"low-lidded soft sky"

No vulture is here, hardly a hawk, 
Could long wings or great eyes fly 
Under this low-lidded soft sky? 

From "The Low Sky" by Robinson Jeffers. The complete poem is here.


Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.

Soul dwells in a swamp

Whitman understood:

In the swamp in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
Solitary the thrush,
The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
Song of the bleeding throat,
Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,
If thou wast not granted to sing thou would’st surely die.)

Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.

"At dawn, in mist"

One day I stood, small shoes upon the sand,
and looked across a park through frozen trees;
the thorn and sky drove through my soul;
a whistle blew; I heard the end of things.

They told me while I stood, suddenly alone,
looking over the earth, not knowing what to say:
"Nostalgia," they said, "nostalgia,
a feeling men have; you will know it, later,
all your life…at dawn, in mist…
you and all men, lost, even in the sun's brightness."

Today I stood alone among the men;
a whistle blew…the thorn and sky…
"Nostalgia," they said, "nostalgia."

~ William Stafford, "At Roll Call"

Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.

A few words

I’m not sure why I quit writing this blog back in 2010. I didn’t decide to quit. I certainly didn’t stop walking or trying to follow Jeffers’s advice. I wanted to write posts—in fact, I did write them in my head, all the time. If you scroll back a bit you’ll see that I made an attempt at actual words on the screen in 2012, then promptly wandered off again. Somehow, I had nothing to say. Or, to be more precise, I had nothing to say that didn’t seem to run counter to the premise of the blog. There was too much introspection. Too much turning inward, not outward. So now I’m back, with (pretty much) images only. I used to resist letting a camera guide my walks, but I’ve gradually surrendered to it over the past couple of years. Perhaps I feel the world less now because of that, but I think maybe I see it better. Seems a decent trade.

Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.

"The feeling one has cannot be described"

"I noticed, on my early walk, that as the sun rose higher and higher in the heavens, the earth passed through a number of sudden and visible moods. Instead of that peaceful mood of midsummer which accompanies the progress of the forenoon, the countryside grew restless and melancholy in turn, almost taking shape and action, giving one the impression that Nature had assumed wild, faun-like emotions. In the glinting sunlight you could almost see the troubled, alert eyes of a faun; and woods, hills and valleys were as its shaggy limbs, trying to evade some mysterious spirits. The feeling one has cannot be described; one can only make fanciful conjectures. There is little that is so illusory about the coming of autumn. The tinge of sadness which everywhere touches the ripeness of things, gives a tone of vibrancy to Nature which is provocative. Its effect upon human emotion is thrilling, though in a subdued key. "

~ William Stanley Braithwaite

Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.

Wishing everyone a beautiful Mabon

Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.

Hiding in the tall grass

Photo by Maria Browning. Click on the image to enlarge it.