bleached back to its primary yellow? Did
Eve dance, entranced, when the first
leaves on the first oak turned red as wine
and loosed themselves? Did Adam rake
the ground clean and burn the leaves
after his other Garden work?
Can you find a purer piece of Canadiana than Maple Syrup, nectar of the great white northern gods (ok, and parts of the the Northern US too).
If all you use this springtime elxir for is on top of pancakes, you are missing a world of culinary delight: dipping sauce for bacon, combine with soy sauce for a fabulous salmon marinade, mix with butter to top off a squash that will melt your heart, stir into your morning oatmeal, fold it into vanilla ice cream, splash it onto your baked beans, mix it with a salad vinaigrette, the ultimate topping for elf spaghetti, or just straight up shots. And, to boot, its good for you, nature’s best sweetener.
A few photos from a nearby maple sugar festival.
Recently enjoyed holidays in southern climes – a few images of what caught my eye (I particularly love the crazy colour and texture transitions on this trunk of the palm tree in the first image).
It’s tillandsia usneoides, more commonly known as Spanish moss, a lovely, lilting epiphyte that not only absorbs nutrients and water from the air but catches sunset light in perfect fire-like hues.
The publisher of my book Seeking God’s Face is offering a smokin’ hot deal. Only one more day left – the deal shuts down tomorrow but you can order them here right now at Faith Alive. Avoid sweating through the malls in a heavy winter coat and get a fine resource that will keep giving through til 2025 – what’s not to like about it.
“The age of decay” – that’s what a prophetic friend of mine calls the time we live in now, the harsh, mostly unwelcome recognition that entropy wins. What is will wilt and fail us – our bodies, this groaning creation, the ones we love, the treasured dreams we clutch in this world will all break down and rot.
Not quite the jolly Christmas sentiment is it – but whoever said following Jesus was a cozy, sentimental thing. And no matter how you feel about that, it’s the perfect Advent posture as it shifts our gaze from our hopes coming undone here to the dear desire of every nation – the coming of Christ again, who will usher in a stronger, more beautiful world, better than our deepest imaginings. That’s why followers of Jesus always side with hope, living out the deep magic of God’s Kingdom already at work in this age of decay.
And hope give us the eyes to behold, even in the midst of decay, there is beauty.
A few images from the beautiful decay going on in my backyard – for you Paul.
I walked home the other night, in the daylight-savings-time early evening darkness, with sidewalks still strewn with leaves. I felt like a little kid swishing through boot-deep mounds, the lovely sound of all that thrashing and rustling, the lingering pleasure of a lasting autumn.
While Toronto has an assortment of very fine galleries and a bevy of smaller galleries, I’m convinced the whole city is a gallery. And I don’t simply mean the architecture, the built form of the city or the design of the urban landscape (which is a beautiful thing on its own).
I mean, quite literally, the city is a gallery. Art is everywhere in the public space, making for intriguing and lovely spaces. The other day I spent a few hours biking around my end of the city and it took a few hours to cover just blocks of the west end because I couldn’t stop snapping one shot after another of all the street art. Too much city; too little time.
A few images, then, of the public gallery of Toronto (more to come since this is only the west side).
Cue up Vivaldi (the “Danza Pastorale,” aka, Concerto No. 3 in F major, or more commonly known as “Autumn”) and the Four Seasons.
It’s fall and where I’m living there’s a slow explosion of colour (unlike the variation on dun that I’ve gotten used to the past years).
Interesting to note that the autumn change in colours is actually an unmasking, with the leaves showing their original, true hues.
As trees hunker down for the winter and pull energy inward, chlorophyll gradually recedes along with its green pigment and the fall palette of trees is splashed around in all its glory.
Along with a few images of the fall fireworks, a poem from Luci Shaw.