I’m taking up a challenge: to capture moments when Joy, Beauty, Mystery, Wonder show up as I go about my busy life. It’s a simple plan: when I get a glimpse of the extraordinary in my ordinary routines I will snap a photo. Then post it. Being a Joy Catcher is the name of the game.
This photo: looking out on my patio after a snow storm.

“Whose woods these are I think I know”. By day they belong to us. Skiers. Snowshoers. Children in puffy snowsuits. But when the sun goes down the forest is no longer familiar. Or friendly.
Skiing after dark was not part of the plan today. But that’s how it ended up. I was glad I was not alone. Just in case the coyotes who live here considered our presence a home invasion...

After the storm. Under the thick cover of snow the garden sleeps. Last fall I didn’t rake the leaves having read that it helps the insects survive the winter. Really? I try to imagine them now : spindly legs tucked under the thorax, wings (if any) folded neatly, the eyes that have no eyelids. Are they really OK under a cover of a magnolia leaf and all that heavy snow?

In the kitchen this evening. Another ordinary dinner being assembled among the chaos and clutter. Ahh, but the music! My guests tonight include Luciano Pavarotti and Aida Garifullina. The mundane suddenly transformed into heavenly...

Warm winds of spring. Wild water. Lac St Louis is heaving and churning; finally liberated from the grip of ice. I walked to the shore after a quick trip to pick up some groceries. The wind, the sun and the sound of the waves tempt me to linger. And I do, then head back to my self-imposed exile. No locks on doors or bars in the windows here. Only fear.

The sun is going down. The sky over the garden turns gold for a few moments then fades to grey. I’m glad to have taken a break from folding laundry. This moment when the sky glows with gold is so easy to miss.

Checking on my perennials. Who survived and who perished during this hard , cold winter we thought would never end. After all, the are only perennials. Not Immortals. One of the first to hurry into the sunshine is the Bleeding Heart. It makes sense. As an ephemeral plant it will be gone before summer’s end. So with its robust growth and exuberant display of colour, the Bleeding Heart is making the most of the time it is given. Aren’t we all ephemeral?

Suddenly sunlight! It flooded the bedroom and filled it with Spirit of Spring. This after days of rain, snow and hail. In the morning newspaper good news for a change. Some businesses will reopen and among them garden centers. So it will be April as usual in the garden. In the garden where time stands still. In the garden where death is followed by life in an endless cycle. In the garden where you get glimpses of Eternity. Where you forget about the virus.

Ah, Magnolia! Magnificent and victorious. I needn’t have worried when the branches bent down low under the weight of heavy snow, or when ice encapsulated flower buds. Mesmerized by the fragile beauty of the flowers, I forget that Magnolia is a sturdy, ancient tree. It knows how to stand up to storms...

My garden path goes nowhere. It folds upon itself, it bends and circles restricted by property boundaries. But the invitation to stroll is there and I accept it. Walking the same path. Day after day. Year after year. Round and round. It is very pleasant. Who says we always have to go going somewhere?

My kitchen window; take one.
I stumble into the kitchen on most mornings wishing I was still in bed. I put on the coffee pot and wait by the window. Outside, the display of foliage and flowers changes with the seasons. With a cup of hot coffee in my hand I watch as morning sun seeps through the living curtain of greenery. A gentle invitation to step out into the world....

The sun was going down fast over Vancouver, when we stopped on this hill to watch the show. The dog sat motionless on the edge of the ravine and seemed mesmerized by the view. But maybe he was hearing some wild things moving in the shrubbery. There was a sign nearby cautioning not to feed bears. Here on the outskirts of a sprawling city. Oh, Vancouver. Strange and beautiful. I wish I had more time to get to know you.