Stillness in Crimson
There’s a certain stillness in the woods come wintertime. The leaves have long since fallen, the branches stand bare against the sky, and the air holds a hush you can almost feel in your bones. It’s in those quiet months that small moments stand out the most. That’s when I found him — a lone cardinal perched on a branch, glowing red as fire against a backdrop of muted grays and browns.
They say the cardinal is a sign of hope, or a loved one visiting, and I can’t help but believe that sometimes. Out there, with only the sound of the wind through the trees, that bird felt like a message. His color didn’t just stand out — it warmed the whole scene. Like a single flame that refuses to go out, even when the world is wrapped in silence.
I called the photograph Stillness in Crimson, because that’s exactly what it was. The forest was hushed, almost reverent, as if it paused to honor him. The cardinal didn’t flinch or flit. He just stayed, letting himself be seen, his scarlet feathers burning against the quiet woods. It was a lesson in patience, in being present, in holding your ground without noise.
There’s something deeply Southern about that balance. Folks around here know how to sit on a porch swing for an hour without saying much, just letting the day roll on. It’s not about filling the silence, but about respecting it — letting it do its work. That bird felt like kin in that way, sitting there as steady as any old soul watching the world.
I think about how easy it is to miss these moments. We spend our days chasing busy, running errands, checking phones, filling calendars. And yet, the truest kind of beauty asks for the opposite. It asks you to stop, to breathe, to look up long enough to notice the way a red feather cuts against the gray of winter. That’s where peace lives — in the small, unplanned pauses.
When I look back at Stillness in Crimson, I don’t just see a bird. I see the reminder that even in the quietest seasons of life, something bold and bright can show up. It doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Sometimes all it takes is a flash of color, a still presence, to remind us we’re not alone and that beauty is still alive all around us.
Maybe that’s why I keep my camera close. Not to chase the grand scenes, but to honor the quiet ones. The ones that sneak up on you, unannounced, and change the way you carry yourself through the day. That cardinal — that little flame in the woods — did just that. And I hope this photograph carries that same warmth and stillness to whoever finds it hanging on their wall.
Purchase this print and others at:
https://www.etsy.com/listing/4296212478/stillness-in-crimson-cardinal-bird
Whispering Yak
