Images of life or death?

Hi everyone,

We've been back from our holidays for several days now. About time I wrote a post, eh?

First of all I want to thank Paula Joy, Merelyme, Di and Nancie for your kind good wishes when I went on vacation. And it WAS a wonderful time we had. Two days of busy photography sessions at Barkerville and the rest of the time total rest at a lake 26km off the main highway.

The time at the lake was so absolutely quiet, the bees and insects were the most notable sounds. And that humming came to sound almost as good as the songs of the birds. The bees did not bother us and we saw only the occasional mosquito. Lots of damselflies and a variety of butterflies. Oh yes, I guess we were a couple of times surrounded by cows. And their muching of the grasses was very noisy. And they did crash around a lot in the trees behind our site. But a little dog belonging to a neighbouring camper chased them away when they became a nuisance.

Our favourite place to photograph at Barkerville was the cemetery, a most interesting place. Some of the graves have been there since - well, the oldest one had a date of 1863 on it. The neat thing was that long ago plants had been planted there and, with no one to care for the graves (this WAS a ghost town), had all grown wild.

I loved photographing there. Found it meaningful in some way, though I can't put my finger on why that is. I've included some to show you here. Are they images of life or death? To me they're images of life - beautiful weeds growing in profusion all around the crosses.

Do these pictures say anything to you? Can you help me find the words to express what's so special about weeds and crosses?

A butterfly visits

I think I'd better write this story before I go to Curves. I've been meaning to tell you about this for days now, but first I wanted to make sure enough people had a chance to read my previous post. After that I always found some things I considered more important to do. However, it will give me such pleasure to share this with you. Mustn't wait any longer.

On our last holiday with the motorhome we stayed at a lake in an out of the way place, 26 kilometers away from a major road. Very few people live there and only the occasional car or logging truck passed on the gravel road. There was only one other party camped at the lake and they were at the far end of the campground. We didn't even get to meet them.

One afternoon, while my husband was out on the lake in his boat, catching his many fish (it's a very good lake for that), I was sitting in my comfy chair reading a fluff book. (A "fluff book" is what my friend calls a book that entertains but does nothing much else for you.)

The air was clean and warm with enough of a breeze to keep the mosquitoes away. Not too warm either, just comfortable. I listened to the sound of the many birds in the trees and bushes around me. I felt at one with nature. I felt God's presence.

At one point I looked down at my left hand as it held the book and, at the base of my thumb, noticed a tiny, pale blue butterfly with dotted wings. I sat very still and it stayed there for a bit. Then it moved to my forearm. Then to the front of my Tshirt. Finally, after this little visit it flew away. I was delighted, even more feeling united with nature, united with God.

My husband doesn't believe in God and he cynically said, "Do you believe God told that butterfly to come to you?" But no, that's not it at all. It's just that I sensed God's presence in it and the rest of all nature that surrounded me that day. God was in the trees and in the birds and in the breeze. He was in the warm sunshine. He was in the butterfly. And I became part of all that. God was in me too.