On this US Thanksgiving Day, in the midst of pandemic and loss, I give thanks for the simple beauty we find along the way.
Sunday evening we managed to get a bunch of us together for an outdoor communion service on the little rise behind the church.
The Yellow Ski Trail winds its way up and down the hills and ridges around the golf course.
Looking north over the reeds at the south end of Eastman Lake.
If I want a long walk at Durand Eastman Park that does not follow the lakes, I take the yellow ski trail.
In case you haven’t yet caught on, I love Durand Eastman Park.
Different day, but still gloriously bright. I followed a path along one of the ridges jutting out into Eastman Lake.
Were there is bright sunshine there are also deep shadows.
Simon & Garfunkel’s words have been echoing through my head. I don’t feel old, but I will readily agree that it feels strange to be seventy.
Back when I first heard the song in the 1960s I thought seventy was old. I’m not so sure of that now.
I walked down to the Irondequoit Bay outlet one day last week. These three are looking south from the north end of the bay. The bridge in the distance was completed in 1969. I have been over and under it many times. Two different worlds.