It is a gift - French Creek State Park, a true gift. To be able to walk into another world is a wonderful thing. And French Creek offers me this opportunity any time of the year. There are so many thoughts to wade through, to process, to allow, to ponder. There are many things to consider, to decide and then, of course there are dreams. Dreams are what Lynn and I love. There are many dreams to dream. But I must walk and I must walk slowly for any of this to happen.
So, I walk alone in French Creek State Park, not far, but far enough. My mind travels miles. The puddles offer me an outstretched hand to other worlds. Trees in puddles are slides to the blue sky below. I look down to see the top. Sometimes I want life to be in a puddle. I want to see life from a different angle. And I really want others to do the same.
Distortion is pretty and luringly distracting. Objects in puddles with breezes moving over the surface provides a canvas of wetness.
Lichen on a fallen log calls me to go behind a tree and climb into a fairy outfit. I hop from lichen plotch to lichen plotch. I look for the other fairies. Someday I will see one.
The decorator uses simplicity to their advantage. I love the splash of color near the water.
Though I have never traveled to England on this very rock I am there. The grey sky calls me deeper into the melancholy mood.
The colors, it's the colors that move me, that sing to me, that pull me into worship.
Rocks upon rocks with a splash of lichen and a hint of moss - it is too much for me to take in one day.
The amount of twigs and leaves, and grass pulled together in a created place will never cease to marvel and entertain me. To find a nest nestled between twigs is a natural treat.
The grey with red and tones of brown completely fill my soul with spirit wine.
It is well with my soul on a cloudy, grey afternoon during the last week of December.