somewhere near, a road-building project destroyed a historic wonder, i made a photograph: a very old log house. sunburned from probably a century of summer sun. logs turned rich brown and black, cracks filled with old white plaster. whitewash, maybe. i don't know the stories i can't see. i can always believe nonsense; it's a very human thing to do. the creek flowed silently past the old log house. maybe it was drinking water, though today it looks murky, a bit dangerous. old stories are impossible to prove, a bit murky, digging for truth a little quirky we turn over stones, looking to see clues to untold stories, stories we can't see.
she's such a gruesome creature, waiting quietly for something foolish enough to wander close enough. she will pounce and sink fangs in deep enough to inject her poisonous venom. two workmen watched me capture her image, to make this photograph, from what they considered a safe distance. her bite might not be fatal for someone my size. it might make me very sorry. and sorrier, her mate, who i am not, may be killed and eaten. i am not him, and keep my safe distance. she is so beautiful in her hunger, almost a majestic creature, with such gruesome expectations. she is amazing, a thing of wonder.
Looking Up insignificant beside the hill, i begin to understand my importance in the scheme of things. if i were to think about my time and the scale of time these hills represent, i'd have to be impressed by my time as much as by my stature. how important i am not! i think and words come out, not always exactly appropriate; it can be a struggle. layers of sand, turned to stone, containing all the stories of so many ages. i seee it all, amazing, i am amazed. humbling, but i am not humiliated. loving the chaotic beauty of this wild place!
Vivid Sky why do i think it's the edge of night? just before the darkness smothers colour then darkness comes, and sticky eyelids stick shut until morning. why do i think it's the edge of night? why not: the edge of day? or something else unusual? maybe we should consider mid-day and midnight. but nothing seems unusual about either. maybe we can forget middles and edges and make it all about the sky. seahorses in the clouds!
some things look so good in colour, and sometimes greytones make music forever in our thirsty souls. this land rose up, millions of years ago. a glacial lake transformed from solid to cold water, and burst its banks making a sudden river, rushing roaring torrent nightmare all day long, maybe a thousand years eroding this sculpted river valley. now we are witness to the aftermath, this sculpted landscape.
here is a tree to make me happy: branches that do not meet my expectations; they all go their own puzzling ways. a pleasing chaos reigns as branches grow unpredictably, following no known patterns, growing always beautiful. shape and shade encourage my easy admiration. (hot summer days teach many meanings of oppression) we should never learn them all.
and when we see the sky as night comes down, we see such light, amazing in our skies. how can we sleep, with colours such as these? then comes the dark, and weary eyes will rest. we sleep and wake, because we hear small birds sing, and then it's daylight, ready to enjoy another day. and we will wait until the day is gone, and we can see the sky again, amazing in our minds.
Red Deer River Valley here was an ocean an ancient shallow sea; great creatures navigated there before you and me. archaic things swam in sandy bottomed shallows sailors in ancient places, where we'll never go again. buried bones have turned to stone millions of years went sliding past it seems so long; it goes so fast. here are bones, when fleshed and live, swam by so long ago. we see them in museums, learning little.
sign of springtime growing wild on a hillside, always impressive, wild things in wild places. snow melt waters cool hillsides, and arrowleaf balsamroot. this year i'll miss the daisies. a time has come to go to distant places, to move along, and find other signs of spring, in other places. adventure seems to beckon; we will go.
it's someplace exotic where i'd like to be again. winds bring us clouds then it starts to rain. green stuff is wonderful, so appealing, i don't know why. it seems a green voice calls seductively and i know that not too many steps, into the green, i'd disappear. smiling.