For a bright and promising summer solstice morning:
Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
…and if necessary, the windows—
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.
~Billy Collins from “Morning”
Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted,
and by degrees
the forms and colours of things are restored to them,
and we watch the dawn
remaking the world in its antique pattern.
~Oscar Wilde from The Picture of Dorian Gray
Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence.
Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.
~Leonora Carrington
The most important person in any picture is the light.
~Edward Manet
Not exactly dark, but without shade,
the sharp purity of morning has been
diminished. I read somewhere that
“only full light reveals shadow.”
Moving through fog, living
is a blindness, a yielding
of my layered ignorance to the mist.
~Luci Shaw from “Without a Shadow”
Let us go in; the fog is rising…
~Emily Dickinson, her last words
I have watched the dying
in their last hours:
often they see what I cannot,
listen to what is beyond my hearing,
stretch their arms overhead
as fingers touch what is beyond my reach.
I watch and wonder what it will be like
to reverse the steps that brought me here
from the fog of amnion.
The mist of living lifts
as we enter a place
unsurpassed in brilliance and clarity;
the mystery of what lies beyond solved
simply by going in.
 Clouded with snow
The cold winds blow,
And shrill on leafless bough
The robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now.
 The rayless sun,
Day’s journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.
 Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.
~Walter de la Mare “Winter”
lone fir taken last New Year’s Eve 2012
These photos (unless identified otherwise) were all taken this year with my Canon Powershot pocket camera.
Here’s to capturing more moments and preserving memories in 2014…
Sam stopping to smell the spring tulips
bearded iris
marshmallow fields forever
iris (and bugs) in Ireland
water lilies in Mount Stewart Gardens, Northern Ireland
Mount Stewart pond, Northern Ireland
Scottish kitty snoozing in a Galloway B&B sunroom
summer sunset on the farm
summer sunset (and bug)
Point No Point, Vancouver Island
Sunset, Strait of Juan de Fuca
almost the world’s largest hornet’s nest (on the farm)
summer evening rainbow
Haying crew
summer morning haze
a joyful evening on the hill
a front porch visitor in a box of Asian pears
spider web in morning fog
thistle full of ants
full moon sunset
After an August rain
evening on the farm
dandelion at dusk
sunset sky
summer morning rain
web architecture
thistledown
hydrangea
spent hydrangea
virginia creeper
too wet to hang clothes
looking north to the Canadian Coastal Range
October fog
fallen leaves on the plexiglass cover of a WWU bicycle rack
Mountain shadow of Mt Baker at dawn
first frost
Twin Sisters
squirrel hollowed walnut shell
Autumn landscape
lichen
rainy rose
morning rainbow at dawn
last evening of autumn, first snow
snow on last day of autumn
Swan in downtown Tokyo in December
And the changing plum trees…
fall foggy morning
late October
New Year’s Eve
A fine rain was falling, and the landscape was that of autumn.Â
The sky was hung with various shades of gray,
and mists hovered about the distant mountains
– a melancholy nature.Â
Every landscape is,
as it were,
a state of the soul,
and whoever penetrates into both
is astonished to find how much likeness there is in each detail.
~Henri Frederic Amiel
What is melancholy
at first glance
glistens bejeweled
when studied up close.
It isn’t all sadness~
there is solace in knowing
the landscape and I share
an inner world of tears.
 
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
~T.S. Eliot from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
When I was young, fog felt oppressive, as mournful as the fog horns sounding continually in the nearby bay.
Now in late middle age, I appreciate fog for slowing me down when life compels me to rush too fast.
When forced to take time, I begin to notice what I missed before:
clouds descend to hug and kiss the ground to bejewel everything they touch.
Today the dead and dying became glorious in subtle beauty,
the farm became all gossamer garland and transparent pearls…
There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on,
and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October.
The sunshine is peculiarly genial;
and in sheltered places, as on the side of a bank, or of a barn or house,
one becomes acquainted and friendly with the sunshine.
It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature.
And the green grass strewn with a few withered leaves looks the more green and beautiful for them.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne
If I were a month, I would want to be October…
A kindly and homely nature, with comfortable temperatures and a bit foggy,
with flashes of burnt umber, misty gold in the relinquishing light.
Don’t be ashamed to weep; ’tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.”
~ Brian JacquesÂ
The end-of-summer farm is silently sobbing in its loss; tears of fall, from fog, mist and drizzle, cling to everything everywhere. I arrive back in the house from barn chores soaked through from walking through the weeping. ‘Tis no shame to be drenched in such sorrow.
The memory of summer is pressed deep in our grieving its passing, our wounds healed by Light that illumines our tears.
We are never left comfortless and weep in the knowing.
Barnstorming 