Stalking Wonder, Further Afield

Thanks so much for all your lovely comments on last week's Stalking Wonder post. I'm glad if you liked it. I'm going to keep these posts on Fridays, so those of you who are just looking for food stories can steer clear. I know this is my site—and I've been told more than once that I can do what I like with it—but I think of this place as a tea party, and you all are an integral part of that. I set out to write about food and life. To change the programming radically without consensus doesn't feel right to me. It's not fair for guests to show up at a party they didn't RSVP for. From now on, it will be food for most of the week, wonder on Friday. I'm sorry not to have a food post this week, I'm on a revision deadline and just didn't have it in me (well, that and the squash curry that was great the first time, turned out a little less great the second).

But I'm glad you like the wonder, and my tentative attempts to capture it. I'd love to hear if any of you are doing any wonder-stalking on your own. Here's some of mine from this week.

The most wonderous thing of all is that it finally got warm this week—really warm. One morning I went out for my walk wearing nothing more than a skirt, t-shirt, and strappy shoes. I can't tell you how delightful that was. The next day dawned rainy, but that's just a Seattle spring. I've learned to appreciate the wet mornings, and wait for the warm ones.



The cherry trees are blooming this week. I might have to do an entire post about cherry trees, but for today here is this. This photo is a metaphor. In the midst of something rough and hard, a delicate flowering.



This branch, reaching out over the path, made me laugh. I couldn't help feel like it was stretching out it's palm for a high-five.



This is the second year in a row that ladybugs have appeared, inside the bedroom screen door (how do they get there?). I've come to think of it as a sign of spring—though it seems we are running behind schedule. Last year's ladybugs showed up on March 8th.



The camillas are past their prime this week (am I the only one who thinks of Miss Brodie whenever I hear that phrase?). To me they are even more heartbreaking this way. They don't lose their petals, they wither intact.



But the magnolias are coming on strong. Magnolias are a big favorite in my family—we call them tulip trees and there are trees, near where I grew up, that we have loved for years. My mother still tells me, each spring, when the grand old magnolia in Larkspur goes into bloom.



Because you can never have too many magnolias.



I mean, really.



My obsession with mosses of all kinds continues. I love how they look like a delicate tapestry.



Sometimes even a quirky shadow can amuse me.



In the spring everything feels amazing, joyous, happy to be alive.



Even the muddy drainage ditch by the side of the road can be a thing of beauty (that big lump of light colored bokeh is a discarded beer can). In the spring, everything wants to grow.



I love old sheds, and sun-dappled paths that look like they lead someplace delightful.



And multi-generational families taking strolls down cherry blossom lanes.



Or thinking about what the world might look like to a bug.



Even the freeway off-ramp can hold some beauty, when viewed from the right angle.



Or the shattered piece of mirrored glass, found in the fire station on 4th Street.



Which makes for a rather interesting self-portrait.



Happy Friday, everyone. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!