Bird Tweets

Day 194 A Wonderland Of White

On that day i awoke before dawn. I lay quite still trying to recapture the dream of a moment before but all that remained was a vague sense of some emotion that faded and was gone. It took a moment for me to realize that the room was awash in a pale light. It had a luminance that filled the entire space and cast an unusual pattern of shadow that normally would not have been seen until daybreak. 

You know that sound? The whisper and silence that covers the world in a veil of stillness when there is new snow fallen deep and white upon the earth? I can think of no adequate way to describe that inaudible whiteness.

This is what i saw when i walked out my backdoor. Avalon veiled in snowlight. 

         

I had to see more.... so i went into the woods.

I wasn't alone.

I was the lone human.

It was peaceful.

I made an offering to the forest.

Time to return home.

And upon arriving found a newly painted world of Avalon beauty.

I saw friends.

And i was grateful for all the earth's offerings.

It is Well With My Soul - David Nevue

Posted at 10:38 AM in Morning Walks, Music, Photography | Permalink | Comments (41) | TrackBack (0)

December 08, 2008

Day 192 Caught Between This And That

Dear friends,

I'v been thinking about what i want to post for a couple of days now but i keep going blank. Blank as in having a distracted mind and a troubled heart. I find i need to have access to my best self when i am blogging. And the past few days i just wasn't able to grab hold of myself enough to give you that. But i really wanted to post so i thought some more.... maybe something about the holidays; baking, hand made gifts, decorating, friendly gatherings. But no that won't work. I haven't done most of those things yet so i don't have visuals or stories to share. 

So i decided to see about getting someone else to sit in for me. Another person who can articulate the state of affairs in my head. So i went exploring and found a few quotes that seemed to hit the nail on the head. In fact the reason they are so spot on is due to the fact when seen together they are full of insoluble patterns. 

The theme for today is chaos. And the feeling is fear. The thoughts are related to being powerless and vulnerable.

Anais Nin  gives  voice to confusion. She says:

    "We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes

in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially.

We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another.

The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backwards, forward,

or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."

Then Nietzche whispered this in my other ear: 

 "We need chaos in our soul to give birth to a dancing star."

 Cheri Huber is a Soto Zen teacher who apparently reads minds as well as  hearts.

 "Every time we choose safety, we reinforce fear."

 These leaves have blown off course and become entangled while on their way to the next dimension. What can be done about it?  This is not their natural domain.  They have gracefully settled in and now simply sit. They do not know fear. They do not understand choice. They assume themselves to be in the process of becoming dancing stars. Why should they not?

I must be a red maple leaf that is halfway to it's disintegration, no more on one end of the life cycle than the other. The red leaf that is in the process of becoming a dancing star. I must not think like a human who is frightened of the unknown. I must be like that red maple leaf and become a dancing star. 

Where is it that you are caught between this and that? And what is your plan for escape?

love, robin

Posted at 07:08 PM in Morning Walks, Photography | Permalink | Comments (36) | TrackBack (0)

October 26, 2008

Day 182 Sanctuary of the Living

Have i mentioned i am spending all my spare time taking photographs in graveyards? I don't know what has come over me but i am obsessed and have gone to the same place three times this weekend. It is an incredibly beautiful cemetery. Beyond description really. 

I am finding something other than photographs in this sanctuary of the dead. Something more personal. I have returned as if drawn by a magnetic force between the worlds of the living, the dead and that evocative liminal place between us. 

I have spent hours walking among the falling leaves, climbing hills, sometimes pausing to sit under an ancient tree or just standing stock still to breath. I am finding a radically different kind of solace and peace here that i didn't really know existed. 

 

I have so much to share with you! Photographs, stories, questions without answers. I find i need to take my time in distilling the events of the past three days in order to share what is best, true and remarkable about this particular place. I will leave you with this photograph to ponder. A lone ruby, a single gem of extraordinary beauty sits amidst this necklace of emeralds, ebony and citron just waiting for it's journey to the next life.

 

Tell us.. what have you found on your own walks this weekend that leads you to the place of the divine?

Posted at 08:48 AM in Morning Walks, Photography | Permalink | Comments (19) | TrackBack (0)

October 19, 2008

Day 179 Because It Makes Me Happy

What an outpouring of friendship and encouragement i received as a result of my post yesterday! To all of you who offer me support and love i gives thanks. To all of you who responded by offering friendship, a place to stay, and belief in my art i offer my deepest appreciation. It was astonishing how many offers i received to visit far and wide! Your comments and emails calmed me and allowed me to stop and realize that i can do what i decide to do. It isn't a matter of can't or didn't or won't get to. I have the power and freedom to make choices. And realizing that was important.

I have dreamed of traveling the world on a tour of friendship ever since i was introduced to virtual connections. It is possible. I can do that. I can go see Diana and Julie in San Fransico, stop in Taos to see Annie before heading for Texas for a visit with Debi and her owls. When Tara is home in Paris i have a welcome mat and a hand stretched out in friendship. I might be able to convince Leslye to meet me in France and continue on together for a time. I have an offer from Imelda to see my ancestral home in Ireland. And the icing on the cake is that i have those who would love to come and see me here in Oregon! Relyn, Jamie , Jeanie, Leslye and Peggy. Darlene will be here next year to see her friend Jen. Margie and Kath would come if i begged. And i know there are other's who would love Avalon and friends who would invite me into their homes with generosity and a shared spirit of adventure.

I've been saving this photograph for posting on just the right day. It is my favorite photograph from this year. It is the consummate pacific northwest scene. The day was perfect and it looked just like this, etherial, a hauntingly beautiful scene. I captured this just shortly after finding Diane over at Daily Walks. I was so inspired by her photography that i wanted to begin my own version of 'walks'. So i began what i call rain walks. Diane has been a a muse for me ever since i first saw her photographs. I have held her poetic words and photographs in my mind each time i set out on a walk. She shared a bit of wisdom one day about how she manages to get these stupendous shots. I had mentioned in one of my comments that one of the most important things i am learning about capturing exquisite photographs is that i need to join with the natural world and then the subject will come to me. In response she said: "This is so true, Robin. So many people say to me "how did you get that shot.... you must have spent HOURS out there". No, just a bit of time, pausing for awhile and watching while all the magic drifts by." I knew then that i was on the right track to capturing the true moments of life. All i had to do was show up and let my heart remain open just like the shutter on my camera.

That's what happened with this picture. It was raining, i was heading out after spending hours here in this spiritual garden. I had my tripod over my shoulder and began to see i was keeping pace on a parallel path with a couple who were walking quickly to find shelter from the rain in The Chapel of St. Anne. I knew i wanted this shot. I knew i was seeing a scene i would love to be able to look upon long after it had passed, that it would bring back a certain feeling that i didn't want to give up by walking on. So i stopped, hurriedly set up my tripod as the rain poured down ever harder and clicked off about 4 shots. The moment was there for an instant and then it was gone... Later that day i saw that it was blurred when i got it up on the computer screen and at first i thought it was not going to be what i wanted. Then i looked and realized it was blurred because it was raining, the wind was blowing and it was an instant in time. I knew then that it's beauty was that it captured the essence of the moment and how i felt all in one.

This is why i am passionate to take pictures. I get to see and experience something over and over again. I can find the spirit of the feeling i had at the actual moment in time. A kiss from Olivia, a red chapel in the rain. Life is good.

Posted at 03:49 PM in Morning Walks, Photography | Permalink | Comments (28) | TrackBack (0)

October 06, 2008

Day 174 A Wretched Garden Of Stone

In my post about this little guardian angel i promised to reveal her story and how i came to meet her.

There is a spiritual place near my home that has been haven and sanctuary for women for over 150 years. It has acres of natural woodland filled with towering fir trees, native wildflowers and the creatures that make the venerable woods their home. The land is stitched together with long winding paths that will guide the willing pilgrim into the secret realm of the divine. It is dimly lit under the canopy of trees. The light travels far yet still falls upon the ground like glittering coins. The footpath is soft, covered with a blanket of needles colored by autumn light. The smell in the air is of decaying leaves, rotting wood and other, less discernible scents of nameless aging. I step quietly along my chosen path.

There is a great wind stirring far above the great canopy of the forest. It sends little cascades of twigs and woodland detritus to rain upon my uncovered head, some lodging themselves in my hair like nature's own colored ribbons. The current that reaches ground causes the debris at my feet to swoop in little whirlwinds of flight, moving ever forward along the path like a woodland sprite.

I reach a crossroads, one path leading into a field of swaying grass the other leading along a wide winding road. I hesitate then choose the road, moving aside the large gate that creaks with the effort of opening as if from lack of use. The twin tracks that were once tread upon by wheels has a ribbon of growth that runs down the center where the light breaks through the trees and is brightest. I look up, the sky is darkening rapidly with the oncoming storm. I am drawn onward in spite of the threat.

After a time of walking I come into a large clearing that is treeless and desolate. Old furniture is abandoned there. Dressers, tables and chairs piled one upon the other like old skeletons cast heedlessly aside. I move closer and see that the wood was once, walnut, oak and pine. The surface of all is shriveled and peeling back like the skin of a carcass long left in the open. I look and wonder why these once useful creatures are left here as if dead.

I turn around looking for clues that will reveal the meaning of this flotsam and jetsom. I can smell rain mingled with dust and see large drops fall upon the wasted ground. The air cools and darkens around me as if i were back beneath the trees. The wind picks up and blows the twigs from my hair. I see stacks of brick and broken stone. Some of the stone is strewn about nearly buried in the long grass. Others are neatly stacked in rows fitting together like the beginning of a garden wall. I walk closer. All are broken but i see they were once white and formed deliberately by the hands of a stonemason.

I hear a sound beneath that of the wind and look over to see the little guardian poking her head above one of the stacks. She watches, motionless. She is in the midst of the largest heap, looking for all the world as though this is her realm, her home. She moves closer as do i. We look and wait for the other to do something. But nothing happens. All there is is the rain, the wind and two creatures waiting. As i look wonderingly at this angel it dawns on me where i am, what it is that forms the walls of her home. I am in a desert of gravestones. All marked with the names of the dead. All broken and left as if on a funeral pyre.

I am astonished and horrified for they are here without their human twin. They are like daemons separated from their children, ripped apart by violent force. The rain is coming hard now and i feel a chill run across my exposed skin. I see names and dates barely visible upon the face of each stone. On each there is the name given to the novitiate as she enters the convent and beneath that are the birth names given them by their mother's. Most are dated by death only. Sister Mary Louise, Margaret Smith died 1834. It is an inexplicable mystery why they are here untended, left for dead. I feel a sadness and grief on behalf of their families, those that loved them in life and would honor them in death.

I leave the clearing, knowing that the little guardian truly does live within this realm of lost angels. She is waiting and watching for the mother's and the sisters to return and claim their daemons of stone.

Later i come upon an newly enclosed graveyard and see to my dismay lines upon lines of white crosses laid out in groups. Each stone is newly cut, white as bleached bone and deeply etched upon their face is the name of a novitiate, a birth name and the date of her death. They are replicas of those broken and forlorn stones from the graveyard of stones. I know they are ghosts of the real spirit stones. They are the new order, a sterile version of death and decay.

At the head of the graveyard i see a grotto and go to gain shelter from the rain. Within is a godly statue that depicts the giving of a blessing upon the little graveyard. I have gathered a small offering of dead wildflowers and dried leaves and i leave it at the feet of this unnamed saint who must know the truth of the spirits that are missing here in this hallowed place. I ask for forgiveness on behalf of those who have desecrated the memory of those long dead sisters.

Posted at 08:33 AM in Morning Walks, Photography | Permalink | Comments (34) | TrackBack (0)

Dear friends,

I'v been thinking about what i want to post for a couple of days now but i keep going blank. Blank as in having a distracted mind and a troubled heart. I find i need to have access to my best self when i am blogging. And the past few days i just wasn't able to grab hold of myself enough to give you that. But i really wanted to post so i thought some more.... maybe something about the holidays; baking, hand made gifts, decorating, friendly gatherings. But no that won't work. I haven't done most of those things yet so i don't have visuals or stories to share. 

So i decided to see about getting someone else to sit in for me. Another person who can articulate the state of affairs in my head. So i went exploring and found a few quotes that seemed to hit the nail on the head. In fact the reason they are so spot on is due to the fact when seen together they are full of insoluble patterns. 

The theme for today is chaos. And the feeling is fear. The thoughts are related to being powerless and vulnerable.

Anais Nin  gives  voice to confusion. She says:

    "We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes

in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially.

We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another.

The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backwards, forward,

or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."

Then Nietzche whispered this in my other ear: 

 "We need chaos in our soul to give birth to a dancing star."

 Cheri Huber is a Soto Zen teacher who apparently reads minds as well as  hearts.

 "Every time we choose safety, we reinforce fear."

 These leaves have blown off course and become entangled while on their way to the next dimension. What can be done about it?  This is not their natural domain.  They have gracefully settled in and now simply sit. They do not know fear. They do not understand choice. They assume themselves to be in the process of becoming dancing stars. Why should they not?

I must be a red maple leaf that is halfway to it's disintegration, no more on one end of the life cycle than the other. The red leaf that is in the process of becoming a dancing star. I must not think like a human who is frightened of the unknown. I must be like that red maple leaf and become a dancing star. 

Where is it that you are caught between this and that? And what is your plan for escape?

love, robin

Have i mentioned i am spending all my spare time taking photographs in graveyards? I don't know what has come over me but i am obsessed and have gone to the same place three times this weekend. It is an incredibly beautiful cemetery. Beyond description really. 

I am finding something other than photographs in this sanctuary of the dead. Something more personal. I have returned as if drawn by a magnetic force between the worlds of the living, the dead and that evocative liminal place between us. 

I have spent hours walking among the falling leaves, climbing hills, sometimes pausing to sit under an ancient tree or just standing stock still to breath. I am finding a radically different kind of solace and peace here that i didn't really know existed. 

 

I have so much to share with you! Photographs, stories, questions without answers. I find i need to take my time in distilling the events of the past three days in order to share what is best, true and remarkable about this particular place. I will leave you with this photograph to ponder. A lone ruby, a single gem of extraordinary beauty sits amidst this necklace of emeralds, ebony and citron just waiting for it's journey to the next life.

 

Tell us.. what have you found on your own walks this weekend that leads you to the place of the divine?

What an outpouring of friendship and encouragement i received as a result of my post yesterday! To all of you who offer me support and love i gives thanks. To all of you who responded by offering friendship, a place to stay, and belief in my art i offer my deepest appreciation. It was astonishing how many offers i received to visit far and wide! Your comments and emails calmed me and allowed me to stop and realize that i can do what i decide to do. It isn't a matter of can't or didn't or won't get to. I have the power and freedom to make choices. And realizing that was important.

I have dreamed of traveling the world on a tour of friendship ever since i was introduced to virtual connections. It is possible. I can do that. I can go see Diana and Julie in San Fransico, stop in Taos to see Annie before heading for Texas for a visit with Debi and her owls. When Tara is home in Paris i have a welcome mat and a hand stretched out in friendship. I might be able to convince Leslye to meet me in France and continue on together for a time. I have an offer from Imelda to see my ancestral home in Ireland. And the icing on the cake is that i have those who would love to come and see me here in Oregon! Relyn, Jamie , Jeanie, Leslye and Peggy. Darlene will be here next year to see her friend Jen. Margie and Kath would come if i begged. And i know there are other's who would love Avalon and friends who would invite me into their homes with generosity and a shared spirit of adventure.

I've been saving this photograph for posting on just the right day. It is my favorite photograph from this year. It is the consummate pacific northwest scene. The day was perfect and it looked just like this, etherial, a hauntingly beautiful scene. I captured this just shortly after finding Diane over at Daily Walks. I was so inspired by her photography that i wanted to begin my own version of 'walks'. So i began what i call rain walks. Diane has been a a muse for me ever since i first saw her photographs. I have held her poetic words and photographs in my mind each time i set out on a walk. She shared a bit of wisdom one day about how she manages to get these stupendous shots. I had mentioned in one of my comments that one of the most important things i am learning about capturing exquisite photographs is that i need to join with the natural world and then the subject will come to me. In response she said: "This is so true, Robin. So many people say to me "how did you get that shot.... you must have spent HOURS out there". No, just a bit of time, pausing for awhile and watching while all the magic drifts by." I knew then that i was on the right track to capturing the true moments of life. All i had to do was show up and let my heart remain open just like the shutter on my camera.

That's what happened with this picture. It was raining, i was heading out after spending hours here in this spiritual garden. I had my tripod over my shoulder and began to see i was keeping pace on a parallel path with a couple who were walking quickly to find shelter from the rain in The Chapel of St. Anne. I knew i wanted this shot. I knew i was seeing a scene i would love to be able to look upon long after it had passed, that it would bring back a certain feeling that i didn't want to give up by walking on. So i stopped, hurriedly set up my tripod as the rain poured down ever harder and clicked off about 4 shots. The moment was there for an instant and then it was gone... Later that day i saw that it was blurred when i got it up on the computer screen and at first i thought it was not going to be what i wanted. Then i looked and realized it was blurred because it was raining, the wind was blowing and it was an instant in time. I knew then that it's beauty was that it captured the essence of the moment and how i felt all in one.

This is why i am passionate to take pictures. I get to see and experience something over and over again. I can find the spirit of the feeling i had at the actual moment in time. A kiss from Olivia, a red chapel in the rain. Life is good.

In my post about this little guardian angel i promised to reveal her story and how i came to meet her.

There is a spiritual place near my home that has been haven and sanctuary for women for over 150 years. It has acres of natural woodland filled with towering fir trees, native wildflowers and the creatures that make the venerable woods their home. The land is stitched together with long winding paths that will guide the willing pilgrim into the secret realm of the divine. It is dimly lit under the canopy of trees. The light travels far yet still falls upon the ground like glittering coins. The footpath is soft, covered with a blanket of needles colored by autumn light. The smell in the air is of decaying leaves, rotting wood and other, less discernible scents of nameless aging. I step quietly along my chosen path.

There is a great wind stirring far above the great canopy of the forest. It sends little cascades of twigs and woodland detritus to rain upon my uncovered head, some lodging themselves in my hair like nature's own colored ribbons. The current that reaches ground causes the debris at my feet to swoop in little whirlwinds of flight, moving ever forward along the path like a woodland sprite.

I reach a crossroads, one path leading into a field of swaying grass the other leading along a wide winding road. I hesitate then choose the road, moving aside the large gate that creaks with the effort of opening as if from lack of use. The twin tracks that were once tread upon by wheels has a ribbon of growth that runs down the center where the light breaks through the trees and is brightest. I look up, the sky is darkening rapidly with the oncoming storm. I am drawn onward in spite of the threat.

After a time of walking I come into a large clearing that is treeless and desolate. Old furniture is abandoned there. Dressers, tables and chairs piled one upon the other like old skeletons cast heedlessly aside. I move closer and see that the wood was once, walnut, oak and pine. The surface of all is shriveled and peeling back like the skin of a carcass long left in the open. I look and wonder why these once useful creatures are left here as if dead.

I turn around looking for clues that will reveal the meaning of this flotsam and jetsom. I can smell rain mingled with dust and see large drops fall upon the wasted ground. The air cools and darkens around me as if i were back beneath the trees. The wind picks up and blows the twigs from my hair. I see stacks of brick and broken stone. Some of the stone is strewn about nearly buried in the long grass. Others are neatly stacked in rows fitting together like the beginning of a garden wall. I walk closer. All are broken but i see they were once white and formed deliberately by the hands of a stonemason.

I hear a sound beneath that of the wind and look over to see the little guardian poking her head above one of the stacks. She watches, motionless. She is in the midst of the largest heap, looking for all the world as though this is her realm, her home. She moves closer as do i. We look and wait for the other to do something. But nothing happens. All there is is the rain, the wind and two creatures waiting. As i look wonderingly at this angel it dawns on me where i am, what it is that forms the walls of her home. I am in a desert of gravestones. All marked with the names of the dead. All broken and left as if on a funeral pyre.

I am astonished and horrified for they are here without their human twin. They are like daemons separated from their children, ripped apart by violent force. The rain is coming hard now and i feel a chill run across my exposed skin. I see names and dates barely visible upon the face of each stone. On each there is the name given to the novitiate as she enters the convent and beneath that are the birth names given them by their mother's. Most are dated by death only. Sister Mary Louise, Margaret Smith died 1834. It is an inexplicable mystery why they are here untended, left for dead. I feel a sadness and grief on behalf of their families, those that loved them in life and would honor them in death.

I leave the clearing, knowing that the little guardian truly does live within this realm of lost angels. She is waiting and watching for the mother's and the sisters to return and claim their daemons of stone.

Later i come upon an newly enclosed graveyard and see to my dismay lines upon lines of white crosses laid out in groups. Each stone is newly cut, white as bleached bone and deeply etched upon their face is the name of a novitiate, a birth name and the date of her death. They are replicas of those broken and forlorn stones from the graveyard of stones. I know they are ghosts of the real spirit stones. They are the new order, a sterile version of death and decay.

At the head of the graveyard i see a grotto and go to gain shelter from the rain. Within is a godly statue that depicts the giving of a blessing upon the little graveyard. I have gathered a small offering of dead wildflowers and dried leaves and i leave it at the feet of this unnamed saint who must know the truth of the spirits that are missing here in this hallowed place. I ask for forgiveness on behalf of those who have desecrated the memory of those long dead sisters.

Day 192 Caught Between This And That

Dear friends,

I'v been thinking about what i want to post for a couple of days now but i keep going blank. Blank as in having a distracted mind and a troubled heart. I find i need to have access to my best self when i am blogging. And the past few days i just wasn't able to grab hold of myself enough to give you that. But i really wanted to post so i thought some more.... maybe something about the holidays; baking, hand made gifts, decorating, friendly gatherings. But no that won't work. I haven't done most of those things yet so i don't have visuals or stories to share. 

So i decided to see about getting someone else to sit in for me. Another person who can articulate the state of affairs in my head. So i went exploring and found a few quotes that seemed to hit the nail on the head. In fact the reason they are so spot on is due to the fact when seen together they are full of insoluble patterns. 

The theme for today is chaos. And the feeling is fear. The thoughts are related to being powerless and vulnerable.

Anais Nin  gives  voice to confusion. She says:

    "We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes

in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially.

We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another.

The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backwards, forward,

or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."

Then Nietzche whispered this in my other ear: 

 "We need chaos in our soul to give birth to a dancing star."

 Cheri Huber is a Soto Zen teacher who apparently reads minds as well as  hearts.

 "Every time we choose safety, we reinforce fear."

 These leaves have blown off course and become entangled while on their way to the next dimension. What can be done about it?  This is not their natural domain.  They have gracefully settled in and now simply sit. They do not know fear. They do not understand choice. They assume themselves to be in the process of becoming dancing stars. Why should they not?

I must be a red maple leaf that is halfway to it's disintegration, no more on one end of the life cycle than the other. The red leaf that is in the process of becoming a dancing star. I must not think like a human who is frightened of the unknown. I must be like that red maple leaf and become a dancing star. 

Where is it that you are caught between this and that? And what is your plan for escape?

love, robin

Day 182 Sanctuary of the Living

Have i mentioned i am spending all my spare time taking photographs in graveyards? I don't know what has come over me but i am obsessed and have gone to the same place three times this weekend. It is an incredibly beautiful cemetery. Beyond description really. 

I am finding something other than photographs in this sanctuary of the dead. Something more personal. I have returned as if drawn by a magnetic force between the worlds of the living, the dead and that evocative liminal place between us. 

I have spent hours walking among the falling leaves, climbing hills, sometimes pausing to sit under an ancient tree or just standing stock still to breath. I am finding a radically different kind of solace and peace here that i didn't really know existed. 

 

I have so much to share with you! Photographs, stories, questions without answers. I find i need to take my time in distilling the events of the past three days in order to share what is best, true and remarkable about this particular place. I will leave you with this photograph to ponder. A lone ruby, a single gem of extraordinary beauty sits amidst this necklace of emeralds, ebony and citron just waiting for it's journey to the next life.

 

Tell us.. what have you found on your own walks this weekend that leads you to the place of the divine?

Day 179 Because It Makes Me Happy

What an outpouring of friendship and encouragement i received as a result of my post yesterday! To all of you who offer me support and love i gives thanks. To all of you who responded by offering friendship, a place to stay, and belief in my art i offer my deepest appreciation. It was astonishing how many offers i received to visit far and wide! Your comments and emails calmed me and allowed me to stop and realize that i can do what i decide to do. It isn't a matter of can't or didn't or won't get to. I have the power and freedom to make choices. And realizing that was important.

I have dreamed of traveling the world on a tour of friendship ever since i was introduced to virtual connections. It is possible. I can do that. I can go see Diana and Julie in San Fransico, stop in Taos to see Annie before heading for Texas for a visit with Debi and her owls. When Tara is home in Paris i have a welcome mat and a hand stretched out in friendship. I might be able to convince Leslye to meet me in France and continue on together for a time. I have an offer from Imelda to see my ancestral home in Ireland. And the icing on the cake is that i have those who would love to come and see me here in Oregon! Relyn, Jamie , Jeanie, Leslye and Peggy. Darlene will be here next year to see her friend Jen. Margie and Kath would come if i begged. And i know there are other's who would love Avalon and friends who would invite me into their homes with generosity and a shared spirit of adventure.

I've been saving this photograph for posting on just the right day. It is my favorite photograph from this year. It is the consummate pacific northwest scene. The day was perfect and it looked just like this, etherial, a hauntingly beautiful scene. I captured this just shortly after finding Diane over at Daily Walks. I was so inspired by her photography that i wanted to begin my own version of 'walks'. So i began what i call rain walks. Diane has been a a muse for me ever since i first saw her photographs. I have held her poetic words and photographs in my mind each time i set out on a walk. She shared a bit of wisdom one day about how she manages to get these stupendous shots. I had mentioned in one of my comments that one of the most important things i am learning about capturing exquisite photographs is that i need to join with the natural world and then the subject will come to me. In response she said: "This is so true, Robin. So many people say to me "how did you get that shot.... you must have spent HOURS out there". No, just a bit of time, pausing for awhile and watching while all the magic drifts by." I knew then that i was on the right track to capturing the true moments of life. All i had to do was show up and let my heart remain open just like the shutter on my camera.

That's what happened with this picture. It was raining, i was heading out after spending hours here in this spiritual garden. I had my tripod over my shoulder and began to see i was keeping pace on a parallel path with a couple who were walking quickly to find shelter from the rain in The Chapel of St. Anne. I knew i wanted this shot. I knew i was seeing a scene i would love to be able to look upon long after it had passed, that it would bring back a certain feeling that i didn't want to give up by walking on. So i stopped, hurriedly set up my tripod as the rain poured down ever harder and clicked off about 4 shots. The moment was there for an instant and then it was gone... Later that day i saw that it was blurred when i got it up on the computer screen and at first i thought it was not going to be what i wanted. Then i looked and realized it was blurred because it was raining, the wind was blowing and it was an instant in time. I knew then that it's beauty was that it captured the essence of the moment and how i felt all in one.

This is why i am passionate to take pictures. I get to see and experience something over and over again. I can find the spirit of the feeling i had at the actual moment in time. A kiss from Olivia, a red chapel in the rain. Life is good.

Day 174 A Wretched Garden Of Stone

In my post about this little guardian angel i promised to reveal her story and how i came to meet her.

There is a spiritual place near my home that has been haven and sanctuary for women for over 150 years. It has acres of natural woodland filled with towering fir trees, native wildflowers and the creatures that make the venerable woods their home. The land is stitched together with long winding paths that will guide the willing pilgrim into the secret realm of the divine. It is dimly lit under the canopy of trees. The light travels far yet still falls upon the ground like glittering coins. The footpath is soft, covered with a blanket of needles colored by autumn light. The smell in the air is of decaying leaves, rotting wood and other, less discernible scents of nameless aging. I step quietly along my chosen path.

There is a great wind stirring far above the great canopy of the forest. It sends little cascades of twigs and woodland detritus to rain upon my uncovered head, some lodging themselves in my hair like nature's own colored ribbons. The current that reaches ground causes the debris at my feet to swoop in little whirlwinds of flight, moving ever forward along the path like a woodland sprite.

I reach a crossroads, one path leading into a field of swaying grass the other leading along a wide winding road. I hesitate then choose the road, moving aside the large gate that creaks with the effort of opening as if from lack of use. The twin tracks that were once tread upon by wheels has a ribbon of growth that runs down the center where the light breaks through the trees and is brightest. I look up, the sky is darkening rapidly with the oncoming storm. I am drawn onward in spite of the threat.

After a time of walking I come into a large clearing that is treeless and desolate. Old furniture is abandoned there. Dressers, tables and chairs piled one upon the other like old skeletons cast heedlessly aside. I move closer and see that the wood was once, walnut, oak and pine. The surface of all is shriveled and peeling back like the skin of a carcass long left in the open. I look and wonder why these once useful creatures are left here as if dead.

I turn around looking for clues that will reveal the meaning of this flotsam and jetsom. I can smell rain mingled with dust and see large drops fall upon the wasted ground. The air cools and darkens around me as if i were back beneath the trees. The wind picks up and blows the twigs from my hair. I see stacks of brick and broken stone. Some of the stone is strewn about nearly buried in the long grass. Others are neatly stacked in rows fitting together like the beginning of a garden wall. I walk closer. All are broken but i see they were once white and formed deliberately by the hands of a stonemason.

I hear a sound beneath that of the wind and look over to see the little guardian poking her head above one of the stacks. She watches, motionless. She is in the midst of the largest heap, looking for all the world as though this is her realm, her home. She moves closer as do i. We look and wait for the other to do something. But nothing happens. All there is is the rain, the wind and two creatures waiting. As i look wonderingly at this angel it dawns on me where i am, what it is that forms the walls of her home. I am in a desert of gravestones. All marked with the names of the dead. All broken and left as if on a funeral pyre.

I am astonished and horrified for they are here without their human twin. They are like daemons separated from their children, ripped apart by violent force. The rain is coming hard now and i feel a chill run across my exposed skin. I see names and dates barely visible upon the face of each stone. On each there is the name given to the novitiate as she enters the convent and beneath that are the birth names given them by their mother's. Most are dated by death only. Sister Mary Louise, Margaret Smith died 1834. It is an inexplicable mystery why they are here untended, left for dead. I feel a sadness and grief on behalf of their families, those that loved them in life and would honor them in death.

I leave the clearing, knowing that the little guardian truly does live within this realm of lost angels. She is waiting and watching for the mother's and the sisters to return and claim their daemons of stone.

Later i come upon an newly enclosed graveyard and see to my dismay lines upon lines of white crosses laid out in groups. Each stone is newly cut, white as bleached bone and deeply etched upon their face is the name of a novitiate, a birth name and the date of her death. They are replicas of those broken and forlorn stones from the graveyard of stones. I know they are ghosts of the real spirit stones. They are the new order, a sterile version of death and decay.

At the head of the graveyard i see a grotto and go to gain shelter from the rain. Within is a godly statue that depicts the giving of a blessing upon the little graveyard. I have gathered a small offering of dead wildflowers and dried leaves and i leave it at the feet of this unnamed saint who must know the truth of the spirits that are missing here in this hallowed place. I ask for forgiveness on behalf of those who have desecrated the memory of those long dead sisters.