Venus In The Mirror/Lens
This past Sunday we decided to spend the afternoon reading by the lake that is the center of our subdivision. The lakefront park is a well maintained shady expanse of lawn. The view of the lake in the afternoon sun was splendid. Water sparkled with light, a few children played in the shallow water, under the watchful eye of a life guard.
After reading for a while, 
I decided to walk to the water’s edge. There is always something to see in the tall grasses, and in the shallows where the water and the dry land meet. The edge. That is where things happen. The edge is where one is stimulated to do something. What about venturing out into the lake, for a 
different view? I’ve done that before with a kayak. Or wonder what is on that distant shore across the lake? Is there something on the far bank to be explored?
Does not the perception of an edge, a boundary, cause us to stop and take notice? Boundaries are separated out in the mind: birth and death, beauty from the mundane, order as contrast to 
randomness, magnitude in contrast to objects of customary size. (The grand canyon would be an example of magnitude.)
I took my camera in hand and walked over to the edge of the bank, where the line of tall grass, and native plants caught my 
eye. With the help of the camera lens, I discovered a world of interesting curved forms, delicate gradations of color. Each plant has an evolutionary history that I cannot imagine, and which a botanist would know only in part. And the contribution which each plant makes to the surrounding ecosystem I can only imagine. If a bee could talk, I’d ask a bee, and take notes while the bee lectured.
Here are some of the images that I captured.
The lesson: slow down, look….
