Nature Photography Archives - Page 88 of 114 -

Fog and Cold Water

By Simone Lipscomb | September 11, 2014

The final day of my re-wilding retreat began on Clingman’s Dome at an elevation of 6, 643 feet. The only day I chose to wear shorts and the air was literally a cloud of 50 degrees with high wind whipping it into frenzied, cotton-candy fragments. Thankfully I had fleece and a warm jacket and boots with wool socks that replaced my flip flops.

I wandered around the lower part of the trail and decided against a hike to the top. Dodging piles of bear scat deterred me, especially since it was densely foggy and I didn’t want to surprise a bear during his or her morning constitutional outing. If there had been other hikers I would have gone but there was simply too much bear energy afoot for me to venture up the steep trail with heavy camera and recording gear by myself.

But I didn’t feel cheated. I captured some sweet bird song with my new recording gear and even got some decent wind recordings. The images I took were also fun; however, it was simply the experience of being in the high elevation in a fogged-in situation that made it so lovely. Smelling the coniferous rainforest smells–the fir trees–always takes me to a higher level of experience. That smell is big Medicine for me.

I stood in the thick clouds, surrounded by white mist. My hair became drenched by the moisture and droplets could be heard falling from fir branches like rain. Blissful, sweet dawn…healing dawn.

After a while I made my way down from Newfound Gap and finally found myself under the clouds. The sun was bright and the air much warmer. I stopped at a favorite spot to send prayers of gratitude to Spirit and to the powerful presence of nature energies found in the protection of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

While wading in the clear, cold, rushing water I paused and placed my hands in the water. I felt the completion of a cleansing that began when I arrived a few days ago. With it came a renewed sense of joy. It’s amazing what these sacred mountains offer, the least of which is fog and cold water.

Coyotes and Deer and Bears…Oh, MY!

By Simone Lipscomb | September 10, 2014

This morning’s visit to my sacred grounds was off-the-chart with good soul medicine. With better light today, photography was easier. And I suppose the animals liked the sunnier weather as they were out and well-represented at dawn.

I had a nice visit with a white-tailed buck who cared less that I was photographing him. There were other deer and a doe that showed off her jumping skills as she cleared two fences in apparent nervous flight. I’m guessing the star of my morning, a wily coyote, is what spooked the little girl. Not long after she cleared the second fence, Mr. Hilarious trotted out of the field and got in front of my car and escorted me down the gravel road.

He finally angled off the road and was headed into a thicket of trees. I had just caught up with him as he entered the woods so made some little whooping sounds. He sat down and started scratching. I hurried to set the ISO, aperture and shutter speed on my camera and got a few nice shots. He stood up to leave and I made the same funny whooping hoots and he sat down again and scratched. It was probably coincidence but it made me laugh just wondering if I accidently discovered a secret coyote sitting spell.

Later, after visiting a beautiful little roadway in another part of the park and finding my bliss in photographing and sound-recording water, I went back to Cades Cove. The traffic was a bit trying (code for: I lost my patience) and a bear jam didn’t help matters. I managed to catch a glimpse of a mother and two cubs as the park volunteer scared them up a hill. I’ve seen people act completely stupid with bears, forgetting that they are not tame, cuddly creatures but very large mammals with four-inch claws. However, those are stories for another day….and they do explain how the gene pool gets cleansed on occasion.

The wildness here, even with many visitors, is what calls to me. I find quiet places where few people go and spend a few moments completely lost in the creative process of capturing the essence of a stream or flower or dew-soaked spider web. In the quiet, when it’s just the crickets and birds and wind singing the story of this place, I am at peace. I am connected to something grand, magnificent. I am home.

Listening to Earth

By Simone Lipscomb | September 9, 2014

It’s quiet here. Or perhaps I should say it’s still here. In the pale, pre-dawn light, the soothing sounds of crickets and other night-singers serenade me as I sit in the car, waiting in line with anticipation for the gate to open and allow a visit Cade’s Cove at sunrise.

Blue-gray fog hovers just above tree tops. Drops of moisture slide down tiers of leaves and finally on to soft, rain-soaked soil. Staccato drop….drop….SPLAT! Cool air caresses my face as it tentatively enters my open windows, soundless but equally pleasurable.

Softly, slowing the morning arrives. There is no place on Earth I would rather be than in this wild and protected place. I too feel safe here, protected and free to connect with wild acres of forest, meadow and stream…and resident wildlife.

Finally the gate opens and the line of vehicles slowly disperses, each of us going to our own sweet spot. With no particular plan, I am guided to the Primitive Baptist Church. It’s down a gravel road and sits, front door open, welcoming me.

I walk in timidly, checking to see if a bear family or, even more scary, a skunk family might have used it for their morning napping place but there is nobody here except me and the beautiful spiritual presence of this place. The potent nature energies weave through the building and invite a balance of human and nature.

As is my custom, whenever I find myself alone here, I sing. Today I notice how the notes and words roll through the large room, how the sound moves in waves…wave upon wave reverberating through old rough-hewn lumber.

I move on as other humans began to arrive and find myself, once again, alone.

This time I am sitting on a large rock, with a large fuzzy-covered microphone in hand and headphones over my ears. I am recording nature sounds–specifically…rushing water. I explore how sound bounces off of large rocks. It seems some rocks hold sound and I find myself intrigued and hold the mic beside a beautiful moss-covered gray rock sitting on the edge of the creek. I’m listening to Earth, I think. How sweet it feels to connect so deeply with Her.

At the end of the day fatigue from lack of sleep and long travels has disappeared and been replaced with an inner calm that is profound. Vision usually guides me in my explorations into the wilds but today sweet sounds of Earth were the guide. Something within me that was asleep has awakened and I feel more alive, more present…simply from listening to Earth.

Medicine for My Soul

By Simone Lipscomb | September 7, 2014

The heavy cloud-bank hugged the top of the mountains. Insubstantial in the physical realm, the ethereal beauty made it appear solid, like a living thing.

I don’t know why the first sight of mountain peaks makes me feel safe, secure and at home. I am mermaid by birth but these southern mountains feel like home for me. And it’s been that way since I was a kid. The Smoky Mountains were always my first choice for family vacations. And once there, I didn’t want to leave. On childhood visits I remember a deep sense of sadness when I had to leave with my family to return to the Alabama coast.

Several years ago my life-long dream of living in the mountains came true and I purchased a mountain home in Asheville. Equipped with a huge wall of windows and cathedral ceilings, I lived in a true Tree Church. But big water called me to Her and I sold my home and moved back to my place of birth.

Inspiration feels like work for me in the flat, coastal land…my soul feels lost. But one glimpse of the magnificent cloud, rolling and caressing the high peaks, and I felt alive again, at home with myself again.

The most productive and creative part of my life was while I lived on the side of a mountain. The sensation was one of expansion, of reaching out to touch something bigger than me….that was also reaching out for me.

Florida is where I’m ‘supposed’ to be this weekend. I had planned to be cave diving through the clear, underground aquifers in north Florida with friends but last week I had a strong inclination to change gears and visit ‘my’ mountains…perhaps as a way to fix the malaise in which I’ve found myself over the past year….or more.

Sure enough, as soon as I saw the mountains enveloped by cloud I felt aligned, at home with myself and at peace. I felt I could breathe again. How can I bottle this and take it back to my cottage on the coast?

It’s odd, seeing that I feel at home diving underwater with rays, fish and coral more than I do walking among humans. So why are the mountains…specifically the Smoky’s, my spiritual home? Do they remind me, like being underwater, of my inner wild woman? Or some past from another time?

Maybe no explanation is necessary. Perhaps my soul needs the vastness of the ocean and mountains, both of which call to my wild spirit. Here, nestled among the oldest mountains on the planet, I feel support and love from the Earth herself. I feel myself breathe and expand and connect with Spirit effortlessly. This is Medicine for my soul.

Staying Open

By Simone Lipscomb | August 24, 2014

Today was the last day of sunrise sea turtle patrol for me but I was fortunate in that I got to sub for another team member on Friday so two sunrises on the beach this week. And that’s when it started…two days ago…a nagging question.

Six o’clock found me struggling through soft, white sand as I walked the mile and a half route. It was a lovely morning with the Gulf of Mexico sending small, sweet waves onto the shore but I felt nothing. And I noticed that nothingness. It surprised me. Usually I’m in tune with the salt water and happy vibes are pouring out from my heart and mind but that day it felt like a vacuum where my heart was. I couldn’t connect.

It bothered me and as I walked I pondered that feeling of the ‘booooinnng’…like the beauty and light and delight bouncing off a closed door. Why am I closed? What’s happening, I wondered. So I journeyed inward and explored a bit.

I felt the sea reaching out with her watery fingers, trying to find an answering response from me but I remained shut down, distracted. My mind wandered and found a question: Am I closed down because of fear? Do I fear losing this beauty and so I’m acting like it’s already gone?

And then I wondered if we do that with each other. Do we allow fear to close our hearts and minds rather than remain open? Is this what keeps us from connecting with friends, lovers, partners? Are we so afraid of getting hurt that we refuse to open our hearts?

Today’s walk was better but if felt like I was in quick sand. The fluffy sand seemed to suck my feet so I stopped several times and just stared out over the water. What’s happening? I’m strong and fit so why is this so difficult?

During one of my pauses I thought of the list of sad things happening to and on our planet: Hurricanes in the Pacific, tropical storm in the Atlantic, earthquake in California, volcano erupting in Iceland, ebola in Africa, Russia invading a sister country, Israel bombing apartments and schools in the Gaza strip, the Middle East about to go up in flames, fracking by the fossil fuel industry, oil spill fallout in wildlife species, police officers shooting unarmed kids, people fighting each other over other violence…..dear God…how are any of us sane? And I don’t watch the news….this list is simply from an occasional view of NPR news.

I realized that part of my not connecting to nature is a deep concern that we’re basically going to reach a tipping point from which we cannot recover. The emotional toll of the BP oil spill was gruesome in my life yet I clearly see what can happen if we stay closed and refuse to work together for solutions…for the environment, social ills, violence. Closing myself off is a protection. But it does nothing to make positive change.

It’s difficult keeping an open heart and mind when it appears as if everything is failing; yet, there is no more important time to be open and allowing of the connection between myself and nature, myself and others than now. The challenge we all face is staying open when nothing is scarier. Now is the time for courage. It is the time for love and open hearts…and minds. How can we create a safe place to be open?