Look closely.

I think I discovered another benefit of being a kid. You can run without touching the ground. I recall as a kid that it felt like I could run forever, that it was the preferred way to get somewhere (how many times were you told by an adult "Don't run!"), and that it felt like I was flying. Well, truth is...you do fly. After all, you don't weigh that much, your smaller size allows you to slip through the molecules of air, and all of those cartoons showed people and animals flying in mid-air, especially after running off a cliff, until they realized they were flying. So part of flying comes from running with pure abandon. Excuse me, I've got to go and try this with my new-found insight. See you in the air!

Road Construction Ahead, "Significant Delay", Consider Alternative Route. I'm a reader, I considered the warning and we had a long way to go with a 6 year old grand-daughter, so I looked for an alternate route. There was a highway that ran parallel to Interstate 40 that looked easily accessible, and it passed through Brinkley, Arkansas. And just as would happen, we needed a bathroom stop. Brinkley has an impressive brick railroad depot (for Arkansas) that has become a community museum (with restrooms). So we stopped and had a delightful visit. The two women who staffed the museum were delighted that we stopped and had to show and explain every item to Madeline. And they told me don't miss the old depot out back. It was a gorgeous spring day with pear trees blooming and clouds in a blue sky. And frequent trains that passed by. My alternate route took a little longer, but I hate to be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. And this detour turned out to be a lot more fun. And who's to say which way was the detour.

I rejoice in being able to see. And what a joy it is to be able to share what I see with others.

I admit I notice things. Some things are worth a photo; others are not. I have gone on photo tours with professional photographers and I am fascinated by when they do and don't pick up a camera. Some scenes must be too common, too mundane to take a photo. There is a difference in the digital age. When one used film, it cost money to take a picture, besides the cost of equipment; film and processing could get expensive. But now, shoot as many as you want; it's close to free. So now we have lots of photos that we might have skipped because it would have cost money. Hmmm, you know what that makes them worth...

But there are other times, when the light or the subject takes your breath away. That's when you are glad to see. And a photo becomes valuable, at least to you, because it is a reminder of a moment, a friend, a memory that is in less danger of fading away--because you have a picture.

This is dawn over Lake Superior. I suspect, if you didn't know the location, that it could appear to be sunset.

Sunday in church I began to ponder something that was said (not during the sermon, I would never daydream during the sermon!) about senior adults and what age that status began. I'm not ready to declare myself a senior, although I am on Medicare, much to the disappointment of my physician. I receive pension and social security payments. What hair I have is white, and the store clerks ALWAYS ask if I need help to take my purchases to the car. (Well, maybe I came on the Senior Bus!) I'm not ready to be categorized that way. I was in such a rush to be a teenager (although that time was rather brief), and then to finish schooling, and then on to the next challenge. I even anticipated retirement, but not to be "golden" or "silver" or "senior" or in the "sunset of my life." And Sunday, I realized that this period of my life could last a long time (I'm in good health). Certainly longer than being a teenager, and maybe even the twenty years of schooling, and probably longer than any place I ever lived (several are tied at 6 years). This could be a terrific time, and I could certainly use companions for the rest of the journey, whether they are Seniors or Juniors or just enjoy being alive!

But could we come up with another word to describe this era and those of us who have made it this far and intend for much more?

I noticed this Shagbark Hickory on a walking trail near the Natchez Trace last week. These trees, found only east of the Mississippi and not near the coast, can grow to a height of 80 feet and live 200 years. The bark appears loose and in long strips, as if the tree is peeling or shedding its bark. You could probably put your hand easily under the loose bark.

I found it fascinating that it appeared as if the bark was ready to fall off. The bark strips added to the appearance of the girth of the tree. Remove the bark, and how much of a tree do you have left? But, how can it be a tree without the bark? The bark gives it character and identity and protection. I'm not crusty after all. I just have fascinating bark.

Continuing the theme from yesterday...

This is the large, old oak tree that overlooks the field where Madeline plays soccer on Saturdays. I have noticed it every time. This Saturday, the sun was shining behind it in the late afternoon. I don't know how old it is. Part of this area is the historic setting of the Battle of Nashville, during the Civil War. I suspect it could be 100 years old. There are two large oaks at the back border of our yard, but they are not this large. I'm working on a project I call Tree Stories. I suspect this one has a story or two. Especially, if it's 150 years old. Then it could tell stories of soldiers running this way and that. Now, it's little boys and girls kicking and chasing a ball. I guess the older you get, the more stories you have. I'm getting more every day. Some are more worth telling than others.

The few hours after dawn and before sunset are magical.

We had driven down the Natchez Trace making several stops along the way until we got to the monument marking the grave of Meriwether Lewis. One of the rules for photographers is always check behind you for another photograph. Sure enough, I thought this image was more striking than the monument. Here were several large dogwood trees and the evening sunlight shining through them at an angle signaled their beauty. The entire woods was singing.

Stop. Look. Pause. Drink it in.

Look some more. Listen with your ears and your eyes. This time and place is magical.

And it happens over and over again.

With all of the rain this week, perhaps a return visit to Burgess Falls is in order.

Burgess Falls has four separate cascades that allow the Falling Water River to drop more than 250 feet in a short distance. The last falls, pictured above, is 136 feet high, (17 stories tall). From this perspective above the falls, it does not look that large, but when compared to a 17 story building that is quite a distance. This is the view of the entire falls; I posted a photo of a portion of the falls earlier in the week. I just can't get enough!