Thoughts Whilst Waiting
One good thing about being patient, you get a lot of time to think. Waiting has a tendency to open your mind to possibility. It has the ability to let you explore option.
Patience is a virtue, but waiting can be a vice; because waiting is not doing. It all depends on your perspective and what you do whilst waiting.
The icicles hang from a branch this March only as long as Mother Nature allows. So no point in waiting. They will be gone in good time.
You shiver as you are greeted by the wind and the sharp cold in the air, a sure sign winter is reluctant to relent. Waiting becomes a greater part of our days as gardeners in areas gripped by cold. Patience is tested.
We choose to engage in tasks that are themselves inherent a sign of further waiting. We pick up debris, we inspect the plants, we fill the bird feeders, we do so many tasks that are not really of great importance at this particular time. All in the name of waiting.
Any reason to hurry the season along, losing patience at each whirl of the winds.
We go outside to photograph buds on trees and shoots coming up through the soil. But this is just testament to more and more waiting.
Interesting images, not so much, but it makes us think of the possibilities of Spring. To make our waiting seem useful and almost glamorous, capturing fragments of light and the mere modicum of color.
Any day that brings a touch of warmth is a sign of possibility and hope, of renewal and beauty.
But is it not a mere illusion of Spring when the winter storms come back in a fury? Telling us we must just wait some more. The calendar reinforces the futility of waiting. The futility of wishing for a quick Spring. It comes when it comes.
How can I lose sight of the beauty that the snow brings, the cleansing and the needed moisture? It is testing my patience, waiting for the first sight of green grass to appear. Even if it is only a few square feet in a sea of white. All in good time.
You can hear the birds chirping and Spring does not seem so far off a wait. Chirping means activity. And the waiting begins in earnest.
And I wait and wait, camera in hand, for a woodpecker to show at the feeder. They are there often, but not when I am there waiting, swinging in the wind like they are riding a carnival ride. They grip as the wind whips them around in circles, the heavier bird throwing off the balance, bringing the suet closer.
Waiting for 25 minutes, looking through the snow splotched window, got me a poor shot of the woodpecker, and he was quick to leave. And so I was through waiting. Through thinking and philosophizing about waiting.
And the thing about unconstructive waiting, one moment blurs into the next. Time is lost and worse, time is often not thought about in the throws of waiting.
How much of life is lost in waiting?
And why was I waiting when I can get perfectly good images of woodpeckers in the forest with no waiting? Because a friend of mine was so nice to give me the suet holder for the resident woodpeckers, that I had to get a shot of one on the feeder. All the while thinking about waiting.