"God Is in the Details"

Spiderweb, Patterson Canyon (near Magdalena), NM, Sept. 2010

... and in the capacity to see and marvel in them. When this capacity diminishes, when I can't see or appreciate the innumerable small but amazing details in the world around me, I know I'm slipping toward the abyss. So being able to see and then take the above photo of just another small woodland feature that most hikers would have walked past, and marveling at how a ground-spider's delicate web catches the morning light and spins it into shards of rainbow, represents for me a step away from the abyss.

A loved one's death is stunning. Shocking. Unfathomable. Seven weeks after my mom's death I still find myself floating in a fog sometimes, barely aware of sensations either around or within me, and I think it's the mind's way of protecting me from a reality I still cannot bear or even really fathom. Other times, random times, kind of stupid times like brushing my teeth or waiting in line somewhere, it hits me: she's gone. Oh my f-ing God, she's. Just. Gone... and then the fog comes and softly envelops me again, and I have grasped another shred of the reality, just a shred so it's bearable. Just barely, but enough.

And once in a while, lately, I find myself noticing the small amazing things around me, and I can begin to believe it's going to be okay. Never the same, but okay.