Fog Spirits and Tree Cookies

“Faith is like radar that sees through the fog – the reality of things at a distance that the human eye cannot see. “

Corrie ten Boom

It was mild for January. Misty.  50 degrees warmer than a week earlier. Fog greeted us in the early morning and enveloped us by mid-afternoon.

Rambling along a backroad, taking it slow, I opted to turn left instead of right. I was so close to the Morton Arboretum that I decided, then and there, to go for a visit. It had been so long since I spent time at my favorite outdoor museum. I cut through the fog and dove into the “soup” for a few laps around the grounds.

I drove the west side first, biding my time, wending around the alternate route past Lake Marmo. There, I spotted a bird of prey surveying the grounds.

I parked the car and wandered over to the Visitor’s Center to check out the gift shop and then, my real reason for the stop, to indulge in a cup of hot white chocolate! White chocolate on a soupy day – what more could one want? Tom was nearby and ended up joining me. On the way to refreshments my eye caught this half eaten tree cookie.

There is usually an engaging, hand-crafted arrangement near the entry of the Visitor Center, assembled with plant material found on the grounds of the Arb. This unique arrangement caught my eye and whet my appetite to fashion an arrangement to soon.

Click onto the photo for a better view.

Refreshed and renewed, my Antler Man homeward-bound, I opted to drive around the east side of the Arboretum, even as the fog thickened from soup to stew and blurred the horizon.

I could still see the shapes of trees, but, they took on a mysterious manner with distorted apparitions – fog spirits – as far as the eye could see in a muffled atmosphere that rejuvenated me as I took the long way home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Perfectly Imperfect

We often see only that which we perceive as perfect, unflawed, without blemish. Fashion models and model homes. Flawless complexions and svelte figures. Glossy advertisement and enhanced photography. It is, I think, human nature to appreciate beauty, but, we often are swayed as to what beauty is.  For instance, this bouquet. It caught my eye – for its perfect imperfection!

There is usually a floral arrangement at the information desk just inside the Visitor’s Center of the Morton Arboretum. It is most often a seasonally inspired collection of flowers, branches, leaves and more.  I believe the natural materials used are gathered from the grounds of the Arboretum. The arrangements are always an inviting and cheerful welcome to the Visitor’s Center; a handshake, if you will, to the vast acreage of Morton Arboretum.

On what was mostly a crisp and cloudy day, the sun suddenly appeared, just as I passed this Autumnal arrangement. I walked past, then pivoted around for a second look.

Some things are worth a second look.

It was the unusual color of the leaves that gave me pause. I am familiar with hosta leaves and their many variations, but, I was unfamiliar with this particular color combination. I stood a few feet across from the desk for a moment and admired it, before I stepped closer and took a few photos with my cell phone. It was then that I realized that these leaves were a bit past their prime. They were, in fact, fading , wrinkled – and beautiful!

I squealed (more a squeak) drawing a few quizzical glances.  “Oh, sorry. I was just admiring this arrangement and love that the leaves were left to fade a bit”.

The faded leaves, which I assume were originally a cream color, now mimicked the orange of the pumpkin. They told the story of their emergence from the once frozen soil and of their once tender leaves tasting the springtime air. They spoke of the long, hot summer with too much rain and not enough. Their natural, defining grooves had deepened as they matured, much like my own wrinkles and scars. The once deep green had softened and thinned but were still soaking up the water from the pumpkin pot. I found it brave and I thought it wise for these leaves to still be on display; a natural reflection of life as one season gives way to another.

~ Perfectly Imperfect ~

 

 

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