Pining for a road trip, I came across a few photos.
Amazing storms we witnessed when driving to and from Ontario a few summers back. One of the things I find absolutely exhilarating about the Prairies is the sky – whether it’s endless, blue and open or robust, dark and brooding like these shots capture. Every day that particular summer was a storm watch day. Not to mention constant tornado worries as the radio and the TV weather channels we were glued to each night in our hotel room seemed to warn of just as we would be leaving an area or driving into an area.
You can see them come from miles. I was in a constant state of open-mouthed awe and terror. I was like a kid, “lookit that!” and ” Oh man it’s massive!” to “Shit that was lightning RIGHT THERE!” and “Is that a funnel cloud starting?!” It was fun.
Here on the North West Coast we’ve been held captive by a stealthy, steel silver, moist oppressor for going on two and half weeks at least. Where is the Mercy! I know the sun shines brilliant just one hundred and so feet above and oh I am starving for it! So what can I do to stave off this hunger, this bone chilling, depressing dampness, to keep from noting how pallid I’ve become, how lethargic, how UHHG?!
This is Moe. The Late Moe I suppose, having passed away last April after sharing 19 years with us.
I captured him in one of his most common states. Napping.
He was a cat unlike most. I know everybody has a cat that is such in their eyes, but he truly was. He wanted to always hang with the humans. He always noticed if there was something new in the house or yard- you could actually see the tiny wheels turning -assessing what was different. He talked (a lot); utterly distinct sounds to emote his thoughts, and to drive it home he looked right into your eyes, searching them for clues to tell if you’re understanding him.
He enjoyed gardening, always lent a helping paw when I was weeding.
But his truest desire and life purpose was to be on a lap. He was a giver. He would purr so deep and contented to bring you to a state of calm and stasis if you will, you don’t want anything to move because he is so into the Lap.
He wasn’t well near the end and we made the hard decision to put him to sleep with the vets help.
Hardest thing we’ve done. Hard.
He has his place in the backyard next to Miss Kitty, she died at 18 at home a year before Moe, Smokey our Schipperke- 2001, and Chinook who died 30 years ago.
He was a strong personality in our house and he is missed.
This is a photograph I took last February so although it isn’t recent I felt it was one I wanted to share for this topic as not only is it rather minimalist in composition, it seems to me to pack a message, analogy or metaphor if you will.
The message being “Between a rock and a hard place“, or my favorite because of its positive connotations “Bloom where you are planted.“
Exquisite solitude of a foggy beach front. Alone in these moments where the plunge into deep self reflection comes easily. Insights are teased out of the congestion of a run ragged life. These moments when we meet ourselves again and remember who we are, and the dreams we once dreamed.
And then there is the solitude from the perspective of a seagull while digesting a large starfish. Very lonely time for him. Cant fly, paddle in the water, nor interact with his cohorts. Must sit alone. Digesting.
Better late than never, having missed the first couple of days of Blog U Photography 101- Just me bringing up the rear. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to post regarding this particular theme about Water. It has quite frankly been my life in every way.
Born in Southern California I not only spent most of my free childhood time at Huntington Beach, we also had a pool in our backyard where at 5 years old I first became a fish. Never swimming on top of the water- always under.
When I was 14 my family moved to British Columbia, our first house was a modest home right on the waterfront. My aunt gave me a row boat to use in the bay and I did any chance I could. I would row out as far as I could and sit and think.
Today I’m living on a small island surrounded by water, married to a man who’s passion is sailing (and being a Cancer makes him a “water sign”)- we bought a 30 foot sailboat a year after we married and have her still – and each other- 24 years later.
And each day when I go and return from work I take my boat 1.5 km across the water, winter and summer, storm, fog or clear and calm.
Of course one more thing – I live on the Vancouver Island coast. It rains a lot!