Twilight Ruminations

"Twilight fades
Through blistered avalon
The sky's cruel torch
On aching autobahn
Into the uncertain divine
We scream into the last divide

You make me real
You make me real
Strong as i feel
You make me real"

~To Sheila; Smashing Pumpkins

"So I asked, "Do you think souls strike harder in the early morning and late evening?"
"Could be," Titus mumbled."

~The River Why

Its late, 12:37 a.m. to be exact. I have just beat a hasty retreat out from under the twinkling night sky. A moon, not quite full, rides the tree line tonight. I spent about two hours in a field that lies just beyond the woods that surround my place of residence.

I sat in a lawn chair, listened to the Smashing Pumpkins and stared at the moon, the stars, and the blinking red warning lights mounted to the cell phone towers that stand tall atop Mount Constitution.

High above the sky crackled as I set up my camera to capture The Great Bear trudging his way through the early night. He held his pose for 30 seconds, just long enough for me to record him on his journey, before finding shelter behind Turtleback Mountian.

Today was a long day, lifting heavy panels and cleaning up a giant cement foundation we poured earlier in the week. I think its time for me to call it a night.

That Five Letter Word...

Death.

At times, even recent times, I have been petrified by this five-letter word. It carries with it something that we cannot understand. There are things about death that we all can readily comprehend. The fact that we will all experience this five-letter noun at some point in our lives becomes clear to us shortly after we are confronted with its varying emotional, psychological, and physical effects.

There are a variety of views as to what death is and what happens to those who have experienced it. An afterlife, another life (perhaps in a different form), nothing at all and everything in between are some of the more widely held perspectives as to the great mystery that is death.

Today I can punch this blog entry out and say with a degree of confidence that I am not afraid of death. Who knows what tomorrow may bring. Since a young age I have thought about life and death. No, I was not a morbid nor morose young child, middle child, or older child. I was, as I am now, extremely in tune with the brevity of our stay in these bodily houses.

I think the thing that is probably the hardest for me is thinking of how I will cope with the death of those closest to me. I can deal with my own death, its other peoples that cripple me. My mom, dad, sister, brother and a large number of close friends are some of those whom I am not sure I can live without. If I had to create a list of what I valued most in life relationships would be my first entry. People and what they have to say is extremely important to me. The small, minuet details of their day in and day out lives are my manna, my bread of life. Take away my bread and I'm afraid I might starve.

In all of this I think of how little we (Americans) actually talk about death in a constructive and critical way. I have found that we tend to ignore it, trivialize it, or create a fantastic story to help explain it away. What we don’t do is actually live with death.

If you saw Road To Perdition you might remember a scene in which someone has died and in the wake of his death there is this huge celebration filled with drinking, dancing, singing, and remembering. I understand that this scene can be interpreted in a variety of ways (one being that the whole wake was nothing but an excuse for family and friends to not deal with the death of a loved one but instead get drunk in an attempt to drown out the rawness of the pain they were truly feeling), I am going to choose to use this scene as an example of how a life (and the death that proceeds it) can be celebrated, mourned, and at the same time keep the awe (and mystery) of death alive.

Can we love the life we live; fully, deeply, passionately, while at the same time keeping the mystery of death in tact? I believe we can and I intend to live a life that points me in that direction. In the direction of mystery, of awe, of the grey that hides itself quietly between the glaring black and white most of the waking world chooses to live within.

Drawn In

Late last night the wind, which usually blows in a variety of sea scented smells on this ocean enshrined island, brought the beautiful chords, both vocal and metallic, of Jason Harrod and Peter La Grand directly into my discerning ears.

I was preparing myself for sleep and had no intentions of taking in the sights and sounds of the festival happening in my back yard. Gingerly, tentatively I stalked across the dark field towards the dim candlelight flickering in the breeze. A small gathering of 10 or 12 people had circled themselves around the men manning the strings. I stood on the edge of the light, hid myself in shadow. I like observing and I didn’t want to encroach upon them in anyway so there I stood, leaning against a cedar, boughs creating a roof above my sleepy head.

What began as merely a curios observation became an experience that instilled a smile on my face throughout the unconscious hours of the night. Thank you Jason, Peter, and the other guys who were playing along with you.

And while the musicians were busy sharing their creations with the rest of creation I sat in my space and edited a few recently captured images. I was very pleased with a couple of them and I thought I would share them with you. Enjoy.


Vancouver, B.C. Downtown in mid-afternoon.


Jacqui Faber singing songs about old friends.

An Observation and Two Pictures

The tin roof murmured complaints,
quiet and creaking,
as the weight of exposed sun rays
broke upon its back
like waves upon a distant ocean shore.

And now for some completely unrelated photos captured while rambling about yesterday afternoon. I love the mid summer hay and the way it spreads itself out across this little island, as a result you will notice that all of my recent pictures feature it in some way.