where heads appear

The water is usually covering those rocks and mud, bob doesn't seem to care.


I think this is the biggest flag in town, it is about 8 X 16 maybe, worth another look.


contrast as genuine inspiration
as natural as acceptance
of open clear vision
shunyata and prajna
as rocks whose heads are ducks


perceived as ground a path through the mud would be a formidable struggle or seen as background for an abstract interpretation of the path water takes the journey to shunyata would have no definition

when you try to find a way
inside a shadow of yourself
reflected by the mind
in order to provide access
is there impediment?

glove as empty hand
trapped by entrance way concept
cannot find the door

part of the same

Well look at that; the first flower of the season, I knew a couple of days of warmth would bring them out somewhere.


Perhaps, when seen from the perspective of the duck, a head in the mud would be good, or, as dumb as a duck with his head in the mud


integrated with the landscape geometrical influence builds houses for imagination

when you follow the line the stem makes
it keeps wanting to be a leaf
and it keeps becoming something else
all manufactured from mind
primordial
like the source of it all
but we're not trees ...
ahh he said
as he began to realize
it's all part of the same thing

disturbing the calm

Ryder is cool to have along, he always encourages me to take photos, usually because it involves some sort of fun for him.


He went all the way down and across the creek just to toss a stone into otherwise calm water.


the moment following ...


and a few moments later.


geometrically inspired lines preventing access for even the weest of birds

almost as if etched in stone
a pause to consider
renders faces that peer
to the inside where
the archetype built
for protection
lends emotion to the person
of stone

some fog

pay homage to the neighbourhood shrine// connected to electric grid// wired to life


emphasized by winter morning fog sifting between orange trees colour waits to return

when out of thick fog obscuring all but a few feet of vision
a crow vocal to pinpoint position
flies from the empty gray and alights
on the curved pole reaching for illumination
in the density of this surround of absolute blank
reverberating off nothing
to provide an echo that is hollow
the sound survives only long enough
for the ears tuned and turned to hear
the subtle voice beneath as it speaks
in a language we all can understand

a spring in that step

behind abstract confusion - with a little concentration - good old bob makes an appearance


I like how the background blue can seem like it's sky when it is actually water and the tree really wants to walk up those stairs


an easy angle to remember for a summertime repeat of this shot

drawn on the side of a tree
motion implied by shadow dance
makes shapes
and gives meaning
to the interruption
of a flag

bluerise

Me, in front of my shrine, I love hockey, obsessively, it makes me smile.


Remember the crows in the tree outside my window at the old place. It was fun to try to get the timing right to catch one in flight. It's like shooting at a moving target, you have to aim a little ahead. For this one I would have liked the exact moment the beak touched the cheese but this will do, the empty space adds some suspense. Do crows even eat cheese?


blue rise of sky from black of night// shimmers in low light morning// like a somber mood// a cloud from river lifts// and one thin wire// thick with snow// as shore line reflection// in water colour painting

part of the pattern
distorted by the introduction
of subject viewing situation
changed by the eyes
they appear to stare
when what and where
are overcome by why

images gone

a small piece of ice yields an infinite stream of abstract imagery


tapped into with random abandon


letting instinct dictate water taking shape


and then there's this guy


whose strange eye was discovered in ice on the bumper of a car

perception inured
by principles governing reflection

expectations shattered
by interference disrupting the pattern

weirdity

photograph the crow
universe omen to show
looking back taboo


following in the footsteps of a photograph looking back// to see the sullied purity of a sidewalk fresh with snow// disturbed by an never ending flow that could be anything


one single stick creates enough resistance to gather snow and make a plate of ice spread out// its size dictated by the depths the temperature reaches and its beauty evident by the way the frozen image teaches

over edge snowflakes
sift to a scene below
where suddenly a shape shifted
perception and a smile grew
on two faces at once

windowful

one bird tree top sits
winter as blanket of gray
holds onto branches


a circle of trees as inverted smile holds white snow beneath its sad curve and waits for spring to change the face of mountainside subliminally projected on sub-conscious perception at the beginning of each day


trapped inside a winter fortress// of fewer hours of light// the eyes need to find// places to go// without leaving home


shaped like a rock interrupts empty in precisely the right place to give expression to the way ice clings to stone


on path followed every day like sun crosses shadows in the same place the background always changing makes for angry interpretation of the disappearing face

temperature isolates the process
like a human shell interrupts that
as it pauses for a moment
to reflect through resistance
then continue to flow

making comparisons

divided along a line that splits the field for comparison and activates a reflection


not all flags have to fly


balance has a way of needing two things to make reference to


like a connection to a stream of information// isolation leaves footprints in fresh snow// as the only place to go// for evidence of continuation

muted by the dull of winter light
colour finds a way to rise
as an imagined sun cresting mountains
mirrored for dual vision effect

if water flow patterns
stopped in motion for examination
are designated art
then whose hand drew the shapes
and how is it that the artist is
both unique and universal

outside story

within a limited amount of information// colour creates an external dialogue// to narrate the situation


circular roof creates a place// for a hundred pigeons to remain// and revolve about the beacon


piece by piece of information// the story builds like bricks// on a wall stained// if only to explain

hanging on by the last thread
of temperature controlling destiny
the scream of disappearing ice makes way
for the roar of the flow
of elimination of snow