006 - Framing A Moment in Time
fifteen hours of repetition
welcome to 006
Time: the point or period when something occurs. 1
Thirty years ago, add one or two, I purchased an umbrella in Evansville, Indiana. For thirty years this umbrella has moved from house to house, left to stand in a closet alone, taken space that might be reserved for something else. In thirty years, not once have I undone the velcro strap to raise the fabric until this past Thursday. Why pull out a previously abandoned umbrella? Maybe even more important, do you wonder if it kept me dry? Let’s splash into 006 – Framing A Moment in Time, to know more.
time in repeated laps
I have to share a secret; summer is not my favorite season. It is a cringeworthy bit of information, but the truth is I do not like the heat or bugs or that the trailheads are full of people and their voices carry through the forest.
What I do look forward to each summer is the solstice, a moment in time to stop and share a notable acknowledgement. To guard the truth of happening, a heartbeat of time which will pass mostly unnoticed.
Revising a story this week, I spent a silly amount of time attempting to wordsmith two phrases about the moon: “fuzzy edges inch slowly” and “the incandescent lamplight glows honey and grapefruit yellow.” Sometimes I get stuck in my own wordy disorder when I try to convey a moment so very precise. The effort to guide a reader with words towards the importance of an instant. Daily, I try to notice the moon in all her waning and waxing stages and the sun as she ascends and descends on the horizon. I make a point to experience the longest (and shortest) day of the year.
Maple ridge, a half mile loop on our property, is cool and drenched in tree cover. The groundscape unfurls with fern, trillium, and inedible mushrooms. And this year a platoon of deer flies. At the top of the hour, for 15 hours, I walk this path just to see what I might notice in my devotional time. This feels to me like a gift, to allocate parts of my day, to be a part of something larger than myself.
Walk with me.2
Hour 1 (0600) – We are amid a heatwave, and it is already 75 degrees. Clouds thick and overzealous fill the air with heaviness and a scent of urine unable to dilute.
Hour 2 (0700) – The grass is dewy. Birds are in a carnival of conversation. Heavy clouds are now wisps of themselves and a hint of blue breaks through the sky.
Hour 3 (0800) – Back to gray in a sightline stopped by the ring of trees. Sweet scents of floral, mixed with honey, lifts in the air.
Hour 4 (0900) – Milkweed purple flowers are in stages of uncurling. Each plant on its own timetable. Petals expose stigmas in changing shades of pink.
Hour 5 (1000) – A slight breeze pushes cool air through the limbs of trees. Shifting dangling leaves in a pirouette of dance threaten to fall and litter the ground.
Hour 6 (1100) – I find an orange mushroom, its head the size of a dime I kicked unknowingly on my last lap of this solstice remembrance.
Hour 7 (1200) – Wafting through the air is a hint of skunk low and darkly disturbing. Where is she now?
Hour 8 (1300) – Water in all its forms. Rocks sweat. Logs are slick. Trees lean and the creek is the warmth of a bath.
Hour 9 (1400) – Flecks of light push through the overstory to shine on the ferns.
Hour 10 (1500) – What suffocates is the tightness of the air. It is building into a force beyond the green tunnel of trees.
Hour 11 (1600) – What is that scent? Bubble gum? I am not chewing gum.
Hour 12 (1700) – Dart. Go fast. Lightning and thunder spray across the sky.
Hour 13 (1800) – As an undergrad, I bought an umbrella to walk between classes on campus. It is oversized and professional in its sturdiness. For thirty years it seems to rest in the closet (often near the dog food) but I open it today for this lap. I’m not sure how dry umbrellas keep people, but it does bring me an unusual voiceless joy.
Hour 14 (1900) – Rain pelts to cleanse the air. Chlorophyll is so strong I can taste it at the back of my throat.
Hour 15 (2000) – Light ebbs as always in an ending day. Both the moon and sun are unseen.
15:36:31 hours, summer solstice, length of day
Devoting less than 15 minutes at the top of 15 hours is not wasted time (though the temperature change of 20 degrees can make a walk stifling). Registering the variations of water droplets is enough of a reason for me to observe but there is so much more to draw attention. Colors, sounds, scents. An overwhelming amount of scent.
Your homework for this week.
Visit timeanddate3 (or a source of choice) and write down the time of sunrise and sunset for the remainder of the week. Make a point of framing your day with one sunrise and one sunset. Remember, it is light before and after. Determine for yourself how much time to commit to the experience.
The calendar officially declares it is summer. Use that comment section - share one thing you want to achieve in the next three months.
takeaways
Seasons are a reminder that nothing is permanent. Things are always in a stage of change.
Framing a single moment takes only a few minutes.
Building a nature relationship involves all the senses. Including the sense of smell which will tell you something is stinky and that is almost always worthy of investigation.
I live the hour by hour observations! I felt like I was there with you seeing the forest change throughout the hot, humid day.
This is very cool. That chlorophyll smell, yes!💚