I like to just sit
In places of profound beauty
Awed
In places of profound beauty
Awed
Quietly contemplating
Looking out
Into myself
Category: People
A moment shared
There are few things more satisfying
Than sharing something new and beautiful
With family
I rise
I awaken at dawn
The first hint
Of sun’s rising
The first hint
Of sun’s rising
I rise
Before the sun
Rise to greet a new day
Imagine Love
Being a star, he shines so brightly
Not for his prodigious talent
Or even his spectacular showmanship
But for the simplest reason
Not for his prodigious talent
Or even his spectacular showmanship
But for the simplest reason
And the most potent
He loves us
And we love him
Forward Viewing
The ferry cuts through the ocean wind
Funneling it up over the rail
Into my chest, my face, through my hair
Rippling it like a flag in a storm
Funneling it up over the rail
Into my chest, my face, through my hair
Rippling it like a flag in a storm
I hold the camera
Steady as I can, buffeted
Enjoying the sound of rushing air
The very brush of existence
Black Frank
Black Frank was the Lord of Nanaimo
And Admiral’d the fleet that made tubs go
When they mounted an engine
“Well,” Frank said, “let’s go racin’!”
Across Georgia Strait, what a great show!
And Admiral’d the fleet that made tubs go
When they mounted an engine
“Well,” Frank said, “let’s go racin’!”
Across Georgia Strait, what a great show!
We are the lucky ones
She came into my life
Throwing a lifeline
In a turbulent time
She will never know
Nor can I explain
To her or anyone
The many ways
Her words touched me
Her songs sang to my spirit
Reef Point
The best journeys, it seems to me, are the unplanned ones, taken on the spur of the moment, reliant on the benifecence of serendipity. I understand why not everyone who travels would agree with this. For serendipity to work, one must believe in it. Listen for its song. Follow its voice when it calls. One cannot do this if plans are laid down like concrete foundations. Planning must be fluid, flow like a rivulet on a sandy beach, as easily diverted as the whim of a child with a stick.
The flood
They come trickling in
By ones
By twos
By threes
By fives
By ones
By twos
By threes
By fives
For him
Like a rising tide
They come
In ripples
Remember Me
In the dusky hour, the shops and stalls closed up for the night. The day’s crowds still dwindling as I wander the streets.
I am in Kashgar’s thrall. Its people, its buildings, its colours, its smells. Its efficient simplicity, driven by foot and hoof on these back alleys and lanes. The smiles; the furrowed brows; the twinkling eyes, the hard glares: of shopkeepers and shoppers.
Pix to Words 