Nature Photography Archives - Page 90 of 116 -

Nothing Can Be the Same Forever*

By Simone Lipscomb | September 24, 2014

“Nothing can be the same forever.”*

When leaves prepare to drop from high perches of limbed stateliness, there is no grief, no sadness. Life wanes yet color transforms veined membranes of chloroplasts into wild symphonies of red, orange, yellow, peach. The glory of their life is in their transforming…their dying.

Death stalks us from our first breath so what if every inhale became a prayer, every sigh a song. What if we take our cue from wisdom of seasons and allow that which is complete a kind and compassionate death. No fighting, no resisting…..just surrendering to the process of change and flow. This is life.

Cycles of nature teach mindfulness of life’s seasons. Birth, growth, harvest, death. This is fullness of living. Grasping creates stagnation, suffering. Beauty is found in change–ebb and flow, dark and light. Breathing, exhaling. Moving, being still. Giving, receiving.

*Quote by Thich Nhat Hanh in the book Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm

Finding Peace in a Broken World

By Simone Lipscomb | September 14, 2014

This morning I read a Facebook post that included a long list of what politicians and oil companies have planned for the Mobile, Alabama area. After reading about the super-tankers that would carry Canadian tar sands oil from Mobile to China and all that would be done to accommodate these carriers of dirty, poisonous, toxic nastiness, I felt myself…my entire being…sort of give up. It was as if something snuffed the light of hope out. How can we continue on the path we are on without disastrous and dire consequences? The all-too-familiar question bounced around in my head.

There was no answer, no comfort–no warm, supportive, comforting arms to embrace me and no voice saying, “It’s gonna be okay.” Alone with my despair, grief and frustration I turned to a tool I use to unravel confusion…writing.

I grabbed my laptop and headed to the hammock swing on the back porch. The grandmother oak tree stands silently yet filled with life: birds twittering, squirrels hopping and leaping, insects droning. Water is splashing in the little pond where a large, quartz crystal sits in the center holding a quiet presence among the ferns and flowers and banana plant. Live oak tree leaves shimmer in the morning light against a blue sky and rays of sunlight find their way through the thick canopy, illuminating moss-covered pavers. Birdsong fills the air…cardinals, wrens, titmice, chickadees all bringing me back to this present moment, this sacred moment.

Living only in the darkness of the possible, disastrous what-ifs is a sure way to drive myself crazy…or at the very least isolate from everything in a quiet corner of a deeply wooded, protected (is there such a place) corner of beauty. While the idea of being a hermit is enticing, it would be self-serving. And let’s face it, this is not the time to hide our light. This is the time to sparkle and let our inner light shine brightly.

While it is easy to become overwhelmed with everything that’s wrong and could potentially destroy life as we know it, we must balance that darkness with good, with light…with what is right. Now is the time to share our voices, our talents, and skills with the planet. There is no more precious gift we can offer than our own light.

This day I am grateful for birdsong, the grandmother oak tree who shelters my home, my cat friends, the wind gently moving the wind chimes to song, my recent re-wilding retreat to the mountains and the awareness that others create in their efforts to let us know what is happening to our beautiful planet….to us.

We can balance the darkness with light, the sadness with joy, and fear with courage. We do this through consciously caring for ourselves and finding peace within our hearts…even when it’s not easy to find in the world.

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.