No gardener worked to create the strange song of the blues this leaf sings, alone on the wind.
No one designed this quiet intermingling of clinging lichens and springing moss, sharing secrets on a damp branch.
Ravaged to their core, grasses still bow and send soft arabesques into the cold.
And stalks of fireweed wind their wacky way to the sky, innocent of human intention.
I have no argument with gardeners or human intent though. I know –
with or without our intervening helping hands,
there’s beauty out there,
along with us
on the precipice
of the darkest day
of the year.
Photos taken recently at Juanita Bay Park, Kirkland, Washington.