Oz and i walked by the dying mugho pine i stopped to shoot a photograph. trapped his leash under my feet as if i had a right. no choices left, he waited, impatient as such a small dog can be, perhaps a bit indignant. i liked the leaf colours, not the meaning. the pine had a problem so unlike Oz (and me) we were so happy, on our perfect walk. (for him, always an adventure)
we watch the weather roll over this hill; we see mists slide down towards us, sometimes bringing snow. we run a tab with nature, fools if we forget this. when we are least prepared, perhaps; it will come due. mists and clouds obscure the hilltop in autumn. snow, in winter reminds us we don't go up these hills so well. these are our autumn days. it isn't over; the view is fine, from here.
i met a man who could not see any colour. though i love to see colour, i didn't pity; the man with no colour was good as any. he lived his way, making this world his own. he wasn't disabled in any way. nobody knows what other senses he may have had. he wasn't talking about such things. perhaps there is no way to speak of unshared visions. we all walk alone.
Caribbean Rain last time was exotic tile roofs waiting in early morning rain. maybe it was here we saw pelicans, marine iguanas, rain, tropical rain. looking through glass, we see a certain welcome a welcome of a certain kind. rains taper off. rain, tropical rain peaceful warm rain does not alarm in any way instead, it soothes. (been wet before and always dried)
BW Tree looking lonely on a hillside, black on white is all we see under blackened branches i see no distant stars even there we crave light, we are night-blind even in daylight we do not see so well from here, it looks like scenery of some kind these days, it seems so hard to find good scenery, a distant hillside and a black tree...
Leaf on Asphalt (only a fallen leaf, a thing of little value) i cannot say what meaning there could be. how important is anything i have to say? does anything we think count as important? can we ever be beautiful as a leaf? (only a fallen leaf, a thing of little value)
Leaves and Grass today is a new thing warmer than i thought it would be. brighter, no rain fireworks celebrate something i forget. we look for rain when we are so parched as this our tired earth, a fallen leaf in grass, an old friend (we loved) who now is fallen, fallen leaf (unforgotten now) when we are gone, who will take up our memories? bright stories capture all possibilities. sadly, light fades (it will return) and darkness covers everything. we sleep
Black and White Barn all the colours that we need to tell a story... all the colours that we see make white. no colours at all make black. darkness is like silence to our eyes. a step this way, the point of view will change. this becomes that. and unreal becomes real. looking around corners: a question of seeing. any artist should know: seeing is not believing. but believing is a big part of creating. creating may require all the beautiful colours that there are.
Autumnal this time of year our world begins to chill, so we wonder why we're here as light grows dim and air gets cold but not too cold to breathe today, october, colours start to fade except for trees which go to red and golden (a million leaves have lost their green and changed) this time, this change (is a beautiful thing) it decorates our cooling world and cheers us once again.
Blackened Barn roasting in hot sunshine, hundreds of years, it can't share its stories the laughter and the tears, beautiful wood colours, burned to black, no reason to stand tall, no purpose any more... the old black buildings lean, falling slowly, rotting wooden foundations crumble to dust any nails that may be found turn slowly into rust. still something there appeals to us. hope that things went well, sometimes, there might be stories but no-one's left to tell.