To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
-Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
Well my good intentions of photographing every day this week have been preempted by the need to help my Mom get ready for Christmas and a rather nasty turn in the weather. We’ll see how tomorrow goes but for today you get another one from the rose garden. When I looked at this picture the first line of this poem just popped into my head so I thought, well, why not. We might say the same of autumn. It is going, going…and soon will be gone.
You look so unlike your mate
Could God not decide?
Well, not many poems about merganser’s that’s for sure. I even had a Mary Oliver poem picked out but I could not find it online and I was not about to type the whole thing in. So, you get my Haiku instead. I decided since it is the last week of the project I should pull out all the stops and go to my favorite places to photograph. So, in spite of being a major snow wimp, I made the trek over the Greensprings to the Klamath Basin. There were patches of ice on the road but the Honda performed like a champ and I reminded myself this is why I insist on having all wheel drive. There were lots of hawks, lots of blue herons, a few ducks, and a flock of geese way out in the middle of the lake sitting on the ice. This may be the first time I have been to the refuges and not seen a bald eagle, and this is supposed to be their best time of year. I dithered between a hawk, a heron and this image but I love the expression on the male’s face, turns out he was thinking about flying away, which he did in the next frame.
Roses, Late Summer
to the leaves after
they turn red and golden and fall
away? What happens
to the singing birds
when they can’t sing
any longer? What happens
to their quick wings?
Do you think there is any
for any of us?
Do you think anyone,
the other side of that darkness,
will call to us, meaning us?
Beyond the trees
the foxes keep teaching their children
to live in the valley.
so they never seem to vanish, they are always there
in the blossom of the light
that stands up every morning
in the dark sky.
And over one more set of hills,
along the sea,
the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness
and are giving it back to the world.
If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
I would be a fox, or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn’t mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.
Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.
Today I went back to the rose garden to see what I might be able to do with faded roses. I didn’t want to go, I had to drag myself out the door. (I think my thermometer is broken, it keeps telling me it is 30 degrees even in mid afternoon). But once I got there I was just blown away by the subtle beauty and muted colors I was finding. I could easily finish out the 100 days with rose pictures. But I have a few other things in mind. I may just inundate you with Mary Oliver though. I’ve run through all the good autumn poems and I’m getting really tired of wading through all the crap that gets posted on hello poetry; but Mary always has something to say that’s worth listening to. And she is my all time favorite poet. But we’ll see where the next four days take us.
Do Stones Feel?
Do stones feel?
Do they love their life?
Or does their patience drown out everything else?
When I walk on the beach I gather a few
white ones, dark ones, the multiple colors.
Don’t worry, I say, I’ll bring you back, and I do.
Is the tree as it rises delighted with its many
each one like a poem?
Are the clouds glad to unburden their bundles of rain?
Most of the world says no, no, it’s not possible.
I refuse to think to such a conclusion.
Too terrible it would be, to be wrong.
To say I’m not feeling it today would be a gross understatement. It feels like there is nothing left to photograph. I know that’s not true. I even have a few ideas on how to finish out the week. But today, I’m not feeling it. So I went to October and looked for something to process. I thought these acorns might look good in black and white. I looked for acorn poems. I was not inspired. Then I remembered I promised you something from Mary Oliver. Just started flipping through Devotions and came up with this one. I hope you enjoy.
I made myself a snowball,
As perfect as could be,
I thought I’d keep it as a pet,
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas,
And a pillow for its head,
Then last night it ran away,
But first – it wet the bed!
This is an art piece I created from some Christmas decorations I saw in a store window when I was out photographing the lights. I used some intentional blur images of the lights to create a little more interest in the piece. As for the poem, I thought we needed something more lighthearted.
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King Jr.
I could not find any good poems about Christmas lights or holiday lights, or the winter solstice or the darkening of the days and we lead up to the solstice but that is what I was thinking about and this quote from Martin Luther King seemed appropriate. It was only recently that it occurred to me that we put up lights around the solstice as much to drive away the darkness as to celebrate the holidays. One more week of increasing darkness and then we can begin to celebrate the coming of the light!
The birch tree in winter
Leaning over the secret pool
Is Narcissus in love
With the slight white branches,
The slim trunk,
In the dark glass;
Spring coming on,
And scarfs the white limbs
-Arthur Seymour and John Tessimond
This is an other one from my walk in the Railroad district yesterday. I’m not being lazy, really, but I have some night photography planned for this evening and I don’t think I’m going to feel like editing and posting images when I’m done. So, you will just have to wait another day for those and enjoy the birch leaf in the meantime. Of course, the obvious choice of poems would have been Robert Frost’s Birches but I just used him yesterday and that poem is a little too long.
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Today I took a walk in the Railroad district of Ashland and as usual I found many interesting things to photograph. But I was most fascinated by the ice in the gutters at some of the intersections. I’m sure some of the motorists driving by thought I was crazy as I kept milling around the gutter searching for leaves trapped in the ice. I finally found one. I had to add a couple of textures to bring in some color and make the image more interesting but I think it works. The poem is not exactly related but I searched for poems about ice and this one by Robert Frost that I had never heard before popped up so I decided to use it.
A Frosty Morning
When the sun hangs low in the eastern sky,
Caught in the trees that shiver and shy,
Red as the robin that flits nearby,
Sing hey, for a frosty morning!
When the lane is a-glitter beneath our feet,
Powered with crystal, delicate, sweet,
And the quiet pond is a silver sheet,
Sing hey, for a frosty morning!
Come out, come out, while the sky is red,
Over the crunching fields to tread,
Ere the frost in the kindling sun lies dead,
Sing, hey for a frosty morning!
We’ve been experiencing a lot of frosty mornings lately. I finally made a point of getting up early enough that my hair would be dry before the frost melted so I could go out and photograph. The same roses that I was so impressed were still blooming a few weeks ago have not fared well with the frost but do still look stunning covered with the little white crystals. I added a texture to enhance the sense of decay.
The Old Oak
rattle the season guardian
of the western woods,
signaling a turned chime
of brilliant pigment.
The old oak
gifts the green grass
with blankets of crisp
covering the worn
One more from Touvelle. I still have a few ideas of what to photograph in the next 11 days but I admit I am getting a little burned out on the project and look forward to being done, or at least moving on to the next phases. At last count I have nearly 5000 images in my 100 days folder though some are duplicates from processing and such. Still I have also deleted a lot of second raters so I’m looking at a pretty nice body of work. The next task will be to winnow it down to the best of the best and create a web gallery. I’m also working on a scrapbook of the 100 daily selections plus a few other worthy entries. And then there will be plenty of art to create during the winter.