Little Bang Theory

Spring, in all its magic and Rightness of Place, showcases its peculiar fecundity in ways which go unnoticed at highway speeds. The swelling of pussy willows is matched by so much else which we hustle past in a kind of oblivion which would astonish our ancestors, who were necessarily more attuned to the timing and rhythms of Mother Earth.

Photography has slowed me down a bit, for which I’m grateful - one can’t run around like a chipmunk without eventually burning out. Or getting squashed by a bus…

Anyway, this weekend’s rains found me at River’s Edge in hip boots, carrying an umbrella and my camera gear. And while the lighting was sub-optimal, the outing still connected me to the swelling of the season, of tubes and tissues being pumped full, of the tumescence of life which is done being patient, through with waiting, eager to send forth its children:

New moss bursting forth on the banks of The Deerfield.