For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms
and rainstorms, and did my duty faithfully.
and rainstorms, and did my duty faithfully.
– Henry David Thoreau
What do you want to be when you grow up?
I have answered that question in a hundred ways over the years, because I just couldn’t make up my mind. I was interested in so many things, I could never settle on one. Even as a journalist, I was never sure if I was a writer, a photographer, or an editor.
But now I know. In the spirit of Thoreau, I have appointed myself inspector of storms and sunsets, of a child’s smiles and tears, of young couples freshly in love and old couples who still hold hands, of the first crocus in spring and the last leaf in autumn, of swaybacked barns and time-silvered fence posts. As I make my rounds of the seasons, I search out the lessons in ocean waves that caress the shore; I find meaning in windcarved sandstone.
No salary is required. The job comes with its own rewards.
Herewith is my report.
I have answered that question in a hundred ways over the years, because I just couldn’t make up my mind. I was interested in so many things, I could never settle on one. Even as a journalist, I was never sure if I was a writer, a photographer, or an editor.
But now I know. In the spirit of Thoreau, I have appointed myself inspector of storms and sunsets, of a child’s smiles and tears, of young couples freshly in love and old couples who still hold hands, of the first crocus in spring and the last leaf in autumn, of swaybacked barns and time-silvered fence posts. As I make my rounds of the seasons, I search out the lessons in ocean waves that caress the shore; I find meaning in windcarved sandstone.
No salary is required. The job comes with its own rewards.
Herewith is my report.
David Bly
