There are some tiny, little sacred places on earth. This is one of them. This field, this vast, empty field that sits around the corner from my house, that we pass every day. I post photos of it often, and I categorize my photos from here simply as My Field. Of course, I don’t own it, but I’ve taken ownership because I love it so. It is surrounded by mountains and trees and even telephone poles that make melancholy. There are wildflowers and flowers gone wild, a view of the lake and a home left abandoned. There are colors that change with the time of day and with the weather… khaki and blue, gold and orange, purple and pink, and infinite layers of gray.
But these mornings? These misty magical mornings when sunrise lights up dew and spider webs set sail, when the sky is God painted and laced with gold, when tree limbs and leaves make lacy silhouettes… These are the mornings that I am reminded of my unfair abundance of blessings, blessings that aren’t things at all… but everything else intangible, the untouchable… The way of being, the gifts of spirit and family, the blessings of health and well-being. These gifts, like the colors of the sky and the softness of a morning breeze, like spider webs that glisten with dew, untouchable and often fleeting, have been mine. And I am so grateful.