"As dusk approaches in the hinterlands, a traveler ponders shelter for the night. He notices brushes growing everywhere, so he bundles an armful together as they stand in the field, and knots them at the top. Presto, a living grass hut. The next morning, before embarking on another day's journey, he un-knots the rushes and presto, the hut de-constructs, disappears, and becomes a virtually indistinguishable part of the larger field of rushes once again. The original wilderness seems to be restored, but minute traces of the shelter remain. A slight twist or bend in a reed here and there. There is also the memory of the hut in the mind of the traveler - and in the mind of the reader reading this description. Wabi-sabi, in it's purest, most idealized form, is precisely about these delicate traces, this faint evidence, at the borders of nothingness."
- Leonard Koren, Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets, & Philosophers
I've been thinking a lot about (and feeling) this feeling lately, the feeling left by faint traces. especially today as I watch the little snow mounds where the girls buried themselves early this morning blend away. I hesitate to pick a favorite feeling, but this is definitely one of them.
image - Cecile Daladier journal