tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48647463989731741262024-03-05T19:15:26.675-08:00DragongateDRAGONGATE. -
An opening to creative perceptionBillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.comBlogger575125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-10143771210945521302017-11-28T17:40:00.000-08:002017-11-28T17:40:16.360-08:00Courage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“<span style="font-size: 15pt;"><i>Courage”. he said, and pointed towards the land,</i></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 15pt;"><i>This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon”.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;"><i>'The Lotus Eaters' Tennyson</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">My bamboo brush was loaded with what I had thought to be dark blue, but a broad sweep across the white paper told even my colour challenged eyes that this was really a wine colour. OK, I thought and used the remaining twist of the brush's hairs to draw in an island. A few more dabs of colour, a distant galley and I had stumbled into a page from Homer and his 'wine dark sea'. Ulysses, on his torturous way home from Troy has been storm blown beyond the known bounds of the world and while his crew cowers in fear and trembling he sights land by morning's light, tells them to have courage, there is land to leeward. That of the Lotus Eaters, it turns out and the beginning of a new adventure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">I remember telling Homer's story to an acquaintance some years ago who like the crew was in despair with no obvious passage through her life's travails. Sometimes we all need to turn to face into the future and say to ourselves 'courage', because no matter how faintly it shows itself there is something new on the horizon. No matter how dire things may seem this is not the end but a new dawn, a new beginning.</span></div>
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<span class="post-author vcard" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 1em;">Posted by <span class="fn" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="g-profile" data-gapiattached="true" data-gapiscan="true" data-onload="true" href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267" rel="author" style="color: #7c93a1; text-decoration-line: none;" title="author profile"><span itemprop="name">Bill</span> </a></span></span><span class="post-timestamp" style="margin-left: -1em; margin-right: 1em;">at <a class="timestamp-link" href="https://gardheim.blogspot.ca/2016/07/courage.html" rel="bookmark" style="color: #7c93a1; text-decoration-line: none;" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" itemprop="datePublished" style="border: none;" title="2016-07-27T17:12:00-07:00">5:12 PM</abbr></a> </span><span class="reaction-buttons" style="margin-right: 1em;"></span><span class="post-comment-link" style="margin-right: 1em;"><a class="comment-link" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4864746398973174126&postID=3324906061145469540" style="color: #7c93a1; text-decoration-line: none; white-space: nowrap;">No comments: </a></span><span class="post-backlinks post-comment-link" style="margin-right: 1em;"><a class="comment-link" href="https://gardheim.blogspot.ca/2016/07/courage.html#links" style="color: #7c93a1; text-decoration-line: none; white-space: nowrap;">Links to this post</a> </span><span class="post-icons" style="margin-right: 1em;"><span class="item-action"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/email-post.g?blogID=4864746398973174126&postID=3324906061145469540" style="color: #7c93a1; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Email Post"><img alt="" class="icon-action" height="13" src="https://resources.blogblog.com/img/icon18_email.gif" style="border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-style: none !important; border-width: initial; margin: 0px 0px 0px 0.5em !important; position: relative; vertical-align: middle;" width="18" /> </a></span><span class="item-control blog-admin pid-1556057312" style="display: inline;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4864746398973174126&postID=3324906061145469540&from=pencil" style="color: #7c93a1; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Edit Post"><img alt="" class="icon-action" height="18" src="https://resources.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" style="border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-style: none !important; border-width: initial; margin: 0px 0px 0px 0.5em !important; position: relative; vertical-align: middle;" width="18" /> </a></span></span><div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block" style="display: inline-block; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.5em; position: relative; vertical-align: middle;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: inherit; padding: inherit;">Saturday, July 2, 2016</span></h2>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-71231022367516116132017-11-26T17:39:00.003-08:002017-11-26T17:42:07.692-08:00Light in the forest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJ1EAM3YdmkVXo1WjH0U077H4nMlVars9U-y_60_bE0J1Ya_z3G_Vj2VziXfXzodDfvOp0VthlBUI-h5EgsgoFX3S6ElwXV-1WycRIYpZJEakiSaP4OhxSs1iCFZX2n4HxUBcVOjnz6U/s1600/untitled-86+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="1600" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJ1EAM3YdmkVXo1WjH0U077H4nMlVars9U-y_60_bE0J1Ya_z3G_Vj2VziXfXzodDfvOp0VthlBUI-h5EgsgoFX3S6ElwXV-1WycRIYpZJEakiSaP4OhxSs1iCFZX2n4HxUBcVOjnz6U/s640/untitled-86+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Right beside the paved walkway in nearby Ruckle Park, many walk past this scene everyday, but only briefly as the late afternoon winter sun streaks through a gap in the trees will anyone see this spectacular combination. Light is what photography is all about.Being at the right place at the right time is what being a photographer is all about.</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-10772413589151998292017-11-24T16:47:00.000-08:002017-11-24T16:47:16.625-08:00 "The thing itself" <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNJGfXwSkqYh2_44XlpsM7V8nwZzyr-n0DrqvABI2XoTblWp9KxiggkjIdtmMZS3dwr4a_ohKEUUPa1mODMidOaf1BeWZ57pGmvfu5JCJMy0iBcQPOmGN2Wc9qiq1-_CEEbaMbi0ZNmg/s1600/untitled-19+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1563" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNJGfXwSkqYh2_44XlpsM7V8nwZzyr-n0DrqvABI2XoTblWp9KxiggkjIdtmMZS3dwr4a_ohKEUUPa1mODMidOaf1BeWZ57pGmvfu5JCJMy0iBcQPOmGN2Wc9qiq1-_CEEbaMbi0ZNmg/s640/untitled-19+%25282%2529.jpg" width="624" /></a></div>
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The morning at Indian Point was bright and breezy, almost too bright with sun and reflections off the sea, so I decided to break that old photography rule about not pointing the lens into the sun. The result was a close approximation of the original experience. </div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-48890150128954101262017-11-22T17:46:00.000-08:002017-11-22T17:46:06.022-08:00Snake fence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPTAbwvxTA-Q0ZhT1IjE2sF1BxppLzzPHJvMieShHs4eZQ_oFYpTZ_D9bSlur3sn547tqiDIsCD47Jr2TZL4EtRmlcbL1BIyrZYxyKXqYgFIYc8hipUKhvAfy4dwCLjuvRKpJR_0nZWc/s1600/untitled-10-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1141" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPTAbwvxTA-Q0ZhT1IjE2sF1BxppLzzPHJvMieShHs4eZQ_oFYpTZ_D9bSlur3sn547tqiDIsCD47Jr2TZL4EtRmlcbL1BIyrZYxyKXqYgFIYc8hipUKhvAfy4dwCLjuvRKpJR_0nZWc/s640/untitled-10-2.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
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A snake fence was popular in pioneer days. It required few tools, - mostly an axe and some wedges -, close materials - the trees nearby -, lasted just about forever, and could be picked up and moved when necessary.</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-58070003551763802992017-11-13T09:03:00.001-08:002017-11-13T09:03:32.225-08:00The voice of Oneness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Home
contains the idea of oneness as a state of mind as well as a place. A
state of mind that contains companionship and common purpose. We are
one when we cooperate and talk together, consider the welfare of
those close to us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When
we cast our net wider to include those we do not feel similar to, who
may not even know us, then we are extending our sense of home to
include many rooms, many faces and attitudes and we are the richer
for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If we
include all sentient beings within our compass, if we extend our home
to the trees that surround our house, to the flocks of birds voyaging
south overhead, then our home has grown in diversity, has softened
its form, grown large around its edges.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When
we stand on the beach and look out to sea we have a sense of
vastness, Surely this is not home is it? How can this watery
otherness be home? Because it is home to multitudes of fishes and
whales, sealions and others.... then this cannot be home. Home must
have intimate boundaries, places we know and are comfortable in. But
what if we <i><b>could</b></i> feel at home there? If we could sail
out and leave land, humans, familiar scenes, the scent of land
behind, would we ever feel at home there? What if we settled into
waves and wind, clouds and distant islands and found oneness there
too?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Home
is the voice of oneness, home is our planet, the light from the sun,
the sparkle of stars, the passage of the moon. We do not need
boundaries or constraints. We need to live large, love widely and
kiss the universe goodnight.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-3792898785731323892017-11-06T17:45:00.001-08:002017-11-25T17:40:22.805-08:00"We gan kill you all!"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">My
wife and I had the privilege in our early twenties of joining CUSO
and working in Guyana, South America, where of course we were
glaringly WHITE in this colonial system even though our work was of
the low down teaching class type. Everyday we experienced at first
hand the complexity of this class system. One minute the unemployed
cane cutters were waving their machetes and shouting 'Bukra” at us
as we walked through the (South Asian) village on our way to work,
and that evening were being introduced to the Governor General. A
wild and woolly life, but so instructive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A
student might write in her essay that she was the 'darkest child in
her family' and we realized that even there that made a difference to
how she was treated within her family and certainly to her future
prospects, both for marriage and for employment. We also found that
the 'white' Portuguese girl in our class was at the bottom of the
ladder in this pernicious social system because the people from the
Azores were the last to arrive ( after Africans and South Asians) to
work in the sugarcane fields. So colour was not as important as your
history and the work you did, that there were economic reasons behind
prejudice. As there are in North America today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I
think that much of what goes on between the sexes and between the
peoples of different origins has a lot to do with how we envision our
lives and how the social system works. If life is a ladder we must
fight our way up then it makes sense to step on other's fingers below
us and to push off those who share our rung even as we attempt to
pull at the feet of those above us. Women should know their place not because they are women but because they threaten our precarious
position on the ever changing ladder. Men obviously do it. Women do this to each
other too, as do our children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What
our experiences have taught my wife and me is that living cultures
are infinitely complex and variable and that cut-out type images that
simplify and provide rallying cries for social activists are
dangerous, are only another variation of that 'social ladder'
cultural way of thinking. By all means identify social injustice
whether of the Weinstein type or pay equity or of the most common and
unnoticed attitudes in everyday life, but be aware of all our agendas
and biases as well. That 'ladder 'has got to go because of course it
will kill us all in the end.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-82870856314827944752017-09-10T10:09:00.000-07:002017-09-10T10:20:04.387-07:00Tis not too late to seek a newer world<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">A quote from Tennyson's 'Ulysses'. This in context speaks of an ageing hero who encourages the crew of his galley who adventured with him to the ends of the earth to set forth once more. It is not too late.... We read this however within the context of our own lives, sometimes buried amid responsibilities and grown dull and unburnished. It is a call for action, for a review of our lives and movement outwards whether physically, emotionally or intellectually. "To strive, to find, and not to yield."</span></div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-10845758017936521022017-08-21T16:23:00.000-07:002017-08-21T16:24:56.453-07:00Solar Eclipse.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">For
weeks we have been bombarded with “Its coming” messages on the
media so naturally we decided not to pay it much attention. Only when
the bright clear morning darkened dramatically did we wander out into
the weird light and very dark blue sky and see that every gap in the
tree branches was acting as a lens, casting crescent shaped spots of
sunlight on the ground. This for us was a 90 percent eclipse and it
lasted but a brief time but was a reminder that our busy normal lives
are still subject to larger forces: the sun not to be taken for
granted, the moon still able to intrude into the sun's business and
our own in dramatic fashion.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-68041285767568682572017-08-10T17:42:00.001-07:002017-08-10T17:42:42.961-07:00Meeting at Last<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<pre class="western"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> ....its intense reality with love
and wonder, this lonely rock.
'Oh, Lovely Rock' by Robinson Jeffers</i>
Chopping wood today,
down below the rocky ridge,
I looked up and saw it.
The slanting sun
through the cold, clear air,
green ferns and grey rock.
Just taking a break,
warming my hands,
easing my back.
Lichen blotched,
cracked and riven,
enduring grey rock.
Looking down at me here,
but for millions of years,
always changing and on the move.
Islands, ferns, wind voices, roaring surf,
creatures crawling out of the mud.
Flowers, the calls of the first birds.
Once, long before that, free as air,
ash drifting on the wind
from endless volcanoes.
Falling lightly on ocean,
down to the bottom,
covering coral reefs.
Traveller across the Pacific
compacting, twisting, hardening,
eventually here.
Worn down, covered in moss,
cracked and broken,
surrounded by trees.
Here am I,
looking at you looking at me. </span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Meeting at last, oh lovely rock.</span>
</pre>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-30471263274270217512017-07-26T15:45:00.002-07:002017-07-28T18:47:49.496-07:00Field of Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Walking
among the plants on this slope in mid summer it would be easy to not
notice them at all; simply a sea of grasses we wade through and leave
a thin wake where we have brushed them aside. We focus instead on
views of mountains and seacoast, or we are preoccupied with inner
thoughts. To actually look down at our feet is a big step, to observe
that grasses are really but one element in what once was a farmer's
field.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">In
parts of this field with deeper, moister ground the grasses are still
tall and of one community, but high on this slope above the sea the
moisture is long gone from the thin soil. Specialist plants well
adapted to these particular conditions have gathered: plantains with
their yellow flowers and white puff balls, Queen Anne's lace,
thistles, brambles, daisies, hawthorns. All the plants that do not
make good eating and have deep roots and ways of shrivelling up and
waiting for rain to return in the Fall.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">This
assemblage of plant life has taken over once the farmer departed,
and it is reassuring somehow that nature has such a range of
possibilities once humans stop forcing their opinions about the use
of the land. Once over a hundred years ago this would have been deep
forest laboriously cleared away for fields and one can now see the
trees encroaching once more from the edges, sending lone individuals
ahead into the most favourable pockets of soil. How the ground must
contain roots pushing into the clearing, how the air must be full of
seeds seeking a place to take root. Every living thing relentlessly
seeking light , moisture and soil, juggling for a place to live.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
wander on, find a definite path over the hill to the main farm road,
and forget about this field. We turn to other things, but here,
still plain to see for those that look, is written among the grasses
a complicated history of evolution, the continuing story written by
the most successful, the most adaptable to change. Thistles, weeds,
hardy trees and brambles, holding the soil together until the forest
takes it back completely once more.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-88006037130439078062017-07-20T20:29:00.000-07:002017-07-20T20:29:06.244-07:00Sailing lessons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">For one week we had three of our grandchildren staying with us and taking basic sailing lessons down in the bay. Each morning I would drive them to the yacht club and pick the up again in the afternoon. The first day they learned what the boom was, as for all of them it hit them regularly. BOOM! The second day too, BOOM!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Concerned that they might get put off, one morning I set up the table fan, made a simple little boat with a sail and demonstrated that there were certain times when that pesky boom could get them. DUCK!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On the morning drive I would give them quizzes on boat parts to keep them entertained and if the truth be known, give them an edge in class. I really wanted them to shine and finish their week self- satisfied and confident.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Near the end, parents and such were invited to the dock to watch the students sail around the harbour in their little dinghies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> It was a pleasure to see their concentrating looks in the afternoon sea breeze. Back and forth, round the buoys, with me recording the event with a telephoto lens.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Time to pack up, put the masts, sails and booms, the rudders and centreboards away. And of all the things we saw that afternoon that made us proud it was the way our kids pitched in, helped others and did final checks. And here I had thought it was succeeding at sailing that was important.</span><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-61556709293939147352017-07-16T08:53:00.002-07:002019-11-24T17:55:38.030-08:00I am Shiva<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>There
are stories in all religions about the gods walking among us in
disguise. Here is a true one of my own.</i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b>Namaste</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>( I bow to the god within you)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br />Beside the road going South,<br />thumb out, a young woman with <br />multi-coloured hair and bags of stuff. <br />Where are you headed I say cautiously, <br />as she opens my car door.<br />She replies, Wherever you are going.<br />and hops in.<br /><br /><br />I find that she is ferry bound, <br />back to the city and her gardening work.<br />We chat about things vaguely, <br />trees and fields zoom by, and then <br />she allows as how she writes... <br />- a journal, poems - but not going so well.<br />Oh, I write poems too, I say.<br />Recite me some, she replies.<br /><br /><br />I laugh and say that I don't recite,<br />and so we have broken the ice <br />and can then speak somehow of the loneliness of being,<br />about who we are - observers, travellers through life.<br />How seldom we meet our true companions along the way.<br /><br /><br /><br />At the ferry dock she hops out again,<br />sticks her paw back in for a shake.<br />I am Shiva, she says, you made my day.</span><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-730565593421823652017-06-15T18:45:00.001-07:002017-06-15T18:45:43.687-07:00Our arrival on this planet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>I
wrote this after seeing a photograph of a friend's father in RAF
uniform during WWII. It made me think how obvious our lives seem,
seen from our present day perspective, and yet how chancy it all was.
My own father fought in WWI, was badly wounded in Palestine and could
easily have died there out in the desert sand. What then, finished
before I began.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Up in
the night sky the sound of aircraft, somewhere over the fields the
sound of Ack-Ack and falling bombs, but in the upstairs bedroom Becky
was struggling to give birth. There was nurse Bodkin as usual, but
sitting in the chair under the low thatched roof there was a
different doctor, a young and unsure fellow, because the regular man
had been killed, drowned, during the Dunkirk evacuation. This was
wartime Britain, 1942, and I was slow to venture down the birth
canal. It must have felt safer to stay, given the circumstances.</span></div>
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“ <span style="font-size: large;">Let
nature take its course<span style="font-size: 16pt;">.”,</span>
said the doctor, crossing his fingers. No, now we must help, thought
the nurse, but of course she could not take command when a doctor was
present. Eventually out I popped, but that was not the end, because I
had my brother, someone I had been close to for many months, waiting
in line. The doctor dithered some more, the nurse insisted at last,
but baby number two was dead on arrival. Another wartime casualty.</span></div>
</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-56154507085993051082017-06-05T19:21:00.001-07:002017-06-05T19:25:54.807-07:00Along the Shore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJoHV5jiwfJaAekZ6Bm88sIeLfxfrudLtSNNflg9rcevdz3X82Sk6IHu86cbKpPtnrurYTRGEoCfLM2yNV5iIMjGIsr5mAkjPsf0liILzZvY_BV9FGhjeOCeJ5fsYEU4l2Onpt8WoKpI/s1600/untitled-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJoHV5jiwfJaAekZ6Bm88sIeLfxfrudLtSNNflg9rcevdz3X82Sk6IHu86cbKpPtnrurYTRGEoCfLM2yNV5iIMjGIsr5mAkjPsf0liILzZvY_BV9FGhjeOCeJ5fsYEU4l2Onpt8WoKpI/s640/untitled-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Full of blossom, the fruit tree clings to a rocky cleft along the shores of Ruckle Park, here on Saltspring Island. I have seen its parent tree go from youth to maturity to dead and gone, a stick lying haphazardly among the sandstone rocks, and have watched its offspring struggle to grow and survive summer droughts and the cold, salt-spray filled months of many winters. Here now it puts out a million flowers beside the sea. I choose to photograph it within its natural setting rather than produce yet another 'blossom' image. It is its life's struggle that is important about this particular tree, its rightful place along the shore.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-81248965430177507932017-04-20T18:54:00.000-07:002017-05-09T18:02:08.595-07:00Walking into Nature. ( with the Trail and Nature Club)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrXXCqtSGlG89RY6ANxuvTquM3yfDoDWM1QtyCkq-MP3jShWBkt2kAY3jSAbjR7zMK-3q9PEUptSb4vl_oIISVZWtQyugGKKSwZllCPuIWOOWBqsSH2JBSv_2Zr_sN1b2PEeEJDO7yqA/s1600/untitled-11-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrXXCqtSGlG89RY6ANxuvTquM3yfDoDWM1QtyCkq-MP3jShWBkt2kAY3jSAbjR7zMK-3q9PEUptSb4vl_oIISVZWtQyugGKKSwZllCPuIWOOWBqsSH2JBSv_2Zr_sN1b2PEeEJDO7yqA/s640/untitled-11-2.jpg" width="374" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>Seeing,
in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your
intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject
matter with your whole being. It means looking beyond the label of
things and discovering the remarkable world around you.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>'Photography
and the Art of Seeing' Freeman Patterson</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
took a walk with a difference the other day. A leader who walked
behind, choose your own path, lots of time, walk individually, meet
you at the big stump for lunch. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGBNyK9tp3iF4tR18eJKvA2r3Qu4Yp6b1Bw29mn-FU5LghJOsAl21QYziLCvE1eUluBjvqr-dhlohuCigoMXs2ede0bMgdXHlf_DdddtihYiOd2thBvLDOyU_PqN4F6xyUyIdU5BpZ54/s1600/untitled-7-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGBNyK9tp3iF4tR18eJKvA2r3Qu4Yp6b1Bw29mn-FU5LghJOsAl21QYziLCvE1eUluBjvqr-dhlohuCigoMXs2ede0bMgdXHlf_DdddtihYiOd2thBvLDOyU_PqN4F6xyUyIdU5BpZ54/s640/untitled-7-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">As
leader, I was presenting a workshop in photography as a way of seeing
and recording nature more acutely, and that included finding one's
own path.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
tend to assume that a study of nature includes observing, recording
and communicating in a scientific manner – kinds of rocks, flora
and fauna etc. and that<i><b> is</b></i> a powerful way of
understanding the world, but I added a First Nations perspective as
well, that for thousands of years along this coast people understood
the deeper meanings through stories passed down orally: this piece of
coastline, a water spirit curled up against the living land. The rich
and fecund place of the inter-tidal zone. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtQRy0ykVR87v9DZLPD-11SFxjHHRSSb8oc0yE5ihPbN7g_SjSxDSd-_QruxL3J_2p6IfzruVN6-1n-BpAEgXuKdUGxlYbPLJ2i_Lqrz5-Z2ME9WyPY6mFdFYL3cPMNL0XkicS_Wd8ZQ/s1600/untitled-9-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtQRy0ykVR87v9DZLPD-11SFxjHHRSSb8oc0yE5ihPbN7g_SjSxDSd-_QruxL3J_2p6IfzruVN6-1n-BpAEgXuKdUGxlYbPLJ2i_Lqrz5-Z2ME9WyPY6mFdFYL3cPMNL0XkicS_Wd8ZQ/s640/untitled-9-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">At
our big stump noon stop I reviewed the ideas I had introduced earlier
about photography; angle of view, selecting and organizing what will
be within the frame, the intensity and direction of the sun and so
on. I demonstrated as I went and encouraging others to have a go.
Later, as we walked along the coastline to complete our loop around a
part of Ruckle Park I encouraged everyone to think and write about
their experience later as a way of cementing their perceptions in the
same way as they had taken photographs to both explore and record
this natural world.</span></div>
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* these are cell phone images. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfDVdwgvYDHRN2TOyTGSH1Lxk9Bb-Ud99IKAMuAkxSACD-yMMQ3ndspstWylkeDl3uh3d7Ss6oArmajxo2rBxhTRZJUlzNcIleMedi1urJvpf5BlcFW9sd-N_Fp5ezpRyXQIO3PCDdrQ/s1600/untitled-14-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfDVdwgvYDHRN2TOyTGSH1Lxk9Bb-Ud99IKAMuAkxSACD-yMMQ3ndspstWylkeDl3uh3d7Ss6oArmajxo2rBxhTRZJUlzNcIleMedi1urJvpf5BlcFW9sd-N_Fp5ezpRyXQIO3PCDdrQ/s640/untitled-14-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsCMc-2CD42VV-rK23-Pm6GOljQjc8fJE_92ci1DKwwmTi7Undg5wThKMDyNRYf9YZE3jFU6WuquPtVE7cIRpptL2lGC6_yhBIed1RRL9pxrlcEmRpyW6rhLQ8gJbR08TqJ47UlghyS4/s1600/untitled-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsCMc-2CD42VV-rK23-Pm6GOljQjc8fJE_92ci1DKwwmTi7Undg5wThKMDyNRYf9YZE3jFU6WuquPtVE7cIRpptL2lGC6_yhBIed1RRL9pxrlcEmRpyW6rhLQ8gJbR08TqJ47UlghyS4/s640/untitled-17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrEYwCnUM7fFxaDBPp-wBoa6EGm8Bm6qOFSVt4O5xONEGNMWvOoi_2vVHguCeIGa3FB7vcG_S36kfpDIhLpuHq9TQ-MkgCgaO1fxR25A8lWdAwtmBsh4iye7t69kc_54CmWR6p5ZRZzU/s1600/untitled-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrEYwCnUM7fFxaDBPp-wBoa6EGm8Bm6qOFSVt4O5xONEGNMWvOoi_2vVHguCeIGa3FB7vcG_S36kfpDIhLpuHq9TQ-MkgCgaO1fxR25A8lWdAwtmBsh4iye7t69kc_54CmWR6p5ZRZzU/s640/untitled-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Plv7fq57eOfpZx1CoD9jDizg3zcFaAie5w9aKm93TXVre7tCmw_mS0n_84IE1YPn-y5Ci7K-inX32zaw_iFZHr_OLUsq6HJh171gSu_CO0JZggiWs7IJOCscuOPXGfrkD8Hc6p5TAiY/s1600/untitled-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Plv7fq57eOfpZx1CoD9jDizg3zcFaAie5w9aKm93TXVre7tCmw_mS0n_84IE1YPn-y5Ci7K-inX32zaw_iFZHr_OLUsq6HJh171gSu_CO0JZggiWs7IJOCscuOPXGfrkD8Hc6p5TAiY/s640/untitled-22.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-41638023457923659392017-04-08T10:11:00.001-07:002017-04-08T10:11:16.355-07:00Spring IS sprung.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj189qhwlKkcVmx3P55v9CSinDn1C1jlTjlE9QHcG4pBI_5hGYbv2uQ_D6PtJyfzPjn34PCqZMa2N39ZMcuoDwMeCt3Mk3DuTlpWP8-1jRRpypLGVOGJ5uj-M87Tcpw62GsLsmMsl1NfZc/s1600/untitled-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj189qhwlKkcVmx3P55v9CSinDn1C1jlTjlE9QHcG4pBI_5hGYbv2uQ_D6PtJyfzPjn34PCqZMa2N39ZMcuoDwMeCt3Mk3DuTlpWP8-1jRRpypLGVOGJ5uj-M87Tcpw62GsLsmMsl1NfZc/s640/untitled-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It has been creeping steadily along for some time,</span><span style="font-size: large;">but after several return-to-sender interludes of winter we were not believing deep down. Now we are in the mist of new leaves, froggy choruses in ponds surrounded by yellow swamp flowers. A new beginning, here we go again.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVaaMyZJRandB2Q_v4BwZAwj2E1hJjw_agm64qRtfAJRcUZRsnWRxPLxqzi1Gd-3clztuiDFQm2Wu4XBhTwsfYKfPavwppneKe4QcksXO_d5ojtIbqLOCtj_JR-S8Z6Zxi4W9LAFjrZ4/s1600/untitled-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVaaMyZJRandB2Q_v4BwZAwj2E1hJjw_agm64qRtfAJRcUZRsnWRxPLxqzi1Gd-3clztuiDFQm2Wu4XBhTwsfYKfPavwppneKe4QcksXO_d5ojtIbqLOCtj_JR-S8Z6Zxi4W9LAFjrZ4/s640/untitled-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-44595913158296412402017-03-15T16:29:00.001-07:002017-04-04T17:38:56.990-07:00Walking Miss Poppy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGNhhBJfepQ1POLYRB2zqJOrrTYvy_SGO5Hm5ZdTx7YeTyiiCxl-xtcCSICUM032YfS4LkoC63yePY22mEYAYFI1usvkq_81tf36KxQio0AGdaM5NiEeaOL38NZDCZds_OgyZ8IaCOug/s1600/20160805-20160805-SAM_6552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGNhhBJfepQ1POLYRB2zqJOrrTYvy_SGO5Hm5ZdTx7YeTyiiCxl-xtcCSICUM032YfS4LkoC63yePY22mEYAYFI1usvkq_81tf36KxQio0AGdaM5NiEeaOL38NZDCZds_OgyZ8IaCOug/s640/20160805-20160805-SAM_6552.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">I
was dog sitting for a while the other day and took Anne's border
collie Poppy for a walk. It was an interesting experience to walk
with a well behaved, intelligent young dog who was obviously
enraptured by the scents and sounds of early Spring.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Humans
are so sight oriented, it takes a pig farm nearby to engage our
olfactory senses, but Poppy was experiencing her life principally in
that way. Oh, oh, oh, she said as her nose poked deep into a twiggy
hollow beside a water filled ditch. What is that, as she listened to
a red winged blackbird, trying to catch its scent to really
understand. </span></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_eRT3sPmZ_ubMK1mZb03VGc1JP4Q2p26tC89C2OP22JojTdsTQ2VrBd62UsIPL_01HSTF6cieUus8Rt3l24bLkhVisNUNcHwIBcKivCMX8Cq0zcNHKCSJA2aq9wkzD3g-ZSV5smIYm0/s1600/20160805-20160805-SAM_6555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_eRT3sPmZ_ubMK1mZb03VGc1JP4Q2p26tC89C2OP22JojTdsTQ2VrBd62UsIPL_01HSTF6cieUus8Rt3l24bLkhVisNUNcHwIBcKivCMX8Cq0zcNHKCSJA2aq9wkzD3g-ZSV5smIYm0/s640/20160805-20160805-SAM_6555.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">I
found I was listening as well as seeing: a watch-quail calling from a
blackberry vine perch, the first robins, the sheep in the fields, the
wind in the trees. I watched Poppy's nose twitch to a passing scent, how she lurched from side to side trying to stay in
the flow of fascinating smells along the road side. I understood
today why humans and dogs have such a long history of co-evolution,
their senses complement each other. This morning, thanks to Poppy, I
experienced Spring in multiple dimensions.</span></span></span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-73048567849333714522017-02-08T09:23:00.001-08:002021-11-28T11:03:55.512-08:00Sittin' on my Boat in the Bay<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A
dramatic monologue, this is my window into the often lonely and
dangerous lives lead by people who do not, for whatever reasons, find
a secure place in our society. Having lived on board my own boat at
anchor in the winter it was not hard to picture this situation or for
that matter to reach for the extremes of my own character to fit this
anonymous boat person, 'hanging on 'til morning's light'. </b></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> <span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>In
reality, he is a part of all of us, a background anxiety we try to
ignore. How close we are, a pay cheque or two maybe, from loosing our
place on the economic ladder and ending up, rejected, confused and
defiant, on the street or on the beach.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b>Sittin'
on my Boat in the Bay</b></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>Sittin' here resting my bones</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>and this loneliness won't
leave me alone.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>(Sittin' on)'The dock of the
Bay.' Otis Redding</i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">A cold Nor'-Wester is
screamin' tonight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Got my fore-hatch duct-taped
down tight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">The wood stove is warm, but
I'm still damp and cold.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">I pray my anchor holds 'til
morning's light.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">My dear old boat, I got you
for a dollar.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Found a cheap foam mattress,
cooking stuff. </span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Free as a bird from paying
rent.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">You may roll and buck, but
you are all I got.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Out in the bay, in
spray-filled fear,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">dream boats like
mine are barely clear</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Of one final steep dive, or
broke on the beach</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Where I would drift and be
lucky to reach.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">In the summer this is an
ideal life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jigging for fish in a
throwaway skiff,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">beach-combing along the
shore.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">No working for a living, no
responsibility.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Had a dog for company,
drowned last week.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Fell overboard, couldn't fish
him out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Its a tough old life out here
on the bay,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Survival of the fittest, no
place for the weak.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Others living this rough life
on the sea,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">They ain't no friends. You'd
think so, eh?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">No thievin', from each
other,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Parties on shore, that kind
a ting?</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">For my freedom I left my life
on the land.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Used to sell cars, life
insurance, anything.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Now in winter winds I'm stuck
all day long,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sittin' on my boat in the
bay.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Shore folks say get a job,
join up again.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">I bin there ya see, you don'
fool me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">A mug's game: warm house,
car,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">wife and kids. Bound hand and
foot!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">I'm a lone wolf and proud to
be one,</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ain't
got nothin' to tie me but my boat.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">If this storm keeps up I
won't have that,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">But then, without my life, I
won't need one.</span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-13803881337557355392017-01-30T10:38:00.000-08:002017-01-30T10:46:42.322-08:00Shadows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><b>Yesterday several people were shot down in an attack on a mosque in Eastern Canada. This seemed a good time to present this poem that discusses how human beings come to do such things - the shadows of our own human nature.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><b> The long quote from Beowulf, one of the first Anglo-Saxon poems from a thousand years ago shows how old these fears are. The mere is not far from here, where we are right now, in the present.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><b> </b> <b> Shadows</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b></span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>That
mere is not far,<br />as miles are measured. </i></span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>About
it there broods<br />a forest of fir trees frosted with mist.<br />Hedges
of wood-roots hem in the water<br />where each evening fireglow
flickers<br />forth on the flood, a sinister sight.<br />That pool is
unplumbed by wits of the wise;<br />but the heath-striding hart hunted
by hounds,<br />the strong-antlered stag seeking a thicket,<br />running
for cover, would rather be killed<br />than bed on its bank. It is no
pleasant place<br />where water-struck waves are whipped into
clouds,<br />surging and storming, swept by the winds,<br />until Heaven
is hidden and the skies weep.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i> Beowulf</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Not
far from here a forgotten pond is becoming
tangled by encroaching vegetation.
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now at dusk, it is covered
by alder and willow leaves that first drift to the still surface,
pause and then whisper down to darkness.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The shadowed water is
shrouding its face, but for an instant we are dazzled by a last glare
of reflecting sunlight.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A deep mere, black and
stagnant. We uneasily slide our eyes aside toward sunset's golden
benediction.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We sense weirdness here, a
place where we will surely be dragged under if we should wander
astray.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There have always been
places like this that fill us with dread.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We follow our fears, hood
our eyes and pass by on the other side.
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Strangers too: strange
voices, strange clothing and face coverings. We shun them, close our
minds,
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>harden our hearts and pass
them by on the other side.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>These
are old, old, human instincts,</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fear
of the dark, of the unfamiliar and of what we do not understand.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>They
still whisper danger to our inner ear.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The shadows of our own human nature.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-76057450146339716512016-12-20T12:22:00.005-08:002022-11-14T17:21:35.184-08:00Winter Solstice, Our lady of the Forest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="LEFT" class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Dec
21<sup>st</sup> is the Winter Solstice when the days begin to get
longer and Spring cannot be so far away ( here on the West Coast). I
have related Christmas to the older solstice celebrating Saturnalia
of the Romans in this poem and the Madonna statue to the even older
Egyptian beliefs that lead to the worship of the mother of Christ -
the bringer of the light of the world. The more things change the
more they stay the same.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Despite
knowing the background of our lady of the forest and seeing her
wrapped in Christmas lights, I can still make the intuitive leap,
feel the truth of that other reality and benefit from my step off the
road, down that narrow trail and into the forest.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPw3nXv9uYDPAaPb_8zmGgH6vb8BVeRNAmHTer8XI2cfLvGj9FF9iWE0Rc2D3bS4zCXLqPB297hL9yy7769mpupg6yqb9z4iBsVxMiatjbEY8_vzY0A0u3DVkHv6RBqqsVSqE3EnXZAf0/s1600/20161119-20161119-DSC_0021.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPw3nXv9uYDPAaPb_8zmGgH6vb8BVeRNAmHTer8XI2cfLvGj9FF9iWE0Rc2D3bS4zCXLqPB297hL9yy7769mpupg6yqb9z4iBsVxMiatjbEY8_vzY0A0u3DVkHv6RBqqsVSqE3EnXZAf0/s640/20161119-20161119-DSC_0021.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b> </b></span></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b> Our Lady of the Forest.</b></span></span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">For
Christmas she is floodlit at night.</span></span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 15pt;">Just
back from the main road,</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">a
modest statue </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> of
our lady of the forest.</span></span></span><br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">It
is full daylight on this year's visit -<br /> </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">sun
in the treetops</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">patterns
of melting snow</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">in
the blue shadows.</span></span></span><br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">I
have to slide down a narrow trail,</span></span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 15pt;">step
between trees and over roots,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 15pt;"> to
clearly recognize her waiting </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 15pt;"> in
the shining green undergrowth.</span><br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">At
this time of year, the darkest,</span></span></span></blockquote><p> </p>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">she
takes on a significance</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> overlooked
during brighter seasons.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> Bringer
of the light.</span></span></span><br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">I
know this is a concrete reproduction,</span></span></span></blockquote>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">one
copy of many, but well made.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> A
believable young woman,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> Standing
so seriously upon her pedestal.</span></span></span><br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">For
thousands of years, the mother.</span></span></span></blockquote>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">It
takes me a leap to accept her blessing</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">and
return to the road,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15pt;">renewed.</span><br />
<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></blockquote>
</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-65547401159233444592016-12-14T14:21:00.003-08:002020-11-01T08:45:05.310-08:00Two views<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b> </b></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvdU2f_EKAv-LLJF1t_WtzW0c0wu0z_G_luriQdnAW1DcCT-oQPaKfdoFl2enTkkhxBeUH7EJS2urh5lAByu83a3xKZc-XRrRWxPQJVGGCeT0jYdLn0h_Rvdx2VY2_CT0c2jd1qjNpVE/s1600/20161113-20161113-DSC_0034.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvdU2f_EKAv-LLJF1t_WtzW0c0wu0z_G_luriQdnAW1DcCT-oQPaKfdoFl2enTkkhxBeUH7EJS2urh5lAByu83a3xKZc-XRrRWxPQJVGGCeT0jYdLn0h_Rvdx2VY2_CT0c2jd1qjNpVE/s640/20161113-20161113-DSC_0034.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><i> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">With
a nod of thanks to Good King Wenceslas, the Bible , James Joyce,
Dickens and Robert Frost. ( and probably others....)</span></span></i></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">It
has been below freezing since seems long ago, </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">And
cool and crisp and even </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">could
describe these particular dark, short, winter days.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Snow
is general all over Saltspring Island:</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Our
driveway and roads are icy and difficult to negotiate, </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">The
woods filled with that white stuff.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">We
feel frozen fingers despite the gloves.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Roll
on Summer, we say, Humbug,</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">And
watch the woodpile shrink</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">As
we keep the fires burning hot.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">How
beautiful upon the mountain,</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">And
upon the trees and bushes,</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Are
the traceries of white.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Blue
shadows gather in inky pools</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">At
the foot of </span><span style="font-size: 20px;">snow-capped</span><span style="font-size: 15pt;"> rocky ridges</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">And
rays of sun, casting long yellow stripes,</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 15pt;">Brightly
peer through green, mossy trees.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.25cm;">
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-35049591962329376462016-11-30T10:21:00.001-08:002017-04-24T15:31:22.799-07:00The Indian Well<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>I started writing poetry a month ago, trying to find a formal pattern of language that could express ideas that came to me but sounded not quite right in prose. Of course in writing this poem about another culture I have reached for the long European tradition of holy wells, mostly forgotten too in our modern world.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>The ink painting, I made some time past.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b> The Indian Well. </b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht59XwVbk9RTZr4vwQGyrO0yQFLWIfzUZomB-m-RDv51tLUyQrPQbSpbkECVwJHv8ApDX8Olniur5iyKE7YgfVXnNLQo6MzA78d-QzLgyJcTWm24FyOkqFwqrBqkRmtQ7PohLUArsUPUE/s1600/20060224-IMG_2308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht59XwVbk9RTZr4vwQGyrO0yQFLWIfzUZomB-m-RDv51tLUyQrPQbSpbkECVwJHv8ApDX8Olniur5iyKE7YgfVXnNLQo6MzA78d-QzLgyJcTWm24FyOkqFwqrBqkRmtQ7PohLUArsUPUE/s640/20060224-IMG_2308.jpg" width="330" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Somewhere on this island,</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">A
dark pool we call the Indian well,</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Just
back from the beach.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Our
island is burdened with the material parts of our culture:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;"> Houses, roads, schools, churches, hospital .....</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Our
dominant ways of thinking - beliefs, ideas, imaginings - are here
too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Some
old settler story perhaps, </span></span>
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Of
native people coming in canoes from all up the coast</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">To
visit this well, drink, take the living waters home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Oh,
we could simply drive down a side road today</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">And
slash our way through the undergrowth to that rock-rimmed pool of
water,</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">But
that would not be the Indian well, not really.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">If
we paddled up the inlet by moonlight,</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Pulled
the canoe onto beach logs and walked naked into the shadows,</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">We
might be getting close to the well, but not quite.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">If
we had lived a long time ago, and were one of the original tribes, </span></span>
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Then
we would easily find it, the magical, curing water</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">Reflecting
the trees overhead, the shadows of the people, the moon.</span></span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-24775037063841185412016-11-20T09:50:00.000-08:002016-11-20T09:50:04.109-08:00The straight and narrow - a creative space<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sometimes
it is useful to have a plan in mind, a framework within which to
create. It seems counter intuitive, surely complete freedom is best
for creative people, but in most cases creating a narrow path down
which to venture leads to great things. A structure can form a focus
for the mind and of the final product.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhzjQeCVX9iY_kucxabFKcRAtLmtBUTw0EGiQJA7f_avWlotBRzylAQOpnPJAZJox6SVa4JMDWgvO6K5bDvJzw3L0UXMzGqhIQAsKyiqbRGUhTDXa4P9YvQBGTRnm9WJqY9ewhhGnWdY/s1600/20161020-20161020-DSC_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhzjQeCVX9iY_kucxabFKcRAtLmtBUTw0EGiQJA7f_avWlotBRzylAQOpnPJAZJox6SVa4JMDWgvO6K5bDvJzw3L0UXMzGqhIQAsKyiqbRGUhTDXa4P9YvQBGTRnm9WJqY9ewhhGnWdY/s400/20161020-20161020-DSC_0013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrf2gBW5YLlixGu1ZA4D9FztFQFWmQTn5L0Gr1BijPzQfFyxPtiZMwEMZR6nNY__SeZ6FgdGHngg8MFNu52OF3pOwV_JrP1ZRROsf98EaFUf5Hmo52e_toERtc0m2-Mrq-Fh81VjiVhI/s1600/20161020-20161020-DSC_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrf2gBW5YLlixGu1ZA4D9FztFQFWmQTn5L0Gr1BijPzQfFyxPtiZMwEMZR6nNY__SeZ6FgdGHngg8MFNu52OF3pOwV_JrP1ZRROsf98EaFUf5Hmo52e_toERtc0m2-Mrq-Fh81VjiVhI/s400/20161020-20161020-DSC_0003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
poem these days need not rhyme, or have a steady beat and this can
lead to work that, in its freedom, lacks all the other elements of
poetry as well, like metaphor for example. Anyone creating music may
well stray from historic forms, but at their peril if they walk away
from all formal elements and work in a vacuum. Just so in the visual
arts, if one is to wander down interesting trails and away from the
historic forms of pictorial representation then one should have a
very strong rationale to carry the day. Imagination usually requires
a form within which to work and that also facilitates communication
of ideas to others.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnG0_9rpXW7NCoPCQjb4t5DPXTnaZeEPKcZsKMAvTwdAv8D-sABZPnUwEmk1EyXp9BWvvwjX7CX6nTKh5pm_iPWyVIP-mfMCAkVEbKu5Q3cfWNLk8baUUFxKaht9wOCNlcgaN29KJpWAw/s1600/20161020-20161020-DSC_0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnG0_9rpXW7NCoPCQjb4t5DPXTnaZeEPKcZsKMAvTwdAv8D-sABZPnUwEmk1EyXp9BWvvwjX7CX6nTKh5pm_iPWyVIP-mfMCAkVEbKu5Q3cfWNLk8baUUFxKaht9wOCNlcgaN29KJpWAw/s400/20161020-20161020-DSC_0002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
am still pursuing photography in monochrome and decided today to also
limit my photography to a specific theme - trees - their trunks
and the texture of the bark, logs washing back and forth in the
waves, a grove of oaks poised like dancers, or the twists and turns
of arbutus..... I set up a narrow path, thought about composition and
benefited from that limitation.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-91673863548738323042016-11-14T17:54:00.000-08:002016-11-14T17:54:17.471-08:00Winter on the Coast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Leaves are gone, stark branches stand against the grey sky and shadows crouch behind tree trunks and bare humps of rock. Here is a time when colour clashes with the steely mood, shapes take on significance and monochrome comes into its own.</span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4864746398973174126.post-79553928462156972822016-11-10T20:11:00.001-08:002016-11-14T17:56:45.724-08:00The Englishman River as Resource.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Recently
I visited a familiar section of this river near Parksville BC and
took some more photographs. The Fall is an evocative time of year
when the salmon make their migration back to their birth river to
spawn and die, Their bodies provide the fertility that the next
generation will need in their turn and also contribute to the whole
ecosystem. This is a climactic event for rivers along the west coast
and far into the interior. All those little rivers receive energy
from the ocean and spread it around the local landscape.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">This
particular river is also a resource in the surrounding communities
for fresh water and is under pressure to cough up more and more for
new developments. We see nature as a resource for human activities,
our legitimate needs and requirements, but somehow miss the
inconvenient truth that a river is not simply water running down hill
to waste in the sea but is a complex of many life forms and has some
dwindling rights to be free. Missing that greater truth is to destroy
yet another strand in the web of life. A strand that we all need, all
our children will need, in the long run.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">If you follow the lin</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">k below you will find a more comprehensive article on this topic.</span></div>
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<a href="http://canadianlittlerivers.blogspot.ca/"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Little
Rivers of Canada</span></a></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170546435918018267noreply@blogger.com0