listening to rocks

Last week, I got a late Christmas present for my camera, Agnes. The old girl got a new lens. One bigger and better than she'd ever dreamed possible. It took me several days to work up the courage just to take the lens out of the box. What can I say? You can take the girl out of the anxious, but you can't take the anxious out of the girl. Or something like that. Eeek. I'm afraid of accidentally damaging the lens. It is sooo precious. But I am working through it, thanks in part to yoga breathing. Yesterday, I snapped it onto Agnes and we went shooting. Nothing bad happened. It was great. it was exhilarating. Whew. Baby steps. I will be fine once I've used it for a month or so. 

Anyhow, I was thinking that only some bodacious, vibrant roses and lush wild flowers to do the lens justice for its first outing, but, hey, it's January and we've mostly got grasses in various states of desiccation, rocks, trees and dirt around here now. Except, of course, for that wide open Texas sky, which was at its most delicious shade of bluebird yesterday. I'm crazy for blue, blue skies. I drink them for breakfast.

This searching for color in the woods got me thinking about my life. I've traditionally craved a kaleidoscopic existence with excitement surrounding me each moment. 

But, let's face it, the highlight some days is cleaning the bathrooms. What's that about? But yesterday, after wandering around a bit in the winter woods, I started to really appreciate the tawny shades of dead grass, the texture of bark and the intense level of peacefulness a pile of rocks can exude. Just as my life has been drifting toward simplicity. Less stuff, more space.

The longer I looked, the more intriguing the rocks become till I almost wanted to take up residence among them, if only I could pass for one. (Then again, maybe I could. I think I fall within the basic rocktomorph body type.) I'm learning that every day, no matter what our stage or age, we can find beauty if we truly focus our eyes and our heart on finding it. That is one of Agnes's greatest lessons. And one of the reasons the old girl has changed my life in the nine months I've had her.