Clouds

Out of the fog. Clarity through direct observation.

In my diary, if I had one, I would write that the theme of Summer of ‘26 is, “Just Wait.”

Nothing has been right. Too hot, too dry, too wet, too muddy, too much work, too little time. No energy to do anything. But wait.

As far as projects go, I put so much on hold. Waiting for the time to get right. The time is never right. Plow the garden anyway. Plant something. Waiting produces nothing.

Days of spiraling thoughts segued into sweaty nights filled with obsession and confusion. Finally, a breakthrough.

I reset my focus on what has become my life’s work. The concept of Radical Naturalism I’ve mentioned thousands of times during the last decade-and-a-half informed me it is my focus. My visual art practice and the TAXODIUM exhibition are an integral part of this platform. My ouvre from past to future is rooted in Radical Naturalism.

I invite my readers to join me in an exploration of this term. I’ll end this essay with more hints about my plans to bring you all along with me on a journey.

But now, I am going to talk about clouds.

I was an impressionable junior in Kosciusko High School, Kosciusko, Mississippi in 1969 when Joni Mitchell’s album Clouds was released. To say her words and music were life-altering is a tragic understatement.

Looking back, I realize this was my first encounter with Radical Naturalism. It was more than four decades before I had a moniker to attach to the concept. The idea was sparked. We live metaphor.

Joni Mitchell dropped into Memphis on tour in 1974. I was fortunate enough to attend her April 2 concert at the Ellis Auditorium. The term “magical” is pale. You can imagine how incredible the performance was. I cried then.

Today I listened to Joni and Brandi Carlile at Newport (2022.) More than a half-century later. I cried again.

The first really memorable song I remember from back then was “Both Sides Now.” It told my post adolescent brain to slow down and bring things into perspective. Bruises brought on by each day’s dramatic moments fade with time. When looking at life from the other side, our hopes and dreams, our dilemmas and our fantasies are viewed from a new point of view.

Here on the Blue Ridge, an ancient range of mountains in Southern Appalachia, we are very aware of clouds. Those puff-balls of water droplets, so fluffy and pretty when viewed from lower elevations offer new opportunities when we find ourselves living in the middle of pure white mist. Sometimes the clouds settle in and we spend days in the nebula.

Everyone loves halcyon mountain days. Blue-bird skies and infinite vistas are “Chamber of Commerce Days” for western North Carolina. The tourists and the locals cuss the clouds in unison. I listen to Joni and try to think differently. I look at the clouds from the inside.

The lens of Radical Naturalism focuses on lessons we learn from direct observation of the natural world. When day-break is delayed we know that clouds are hanging low and the dawn offers us a mystery. Open the front door and the cloud enters the room. Outside is dripping white. Views for dozens of miles into neighboring states are pulled back to no more than arm’s length. Frightening and lovely.

Clouds at Craggy Gardens, Blue Ridge Parkway.

Walking in the clouds.

Being inside those “ice-cream castles” is a much different experience. Is it frightening? Maybe a bit. Is it a bad experience? Let your attitude decide that for you.

The infinite vistas offered by high-ridge sites such as Craggy Gardens and nearby Mount Mitchell are grand and inspiring. Being on some of the highest points east of the Mississippi River are thrilling, for sure. The look on the faces of the tourists who had travelled many miles looking for a top-of-mountain experience lets me know that disappointment is an understatement.

What does this foggy moment teach us? Does it teach us to ball our fist and shake it to the gods of weather. “Give us clarity. Send the fog away.” Or does it allow us the opportunity to change our perspective? Can we now squint through the white and study the tiny plants climbing out of the crags and crevices? Does it force us to look at those minute details of the natural world?

Metaphor is a figure of speech, for sure. It offers substitution of one kind of object or idea to replace another. The use of metaphor helps explain or achieve a deeper understanding of the notion being conveyed.

Could we look at lessons afforded by being in close communication with the natural order as being a sort of life metaphor?

I pulled away from organized religion a few dozen decades ago. Religious practice fell flat as I expanded my spiritual horizons. Often, before I quit church altogether, I would go deep into the wilds on a Sunday morning. I found the sermon sung by the birds and whispered by the wind in the palmettos was much more life-affirming. I certainly would never suggest that anyone abandon their chosen religious practice, but I can offer to those who left their chosen religions an option for continued spiritual growth. We can also pair these teachings with every spiritual journey.

Next month I will begin a program on the Substack platform. I entitle it Thirty Days of Noticing. I offer a transformative education of daily creative prompts and exercises designed to help you connect to yourself and where you find your feet.

To join this journey all you need to do is to become a paid subscriber.

I’m posting related essays and images during the next four weeks. These will be free to all subscribers. Hopefully the notes and essays will entice you to join 30 Days of Noticing.

Please like this and share with friends who might find this workshop interesting. It would be effective to share the path with a friend or a group of friends. It might be a time of solo contemplation. For all my dear friends who are already paid subscribers, please sit back and enjoy the trail. Your support during the last years has meant more than you’ll ever know.

Projects will be encouraged in all creative media. Maybe your response will be a poem or an essay. It might be a photograph or a drawing. It might be a painting. A dance. A song. No judgement. Participation is success. Please contact me if you have questions.