{"id":1,"date":"2013-08-17T20:37:21","date_gmt":"2013-08-17T20:37:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/?p=1"},"modified":"2020-02-06T14:31:56","modified_gmt":"2020-02-06T14:31:56","slug":"hello-world","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/?p=1","title":{"rendered":"Aug.20th 2013"},"content":{"rendered":"

When Nature Touches Art<\/strong>
\nA reprint from:\u00a0http:\/\/craigtolson.blogspot.com\/<\/em><\/h3>\n
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I\u00a0was walking in a silent and still snow storm. \u00a0At my side in euphoric joy was my giant black schnoodle Sophia. Covered in white snowflakes the size of dimes we slowly walked the giant tree lined streets in a rising foot of fresh snow. There as I turned a sharp corner I put my headsets on and hit play. \u00a0 The hundred year old oak trees completely covered the street \u00a0from both sides and they were piled with three to four inches of powder on them. It was more than I’d ever seen in 57 winters. \u00a0 A solo trumpet began to play as the giant snowflakes fell in the still night. \u00a0It was Chris Botti playing “Ave Maria” with the orchestra. \u00a0It was truly a religious moment. Gods Nature touching mans art. I’d never really had it all come together like that in all my travels. I froze in place and let that moment wash over me, never to be forgotten. For there are millions spent to create moments in movies like this, \u00a0but in real life it’s rare to experience.<\/div>\n
\"\"<\/a>And then there is “A River Runs Through It”. \u00a0 If you’ve read my blogs over the years, I make reference to this movie. \u00a0As a life long fly fisherman and one who wants their remains spread over the holy mountain streams of Montana, the movie is pretty special. And so I watched it again last night. In the land behind my home with a projector an 7ft screen and an old friend. \u00a078degrees, light breeze, big stereo monitors and my tent right there for sleeping in and staring at the stars throughout the night. These are the words I wrote as I sat.<\/div>\n
“And the moon was full. Shining through the oaks that swayed in the breeze. Awash in the warm gentle sounds of crickets and trains in the night I sit. \u00a0And from my seat in the long grass, I stare at a nine-foot screen in the distance. \u00a0Digital images and sound mixing with the natural elements of a perfect summer night.\u00a0<\/b><\/div>\n
And there it was..<\/b><\/div>\n
The rhythm of a butterscotch cane rod dancing over the glistening waters and calling my soul. Where the gentle strings brought forth waters. \u00a0Waters that came from the river that runs through my soul, and are replenished by the mix of the sweet and bitter moments of life.”<\/b><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/div>\n
And I now sit in silent stars and think of the times where “God made” touches “man-made” through nature and our lives. It’s the first cry from a child’s lungs, it’s the last sigh from a dying friend. It’s the free ticket to the secret ballet of music and dance that we left on the nightstand as we picked up the remote and closed our windows for another evening of air-conditioned cable. For if it’s the things we’ve done that haunt us in life, it’s as well the things we’ve missed that bring us pain.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0And in the end, what remains is what we leave behind. Never the things; for surely they will perish. \u00a0And all that remains are the seeds we planted of love, that were watered with the tears of our fears, faith, and hope. The hope of a clearer and more honest picture of life and life more abundant for those we leave behind.<\/div>\n
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And my songs? They are slower now, and my words are sharper. I \u00a0hug my friends longer, kiss with more passion and say I’m sorry more often. \u00a0I curse more and worship deeper. I accept more as normal and reject less as perfect.<\/div>\n
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And all that remains are the seeds we planted of love, that were watered with the tears of our fears, faith, and hope. The hope of a clearer and more honest picture of life and life more abundant for those we leave behind.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Craigt<\/div>\n
on the eve of my 57th year<\/div>\n

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When Nature Touches Art A reprint from:\u00a0http:\/\/craigtolson.blogspot.com\/ I\u00a0was walking in a silent and still snow storm. \u00a0At my side in euphoric joy was my giant […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[5],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":212,"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1\/revisions\/212"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ctolson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}