Trace Journals

Well the sun is surely sinking down
But the moon is slowly rising
So this old world must still
Be spinning round
And I still love you

And the deer on the hill…

October 18th should be Day ONE of a GENERAL STRIKE… not one day of protest.

Day after day
It never gets old
The same walk
In different light
Day after day
The scents and smells
And birds singing their edges
While the moon grows imperceptibly full or new
Everyday I learn how to say goodbye.

New York Fern in Pennsylvania.
At end of generation, a season, a life, an incarnation… fading into the future.

Definitely Elon Musk…

Imagining a future.

A dream waiting for a breeze
To lift it into the ether
The fifth element.

Equinox. Equidiem.
Autumn becomes the day and night.

Accidental Cornell Box

Not safe to be a child in school or church or to be black or brown or… be a woman. Get real…

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Lewis Carroll

Locust in the parking lot.
Paradise Paved.

Thank you @fotografiadeautor.bsky.social

Day after day
Leaves at the edges
And then they are gone

Event Horizon

Time slows
Beauty is enhanced
Perspective shifts
Nothing has changed
Everything is different

Dyer’s Polypore
Fungal inspiration for new museum building.

Before the Blight
by Ruth Stone

…My lips whispered over the names of things
in the meadows, in the orchard, in the woods,
where I sometimes stood for long moments
listening to some bird telling me of the strangeness of myself;
rocked in the sinewy arms of summer.

And he sat outside to wait while night fell.

One of his sons brought all the straw he could find, but it
filled the room only halfway.
Another brought all the sand he could carry, but again half
the room was left empty.
The third lit a candle.
And the room was filled.

DAY OF LIGHT
It happened in Africa, in Ife, the sacred city of the Yoruba kingdom, maybe on a day like today or who knows when.
An old man, very ill, brought his three sons before him and announced: "My most cherished things will belong to the one who can fill this room completely."
(Cont)

The Bridge

At the arc in the path
Is a bridge to cross.
Autumn curves into Winter.
Time is the dance of the sun and the moon.
Each counting differently.
It is just this way.

This is divine.

When darkness lights the way.

Thanks Dev!!

It was just a dream some of us had…
Still a lot of lands to see.
Joni

A night at the Met.

Earth will find a way. With us or without us… it does not care.

Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king's horses.
and all the king's men
Cannot put Humpty Dumpty
together again.

Queen Anne’s Lace

Eastern Wood Pewee

is the truth that we hide from our children… hoping against hope that this time… this once in eternity will be different. This time… innocence’s creative open heart will make it through unscarred.
For this we pray.
For this we lie awake.
For this live in constant sadness.
Since forever.

We are all wounded at birth. The constant sadness of the brevity of life begins with the loss of innocence… the powerlessness over time or station or agency. That others, equally powerless, struggle to wield in the dark ways, the weapons of our vulnerabilities, over us and against us… (cont’d)