Tidal Shells and Writing

We were walking along the tidal zone

enroute to sunset

when the scripting began to appear

The sun going down, the tide moving out

the stirring of ancient ones

 writing scripts in the sand

Look! Even the ancient ones

struggle for direction &

tire of their burdens

There are no answers
only countless tides and
countless stories

written in the sand



~ ~ ~

Roseate Spoonbills

Ajai ajaja

32"  (80cm)

Habitat Range:

Gulf States to Chile, Argentina

 

Myakka, Florida

David's Blue Lily

My eyes hunger

for sights of innocence

 and simple beauty

and for

perspectives that might

feed a soul

I am enchanted by

the way eyes

feast upon the world 

with or without prejudice

soft-eyed or sharp

I entertain these modest needs

and confess

I am a sucker 

for that which 

 eyes need 

now 

...

~ ~ ~

The Watering Hole

Let us not argue

about the shape of color

at this watering hole. 

Shapes change. Colors shift.

And we will be gone

soon enough.

~ click image twice to enlarge~

Touring Back Yards

The Jasmine is beginning to bloom

just in time to distract me

from wherever it was

I thought I was going.

We are awash in colors here.

Greens and reds wear magenta bibs.

Nothing more need be said.

When history is written in a moment,

Post hole yield or Rune Stone?

runes like this
and lovers of dirt
find each other
as if by accident.

~ ~ ~

Early Morning Light

I like making pictures around my homestead ... because it so familiar.

Years ago my anthropology professors declared There is nothing more difficult to interpret objectively than one's own culture. I believed them and still do.

Making snapshots allows me to discover unacknowledged aspects of the things in my life. Some times the snapshots simply remind me of ways in which I sense the world.

Take an average walk around the side of the house. 

Early morning. The sea grasses lit from behind, 

a white trellis fence in the background.

If you squint.

You can see these things.

You watch the light falling down on your path

Like a blessing as color emerges. 

Along with the path of stones you laid down with your hands.

And your friendly neighbor's side door.

And contentment with the way things

arrange themselves.

~ ~ ~

The Return of Jacaranda John

I looked out the front window a couple days ago

to see my faithful old steed covered with

jacaranda flowers.

How very familiar that felt.

Two years ago the blossoms fell on April 10th.

That was the day when, standing in the very same spot,

 I experienced the palpable vacuum of my friend John's passing

out of this world.

The flowers fell, again this year, on the second anniversary

of John's departure. This simple coincidence seemed

more significant to me after editing the image above. 

Immediately above the green jacaranda branch,

in the upper-right corner,

you can find visual traces of a bird, in flight, heading out of the frame.

Remembering that John was one-half American Indian,

some people might say any trace of a bird

was an appearance by John's totem.

Others would say they never believed he was a shaman.

I feel no need to say more.

~ ~ ~