Friday, May 9, 2008
Snow?
What month are we in again? December? January? Oh wait, it's MAY! If I'm not mistaken, I thought we were in the middle of spring, bouncing our way to summer while other places have already started. But hey for now it's winter and big chunks of snow falling from the sky. Don't know why but it was exciting!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The first rain
Yesterday the first rain of the year colored the pale soil, enhancing, brightening, and in some cases darkening, the vast palette set before me. It was as if the sky was grumbling through the process, reluctant to give to the earth forming a single great gray foreboding cloud. That familiar smell that is described in all too many songs, poems, and books reminded me what it is that has inspired such responses.
To be fair, to call it rain is bordering on exaggeration. It was barely a drizzle, there were no pitter patters to be heard. In a painstakingly slow process the ground was consumed by the new hue that reminded that life is on its return as the desert brown became a rich red. Being the first rain of the year, it was overwhelmingly anticlimactic and understated given the dramatic fuss that the sky put up.
Yet it fascinated me.
I tried to take pictures to capture the scene only to realize that it was a moment whose significance was subtle and dynamic.
As I was taking a walk, I saw up close for the first time grass emerging from the soil. I pointed it out to Bayaraa, I don’t think he was as excited as I was.
I forgot how refreshing and cleansing it is to breathe in that moist rainy air when drops seem to stand still and make you wonder if you are stuck in a photo.
Most people know that I am an avid fan of the sun and that an overcast sky clouds my heart. Admittedly, I was unhappy when I saw what the horizon had to offer as shadows crept up on me. It was not until I stepped outside and took in my surroundings—not as an ugly scene but as a moment filled with much that the walls and windows shielded me from—that I was overtaken by such an underwhelming view.
Until the clouds let loose what they had been hoarding, the soil was just as much in the air as it was on the ground due to the moods of the wind that change on whim. Today the air was clear after the rain returned the dust to its rightful place and made it cling to the rest. It was strange to have the winds blowing and not be getting a taste of the earth with each breath.
Mongolia really needed this rain. I began to wonder, how many moments like this do we miss? As we step to the different rhythms of life how often do we notice the verses that lead up to the chorus? We are all so busy or our minds are as clear as a neglected fish tank that all we have time to hear is the chorus—we fast forward to it—while the rest goes unnoticed and forgotten. Twice a day the sun makes wondrous announcements, at the end of the day as an oath that it will return after visiting the other side of the earth, and at the start to fill us with hope and wonder for a new day. Yet, I find myself hardly giving the time of day to the sun’s triumphal exodus and marvelous returns. With this in mind, how much of the smaller moments—hidden in the shadows of the sun—are we missing, content to be satisfied by the static nature of a scene, a photo, rather than the dynamic moments that fill our days? These fragments, are insignificant, broken pieces on their own, but paired with others they are given context and meaning as life shifts and flows as a fluid mosaic.
To be fair, to call it rain is bordering on exaggeration. It was barely a drizzle, there were no pitter patters to be heard. In a painstakingly slow process the ground was consumed by the new hue that reminded that life is on its return as the desert brown became a rich red. Being the first rain of the year, it was overwhelmingly anticlimactic and understated given the dramatic fuss that the sky put up.
Yet it fascinated me.
I tried to take pictures to capture the scene only to realize that it was a moment whose significance was subtle and dynamic.
As I was taking a walk, I saw up close for the first time grass emerging from the soil. I pointed it out to Bayaraa, I don’t think he was as excited as I was.
I forgot how refreshing and cleansing it is to breathe in that moist rainy air when drops seem to stand still and make you wonder if you are stuck in a photo.
Most people know that I am an avid fan of the sun and that an overcast sky clouds my heart. Admittedly, I was unhappy when I saw what the horizon had to offer as shadows crept up on me. It was not until I stepped outside and took in my surroundings—not as an ugly scene but as a moment filled with much that the walls and windows shielded me from—that I was overtaken by such an underwhelming view.
Until the clouds let loose what they had been hoarding, the soil was just as much in the air as it was on the ground due to the moods of the wind that change on whim. Today the air was clear after the rain returned the dust to its rightful place and made it cling to the rest. It was strange to have the winds blowing and not be getting a taste of the earth with each breath.
Mongolia really needed this rain. I began to wonder, how many moments like this do we miss? As we step to the different rhythms of life how often do we notice the verses that lead up to the chorus? We are all so busy or our minds are as clear as a neglected fish tank that all we have time to hear is the chorus—we fast forward to it—while the rest goes unnoticed and forgotten. Twice a day the sun makes wondrous announcements, at the end of the day as an oath that it will return after visiting the other side of the earth, and at the start to fill us with hope and wonder for a new day. Yet, I find myself hardly giving the time of day to the sun’s triumphal exodus and marvelous returns. With this in mind, how much of the smaller moments—hidden in the shadows of the sun—are we missing, content to be satisfied by the static nature of a scene, a photo, rather than the dynamic moments that fill our days? These fragments, are insignificant, broken pieces on their own, but paired with others they are given context and meaning as life shifts and flows as a fluid mosaic.
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