Like moving water, your post flows over me, this cold early winter morning in NE. “A knowing that is beyond words” has special meaning to me and most fly fishermen, who ply our local waters with rod and reel and high hopes every open season. We fish, but catching is a small portion of what we do. Fishing refreshes my soul!
I take comfort in viscerally sensing, the core characteristics of water as it first flows from its source and is constantly moving; taking on different shapes and directions, yet always moving to its source: the vast vista of oceans, over all our planet, to which we, too, will sometime return.
We will all be refreshed, recreated, and added to the eternal process of re-creation. Thank you God for Nature and thanks for water, the flow of our lives, and the unique opportunity to live, love, and flow!

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“Memories flowed upstream…” When I saw that image I knew this would be one of your most poetic pieces, LIz, both in words and in your sensitive photographs. Your eloquence continued throughout. thank you for making the effort to choose words well as in your phrase: “trees splaying dappled sunlight.” You are reaching deeper with your writing and perhaps thus feeling experiences in ever richer ways – as are we, your lucky readers.
I accepted your invitation to click on each picture – in the first where Winter’s Hands sculpt the stream into sofas discarded on the sidewalk and, in the second, the same hands convert falling water into pebbled hards or freeze it mid-fall into shards whose edges we can feel.
You did not just photograph what was there. You captured the eloquence of this otherwise desolate scene by your careful selection of angles & light.
Thank you for lifting us back to your summer afternoon and helping us imagine it amid this stark landscape.

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The chill was in the air. I have heard it said that an Angel’s breath was the light snow of the day. Her tears of joy the gentle rain. The reflection of a pond her meditation of Love.
Your beautiful images show the magic of life.
Time has given you reflections serene and turbulent. Like a waterfall in Vermont, the dew drops away with its brother and sisters, eventually softening the hardness over time. Where once the waters of time cascaded against each other, serenity prevails anew.
With so many waterfalls in Vermont, one can imagine a choir of angels singing Alleluia to Mother Nature.
And then there are the memories of Siddhartha…
Thank you Liz.

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Thanks so much Julie for the gift of your presence here with us.

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Ah, thank you Anne and most especially for gracing us with your friendship.

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