As the good book says, there is a time for all things under the sun. To me, that means there's as much beauty in winter as any season. And while oftentimes on the surface nothing may appear to be happening, the true story is under the covers waiting to blossom at a later date. Knowing this, I slipped into the Japanese Garden of my escape from this time of earthly woe to see what I could see on a cloudy, wintry morn.


After a long night's rain I found a squirrel in prayer at the Zen rock garden. In the Spring will come the time for gathering and feeding the body. In winter's respite, a time to feed the soul.


As blossoms prepare for their unveiling hidden from the naked eye, the garden heals itself before April's coming festival. A heavy stone from a path through the water had fallen, cutting off one side from the other for the past two years. With the water drained for that, a good time to rebuild the tea house. The garden shall return in triumph.



In winter's time to each his own, a contrast of color and colorless, of leafy and bare, and dormancy and activity. The Japanese garden celebrates all these aspects with equal joy, providing a rich palette of experience in joyful invitation.





The garden is also the private domain of this heron who flies in on a daily basis oblivious to any interlopers or seasonal change. Ooaosagi is the Japanese word for a Great Blue Heron. For short, we'll call him "sagi-san". It is said he will imperiously stand in one spot for hours.


In the south end, new paths are under construction. An elevated walkway, new overlooks and even a moat's wall! But alas, I will lose one of my favorite spots: the red brick pathway through the green bamboo. The bricks are from the roads of Fort Worth. The use of bricks in Japanese Gardens is not traditional but the recycling of local material very much is. Perhaps, someone mourns the loss of their brick road as it's replaced with dull pavement.



The Zen Squirrel and Lord Heron were not the only wildlife to be seen.


When two ronin meet on the road, each stops with his hand firmly upon his unsheathed sword. The opponents search the other's eyes for strength of spirit, deciding if battle should be done. All warfare is based upon deception but the honest eye cannot be deceived. And thus we did battle with our breath visible in the frigid, wintry air.


He was a "competition photographer" only. He parried forth: "I could walk around here all day taking pictures I thought were just interesting to myself." But he chose not to. Only pictures prized by committess did he also prize. But he also expressed grave doubts any picture he took on a cloudy winter's day such as today would have any merit in their eyes. "Too lifeless."


I left my sword in its scabbard. He must find his own path and I could not let him distract me from mine - there was simply too much life in the garden I might miss.

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