Rain fell most of the day. I looked out the window many times hoping it would cease, yet in truth the rain did nothing but heighten the beauty of the Autumn trees. From my view everything's edges seemed a bit blurry and it felt like living in a painting. Today the world was art and the window a meager frame to the great masterpiece of mother nature.

Teppee construction. More to come.

It is day four of the November national blogging challenge and I am already struggling. It isn't that I don't have anything to post about it, it is just that I had a kinda tough day. Perhaps that is when one needs things like these I suppose. Today I thought a lot about class and race and how it is important that even when we think we are culturally competent that we acknowledge that we still have work to do. This can be an uneasy thought, but something I must challenge myself on as well. There is no gold star for being culturally competent- it is an ongoing process. I found this quote and thought I would share:

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality....I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word"

-Martin Luther King Junior 

The words of Martin Luther King Junior always bring beauty into my heart even when I contemplating ugliness in the world.

Yesterday I took a walk through Forrest Hills Cemetery. I haven't been since the summer time and I was anxious to see the effects of Autumn. I started out at the pond as I usually do; however I took a slightly different path as I proceeded. This particular path took me to a part of the cemetery that I typically avoid- it is where the most recent entries into the graveyard live. I love old graveyards, but it is with trepidation that I enter newer ones. I have no fear of those that are buried, but of running into those that are living and very much grieving. And as it happens I did have such a run in.

I was walking along when I saw a sign that read 'Garden of Enduring Love'. I looked at my roommate, who was along for the journey, and exclaimed, "Oh everyone that is here must have had a wonderful love story! You would have to be a part of a true love to be buried here!" My romantic soul was buzzing and then I looked to my left and there he was. Sitting in between the gravestones was a man likely in his late 50s to early 60s. He was sprawled out in what appeared to be a rather comfortable fashion with his back against one of the stones. He had his newspaper held in front of him and the rest of it was casually laid across his lap. He had other supplies such as a thermos and other creature comforts. The way he sat with his paper it was not to hard to envision him sitting as such on a sofa or love seat. He took no notice of us and continued to read. He looked so comfy and it was an odd sight to see. I very much wanted to take a photo; however I resisted the urge and tried to hurry past without seeming as if I was hurrying past.

As we continued along I thought a lot about him and wondered about whom he was visiting. I would think it was his partner. Perhaps they had read the paper together on the weekends and he was continuing the tradition. Whomever he was and whomever he was visiting, he seemed peaceful. There was no grief on his face. I have no way of knowing what was in his heart however and though I will never know his story I was moved by him. I have to believe that who he was visiting was an enduring love. And I think there is beauty in knowing that though death may separate us we are never truly a part when we continue to make space for one another in our hearts and sometimes even in our Saturday afternoons.  

Below find some more of the many photos I took during my trip- 

A jaunt through Forrest Hills Cemetery.

Inky skies, sparkly streets.