i heard it said tree heliotrope is throughout much of oceana. so many places i have not been! toxic, they say, in large amounts. nobody would eat that much. crooked branches. who could build with such tangled wood as that? but trees like this are fine, so fine, for creating shade beneath a south pacific sun.
white coral sand, wet black lava, tropical seas, the summery sky! every day seems a wonderful dream. we eat shave ice but not much ice cream. a secret beach seems such an idea! down a private road, (we asked the young guard for access, quickly granted) we were on our way. a narrow road on white coral sand, a gift from the bowels of many parrotfish, and we are grateful. a wonderful uncrowded beach. we carried on, to welcome shade beneath hot sunny skies. in black and white, feeling, no surprise.
here is a photo a camera wouldn't do. maybe it could, but it wouldn't. difficult is a challenge, something we might do, if we try hard. impossible is challenging too. though we can't do it, we'll try until we die. challenges entertain us. we enjoy chasing the impossible.
forever, it flowed to the sea: hot orange rock, thick liquid rolling, down to the sea, too hot to imagine. bright orange in darkness, flowing lava makes such a festive nighttime show for all the tourists. steam hisses as liquid rock hits the ocean waves. cooling boulders fall even further, under the waves until something stops them.
from high above, i look at rushing waters, spilling over wet and rounded rocks. our lives too sometimes rush, spilling over rocky dangers, where we might smash, breaking ribs and more, desperately struggling in wild torrents, gasping for air. from cliffside outlooks, it all looks beautiful and peaceful. but sometimes in rushing tumults, we learn desperation, beaten by wild currents, we sometimes survive.
ten thousand feet above the sea a fallen tree can't rot away. its bones are bare and stark we see it lies a dead thing, as we gasp for thin and icy air we understand how the tree came to fall ten thousand feet above the sea
broken bamboo tops lie in a heap on top of fibrous roots, a wind-storm smashed that bamboo grove. we find the scene exotic and a little alien; this is not our world. years and miles pass by too quickly we will learn; a jungle cataract falls from a towering cliff, its source a mystery we'll never solve. this bamboo doesn't care; it grows again beside sweet lacey ferns, a warm wind blows. we came so far and see (that's how it goes). rain drops from sudden clouds above as we drink it in, the gods are making love.
Badlands no.12 the rains came down for millions of years washing away rock (was sand, packed hard and turned to sandstone.) memories stir and i want to return to a place and time a little beyond my grasp. beside me, a small dog sleeps in peace. envy stirs, as i fight sleep like a tired toddler. rock never sleeps, time's rivers wash it slowly to the sea, one grain of sand at a time.
such a beautiful june morning! sunshine burning an image in my ancient eyes. across her fields, a falling barn squats beside expanding woods. summer heat baked barn siding many years ago. we wander past and see a ruin, reminding me of my own ruin, still falling, still failing, still happy to be alive.
a special day, for celebrating love... but this far north, it's icy cold outside. february is about time to be tired of winter we wait impatiently for springtime. ice and snow becomes tiresome. walking on ice is dangerous. we want our freedom back, to follow our toes, wherever they want to go. valentine's day a special day, for celebrating love... but this far north, it's icy cold outside.