Shadows and reflections
A winter meditation
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Snow moon
I missed seeing the full moon last Sunday, not knowing where in the sky to look for it. Here I am, halfway through my eighth decade of existence and still don’t know how to find the moon.
For 18 years in midlife, I lived in a house that sat in a hollow in Southwest Portland. I never saw the moon from inside that house because the horizon was too far above the level of the windows. I was unaware then; it didn’t occur to me that I was missing the moon.
Later, my energy shifted and I became intrigued, then enamored, of the moon. Enough to seek it out and appreciate its appearance at any opportunity.
This week, I glimpsed the moon on Wednesday morning, already waning, and took a photo of it at 5:30 am through the branches of an elm.
Rising early, writing, capturing the moon. Life’s bounty and blessings.
Shadows and reflection
The light in Portland has been uncommonly bright these last days and weeks, casting shadows and enhancing reflections everywhere. Every day brings discoveries, new and delightful ways of re-seeing what you already thought you knew.
Shadows
In winter in the Northern Hemisphere, the sun lingering in the south on bright days casts long shadows. Ordinary objects are distorted, elongated. Surprising patterns appear.
Patterns are enhanced by their shadows, like the grid of this trellis in a curbside garden at Epworth United Methodist Church.
I used to think the best times to catch shadows are early and late in the day, when the rising or setting sun intensifies the angle. That was until I encountered this tree coddling the sun, right about noon on Southeast 82nd Avenue.
At a bus stop on Southeast Belmont, I captured the bright sun illuming a house, only to realize later that my own long shadow is part of the arrangement.
On a MAX train platform, a man’s shadow stretches northward.
On Hawthorne Boulevard, the banisters of an old house create their own shadow play.
Shadows
Tenuous, shifting, depending on light. Every shadow needs something to shine. Without the sun, no brooding in corners, Without solid form, no image defined. Shadows that move as wind pushes past, Shadows stopped forever by a photo in time. No light, no shadow; no shadow, no depth. Draped in our shadow, we learn how to hide.
Reflections
I’ve seen you, yes you, looking at your reflection in store window as you pass, checking your hair, the tilt of your beret. When checking out a photo I’ve taken, I’m sometimes surprised to discover my own reflection in it.
Last Sunday, a brief rainstorm left puddles in the street. Gazing into them was like looking into another world.
Here’s one where the shape of the puddle itself is like a question mark. Or maybe an apostrophe.
And another alternative universe, this one with raindrops and a stop sign.
The photo below takes a bit of study, but bear with it. The puddle is outside a ramen restaurant on Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard. The red lanterns decorate the building’s awning, and the sign is its mirror image. You might think of this as looking up at a ceiling.
Window reflections bring the outer world indoors. Downtown, if the sun is bright enough, entire trees appear to be growing inside buildings.
And here’s a building that reflects other buildings.
Reflections
Snow Moon above, made bright by sun. In shallow waters, light flashes on stone. Wind washes puddles, roiling their surface. Raindrops and galoshes break up the calm. My spirit like water, sometimes reflecting, More often broken, by breezes and storms. Strong like a mirror, fragile as a meniscus— Cast back to me my own watery soul.
Reflections and shadows
This is what I call the “toothpaste apartment building,” whose rear faces my back yard. This photo captures both reflections in the windows and shadows on the walls.
But even more intriguing is the tangle of electrical (phone? cable?) wires. Can that be code?
Spirit of reflection
Think, think a minute, remember your time, Your phone number forgotten, not needed now. Now your smart phone reflects all the things that you need. It's your guide in this post-memory world.
Shadow spirit
Inside the light lurks the shadow, Negative, positive, shifting like sand. You can’t put your hand on light, neither on shadow, Belief is all you can stand. Obverse or reverse, which is our shadow? What’s lacking or fulfilling, choose our own way. Explore the darkness with a failing flashlight— When the door closes, the shadows flee.
Find your own
When you are outside, walking the dog, strolling, on the way to the market, I hope you will take time to notice the light. Where is it coming from? What is its mood? What shadows are cast?
Notice the reflection of trees, clouds, other buildings in the windows you pass. Sometimes that reflection is of you. Take time to love you!
Winter is a time of wonders, of clarity—at least on the days it’s not raining. We’re not groundhogs, we can embrace the shadows. For they are but guidelines to layers of light.
Audience participation
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Rosa on the bus
Did you know that all TriMet buses are free on Feb 4, Rosa Parks’s birthday?
That day, Wednesday, I boarded maybe 10 different buses and a couple of MAX trains. I had business in various parts of town (and the suburbs) and I also did some sightseeing and passenger watching.
I noticed that this year, like last year, few drivers acknowledged the reason for the fare holiday. Most just turned off their pass readers and, if asked, muttered something about the bus being free that day. For the Hop Card readers that were left on and beeped when they detected a card—the fare was still free. I know this because I scanned my card at a MAX terminal and it showed up in the app as no charge.
Last year, I talked to TriMet PR about why the bus company didn’t provide signs about this holiday to put on the Hop Pass readers. They acknowledged that this would be a good idea, yet it surely hasn’t happened yet. In all my travels on Wednesday, I encountered just one driver who had put up a makeshift Rosa Parks Day sign.
Ironically, Wednesday was also the debut of a new “pay your fare” announcement. A woman’s voice, less strident than in the earlier recording, coos in English and Spanish that you must scan your card every time you board.
Till next time
Today’s posting is a little unusual. I’ve include fewer different items, because I wanted to keep the meditative flow of photos and poetry about shadows and reflections. I hope you might return from time to time to live with the images in this newsletter.
Newsletter business
I’ve gotten a raft of new subscribers lately. Thank you, and welcome!
Now that “buy nothing” January is behind us, maybe you might think about upgrading to paid subscriber. You will enjoy the same great content plus my gratitude and the warm feeling of contributing to a writer’s activities.
Here’s the PayPal link where you can donate a freeform number of dollars in increments of five.
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Love, Fran
—30—
The puddle that's a question mark or maybe a comma was intriguing to me. Enjoying your observations in Portland from down her in Palm Springs, CA.
Hi Fran, I hope all is well. This was a meaningful and engaging read. I appreciate you sharing your reflections.