Morning Trip (57)

“I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.”
– Joan Didion

Faces of the Trees

This is Grum

I know this one's name, but the sounds in it are not sounds I am familiar with making as speech.

This one makes me think of Janus, I did not hear its name, nor did I ask, this trip.

All of today’s Brandon Park images were taken by Elisabeth Connelley, Purple Shoe Photography while playing with a Sigma SD10. Many thanks to the owner of this camera!

Morning Trip (29)

“I see my beauty in you. I become
a mirror that cannot close its eyes

to your longing. My eyes wet with
yours in the early light. My mind

every moment giving birth, always
conceiving, always in the ninth

month, always the come-point. How
do I stand this? We become these

words we say, a wailing sound moving
out into the air. These thousands of

worlds that rise from nowhere, how
does your face contain them? I’m

a fly in your honey, then closer, a
moth caught in flame’s allure, then

empty sky stretched out in homage.”
– Jelaluddin Rumi
The Glance Songs of Soul-Meeting

Morning Trip (24)

I see my beauty in you. I become
a mirror that cannot close its eyes

to your longing. My eyes wet with
yours in the early light. My mind

every moment giving birth, always
conceiving, always in the ninth

month, always the come-point. How
do I stand this? We become these

words we say, a wailing sound moving
out into the air. These thousands of

worlds that rise from nowhere, how
does your face contain them? I’m

a fly in your honey, then closer, a
moth caught in flame’s allure, then

empty sky stretched out in homage.
– Jelaluddin Rumi
The Glance Songs of Soul-Meeting

Morning Trip (13)

“We do not inspire and expire fully and entirely enough, so that the wave, the comber, of each inspiration shall break upon our extremist shores, rolling till it meets the sand which bounds us, and the sound of the surf comes back to us.”
– Henry David Thoreau