a crack in the haze
particles from distant flames
fire’s glow unseen
summer flames, #117
Nature Life
Intimate details in nature
early September, #116
I spent the last 8 days quietly: off of the computer, no pencil and paper, email or reading.
My schedule allowed me to walk in the early morning and late evening.
Below are photographs taken this week representing each day:
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
Day 8
late summer flowers, #115
1.
There is small patch of dry soil on the corner of 6th and Jackson streets. Two of its sides are boarded by a fence at the edge of a paved parking lot. The other two sides by the curve of the sidewalk. Because we have had little rain this patch of ground has gotten little water. The soil is as white and hard as the concrete that surrounds it. I would have paid little attention to it except for sprouting in the barely discernible crack between the sidewalk and the soil is an Indian Blanket whose blooms are saturated in reds and yellows. The Indian blanket is a drought hardy plant, but I was amazed that something so beautiful and vibrant could come from, in my view, the harsh conditions of the hard and dry soil.
while the day’s traffic
stops and goes to red and green…
a silent witness
2.
3.
August Monthly Gallery:
Click on any image to view in the gallery. Use the side arrows to cycle through the images. To exit the gallery, click on the “X” in the upper right hand corner.
late summer waves, #114
1.
2.
Last night I went for a walk intending to watch the sunset. I got a late start and when walking over the hill into the canyon on a dirt trail above the South Fork of the Palouse River, I found the sun had already set. It was that momentary pause between day and night when boundaries disappear and colors blend. I find a beauty in this pause and lose myself in the conversation where for a moment all are talking and listening in silence.
As the darkness deepened I remained lost when the night conversation began with the calling of Crickets and Katydids. In the pause and into the night there were no boundaries or a sense of time, a felt a hint of something beyond myself. After returning home I thought about the conversations I participate in daily with my neighbors, driving from one place to another weaving from lane to lane, and those I spend the day with. Two questions came to mind; where does this feeling go when walking through the pause from night into day and how can I carry it to silently participate in the day’s conversations?
Palouse hills echo
rimmed in light years moonlight gray
coyotes yip-yipping
the maple tree, #113
when autumn winds blow
where will they go when they fall?
and who will listen?
late summer, #112
deep tree shadow’s edge
thistle purple blooms gone white
soon the autumn winds
Dry waterfall, #111
This year the waterfall below Ivan Carper pass is a trickle. On our hike last year at this time, it was raging, filling the valley with its roar. The mountain meadows, although not as green as previous years, are still a contrast to the brown fields of the Palouse we drove through on our way here. Walking up to Minam Lake in the Wallowas, over Ivan-Carper pass to the lake basin, and out following the glacial valley where the East Lostine River meanders, there are also fewer flowers. The plants and the blooms seemed re-energized from the monsoon rain moisture that had come through a day ago. In the rain and the sunshine that followed we walked by Rainer Gentian, St. John’s Wort, Pacific Onion, Pearly Everlasting, Common Yarrow, Sulphuric Flower, Aspen Fleabane, Dwarf Fireweed, and Indian Paintbrush. I’ve never been one to learn the names of things. Camping at Mirror Lake I woke up in the middle of the night to pee and while out had to use my star gazing app to find out the names of stars and constellations. I learned I was seeing Jupiter and Saturn watching Draco flying between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor and the Milky Way spilling into a rising crescent moon. A sad feeling came over me, not having not paid much attention before to the names of things. I’d spent much of my life walking too quickly passing flowers not giving them the respect and appreciation they deserve for the efforts they give, whether it is a hot and dry or cool and moist.
flow in the meadow
purple and green waterfalls
a dusty trail’s edge
July monthly gallery:
Invisible Rain, #110
1.
Melissa and I left on our annual summer backpacking trip to the Eagle Cap Wilderness. We left the Palouse in a shroud of smoke under an orange sun with an AQI (Air Quality Index) of 157, in the unhealthy range. We were going to an area under red flag and flood warnings/watches with heavy rain and thunder in the forecast. It made us feel uneasy. Our plan was to forge ahead and get a feel for what it might be like at the trail head before deciding to backpack in. We arrived to a little thunder, the last we would hear the remainder of the trip, at Two Pan trail head an hour out of Lostine, Oregon. After a conversation over lunch we decided to camp at the trail head to see what the evening might bring. I woke up a few times in the night to heavy rain that lasted 12 hours.
In the morning, the heavy rains subsided becoming waves of heavy-light rain (smaller drops, but the air felt full of water). We were in good spirits and decided to begin our hike. We began walking, taking a right at the fork to follow the West Lostine River up to Minam Lake. It was wet and warm. It felt like we were in a tropical forest instead of a forest in the Pacific Northwest. As we walked my quick dry hiking shirt and shorts were soaked with rain, the humid air, and sweat. I wondered if this is what is is like to swim the mountains and walk the waters.
On the trail we came across a couple and later an individual; each saying how light the traffic and how heavy the rain was last night. They looked soaked as I imagined we did. We continued our walk in the rain. I wondered about the smoke we were driving in yesterday. Were the particles soaking me like the rain? An invisible rain that I couldn’t feel soaking my clothes, skin, and breath? I then wondered about the soaking of other invisible particles such as micro-plastics and green house gasses. I ask myself, how do I walk in this invisible rain?
2.
buzzz -a mosquito
at the end of my swiped hand
a lake trout jumping
Hands, #109
1.
Rolling from the zucchinis she was holding, a green pepper dropped to the floor.
It bounced and rolled to a stop and I bent over to pick it up.
The green pepper is now in my hand, after leaving the hand that she used to pick it up from its place on the produce shelf.
Placed there by the hand of the produce stocker who pulled it from a box placed there by another’s hand.
Picked by the hand of another from a plant in a field grown from a seed planted by another’s.
I stand up and take a few steps, “Excuse me, I believe your dropped this,” my hand handing it back to hers.
a Chickadee sings
up high in a Cottonwood
swirling smoky air
2.
Trees – Summer Winds, #108
1
clip! -a severed branch
within the camera‘s click
falling leaves wither
2.
in the new pole’s light
the meandering vine winds
in old tree’s shadow
3.
distant wild fire drift
willow branches hang in haze
western summer fog
Related Gallery: TREES
Click on any image to view in the gallery. Use the side arrows to cycle through the images. To exit the gallery, click on the “X” in the upper right hand corner.