how could this be - and then how could this not be . . . ! this crossing of the grey scale and the fading sugars of a season long past or so it seems . . . steven
steven, what perfect perfect PERFECT questions - how could this be - and then how could this not be?i don't know andi don't know,but~xoerin
what a curious progression. i began with a feeling days ago, a desire to go out and find myself. it is so easy for me to find myself with trees. and so i put some of those words here but they were not enough, my own words were not, for in the end being with the trees means i know myself by losing myself. and so i came across this rilke poem, remembrance, but there are such diverse translations for this poem, so i continued to search. and in searching varied translations i came across yet another rilke poem which, in conjunction with the full poem remembrance, speaks to where i was days ago, last night upon my side step watching rain, and even decades ago, and where i will be again.What birds plunge through is not the intimate spaceBy Rainer Maria RilkeWhat birds plunge through is not the intimate spacein which you see all forms intensified.(Out in the Open, you would be deniedyour self, would disappear into that vastness.)Space reaches from us and construes the world:to know a tree, in its true element,throw inner space around it, from that pureabundance in you. Surround it with restraint.It has no limits. Not till it is heldin your renouncing is it truly there.***it seems as though the ether leads us, or as though we are nothing but a part of the ether itself.xoerin
What is black and white and red all over? great pics E.
ollie, you're such a deep guy and yet you crack me up))xoerin
I love the delicious ambiguity here: are the trees blurring because they are getting farther away, or because you are getting closer?
willliam, i don't know. i think the trees might remain the same and it is i who blurs))xoerin
Erin,We do blur in and out of sequences we are trained to follow...And it is outside those sequences that we learn who we really are...and most definitely who we are not..Brilliant composing by you again..
The foto are so beautifull... Hope you are well kiss
"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))