The desert tells a different story each time one ventures on it. ~Robert Edison Fulton, Jr.
“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”
― Ernest Hemingway
Behold, I have reached the peak of the mountain and my spirit has taken flight in the heavens of freedom and liberation. I have gone far, far away, O children of my mother; the hills beyond the mists are now hidden from my view, the last traces of the valleys have been flooded by the ocean of serenity, and the paths and trails have been erased by the hand of oblivion. The roar of ocean waves has faded. I no longer hear anything but the anthem of eternity, which harmonizes with the spirit.
“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains,, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know – unless it be to share our laughter.
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.
For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.”
― James Kavanaugh, There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Lord George Gordon Byron
Brilliant, this day – a young virtuoso of a day.
Morning shadow cut by sharpest scissors,
deft hands. And every prodigy of green –
whether it’s ferns or lichens or needles
or impatient points of buds on spindly bushes –
greener than ever before. And the way the conifers
hold new cones to the light for the blessing,
a festive right, and sing the oceanic chant the wind
transcribes for them!
A day that shines in the cold
like a first-prize brass band swinging along
of a coal-dusty village, wholly at odds
with the claims of reasonable gloom.
~ Denise Levertov ~
June, 2011….The Olympic National Park was alive with Lupine and wild flowers….this year…there is snow
I took this photograph last fall, on a clear and crisp Autumn day in downtown Seattle….This wonderfully colorful man…. seemed to me at the time, a reflection of all the PURE JOY, I was feeling, as I wandered through Pikes Market and busy streets of this beautiful city………….
These are a few various shots, taken over the past couple of years…in late summer, early fall evenings…here in the GREAT Pacific Northwest….
These photographs were taken in late summer last year. The city of Bothell did a very nice job on the park renovation.
We headed to the Pacific Rim on the West Coast of Vancouver Island with its majestic mix of rugged wilderness and old growth rain forests to the towns of Ucluelet and Tofino. Be prepared for some steep and very winding roads, thankfully, well maintained!
I think this must be the bluest water I’ve ever seen……
This must be the “sun side” of Wizard Island
Knarly branches how long have you stood here in this spot…what stories could you tell???
“A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant…… over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east.”