I can find to keep me upright! Sorry kids.

Why Oh Why

I found myself sweeping the back porch this morning, fall leaves scattered around me like confetti after a parade or something - the two big girls sniffing around mildly interested in this odd human activity. The blond one settled down and watched from a vantage point at the corner of the deck, her dark eyes serious. The black one disappeared into the house for a moment and then she came swooping out the back door, tennis ball in her mouth. I knew what was about to happen but before I could do anything to protect my hard work, she tossed her head and the ball came flying toward me landing in the big pile of scarlet, orange and gold leaves. The black dog was not far behind. When she came up for air, the leaves exploded upwards, scattering and then drifting back down to the wooden deck from whence they had come. All my hard work was gone. Now, I like to sweep as much as the next person so I raised my broom in protest but found I couldn't bring myself to reprimand her. There was a simple joy that radiated from that silky black face, tongue hanging crazily out and tail wagging like there was no tomorrow. I found myself just staring at that silly dog and wondering why it is that some creatures can be so joyous? Why would the simple act of trying to entice a game of ball and landing in a pile of leaves make something so happy? Why do we humans not seem to have the simple ability to just be joyful most of the time? Why do we worry about the inconsequential like who took the garbage out, who left one square of toilet paper on the roll or my favorite, did you make the bed before leaving this morning? I don't know the answer but I know this: I wish that for just five minutes I could be that black dog and feel the joy of jumping into a pile of something and not worrying about what others will think.