Sept. 6, 5:30 a.m.
Like a hand cupping a beloved face, a bright crescent holds the round moon.

​Sept. 8, 4:45 p.m.
As a lion proudly displays the fullness of his mane, a large ash tree tosses its crowning leaves in the breeze.

​Sept. 13, 4:45 p.m.
​Ashes smolder with patches of dull red, while a ginkgo bursts into bright yellow flame.

Aug. 6, 6:30 a.m.
Sunrise shimmers across clouds that ripple like corduroy woven from finest silk.

Aug. 7, 6:45 a.m.
As the sun floats over the horizon in a bright orange smudge, every eastbound bird becomes a robin red-breast.

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Aug. 20, 12:30 p.m.
With quiet strength, papery birchbark endures, arching over the space where wood has crumbled back to the soil. 

Still leafless, a locust tree eager for summer’s finery dons clouds for a crown.

My Front Yard
​Photo by Tracy Kugler

July 1, 6:45 p.m.
Like the combination of color, texture and flavor in a good salad, the songs of many birds blend tone, volume, and rhythm, while rustling cattails wrap them together like dressing for the ears.

July 15, 8:15 a.m.
​Cloudless blue sky, smooth and inviting as a fresh sheet of stationery.

July 30, 6:30 a.m.
Morning glories spiral up a stake in a round planter, growing into a swooping cone - a leafy wizard’s hat adorned with sumptuous purple blooms.

The tip of a fir branch claws its way out of a snowbank. After many long weeks of confinement, a hand reaching for lightness and release.

My Front Yard
​Photo by Tracy Kugler

Leaves and twigs appearing beneath retreating snow tell the story of a difficult winter in a lost language of arboreal runes.

Horton Park
​Photo by Tracy Kugler

As tired as I am of shoveling, snow is still fabulously beautiful.

Horton Park

While I was on hiatus for the latter half of 2018, I was still composing moments here and there. I just didn't have time to prepare them and get them posted. I plan to catch up over the next few weeks with monthly installments, working forward from June.

​June 25, 6:45 a.m.
A surprise shower sprinkles the pavement with Dalmatian spots.

​Pierce Butler Route ​

I am slowly beginning to uncurl after being busy elsewhere for the summer and fall. I have a backlog of moments, which will eventually make their way here in some form. I'm also embarking on new activities, weaving moments more intentionally into more direct work to address the climate crisis and related cultural/social/political issues. Here's a bit about where I'm at right now.

On a cold morning after a mild day, frost traces sharp white outlines around each fallen leaf. As I walk across the park lawn, I notice the many shapes of basswood, aspen, hackberry, pin oak, bicolor oak, and gingko leaves. The crisp outline of each individual leaf, the diversity of shapes, and the specific circumstances that have led me to noticing them on this morning, draw me in to a meditation on the particular.

It was a morning like no other. Which is not to say that there was anything especially extraordinary about the day. In fact, I was walking my dog along the same route, through the same park, at the same time I do every weekend morning. But, just like every other ordinary day, this day was unique.