Roots

They go to earth, but they can be guessed. Branched. Robust. Well-anchored. Deep. They are there. Firm in their connection. Providing food, whatever the time, the day, the season.

With the utmost secrecy and sheltered from the light, they make their artwork appear.

They participate in the architecture of the territory. They make our landscape look beautiful. Without them, there is no vegetation. Without them, there would be no landmark.

The roots establish a connection. They provide for the essence of our needs and breath life to our radiance.

I was struck by the power of these landscape fragments. They can bring us back to our roots; they can invade us with their bareness, lead us to the absolute.

All is there. The purity of black and white. The apparent winter’s silence and calm.

Even if we imagine this shivering Nature, suffering from the cold waters streaming on its skin, from the winds that scratch its skeletons with its sharp teeth, along the way, these roots, our roots bring us back to the essential.

Dressed in its austere winter clothes, Nature leads us to think about the value of withdrawal into yourself.

How much relief and starkness worth. Winter and Nature join forces to remind us the deep necessity to stop. To slow down for a time according to our own states. To take a break. To think. To smell.

Thus when blooming time is back, leaving and finding our way back to our path, our route, or heading for new horizons, new encounters, new experiences. Whatever the choice, the roots will have done their work.