I doubt I'll ever know what brought this scene together. And it doesn't matter, I know that much. A blue beach ball rests in the water by the edge of a small pond near the bay. Protected from the wind, the day's bluster is lost, overwhelmed by the wood's quiet. I can watch, standing, leaning gingerly on the fragile rail. I feel as quiet as the woods. That was yesterday.
And why I do this is that, sometimes when I'm able to slow down enough, I notice the grace of what's in front of me. Sometimes, later on, when I put my mark on what the lens has seen, I can make visible what wasn't at the time but was clearly there, at least it seems so now.
It doesn't always happen, but when it does, I notice it. It's a blessing and it makes me happy.