.
island in Lake Vuoksa, on the Carelian Isthmus separating Russia and Finland: photo by Dmitry A. Mottl, 2009
The golden glow gives a more positive impression of the fullness of time and brings back the good memories, not the regrets, says a person close to the situation. A bit more distance wouldn't hurt the project. It's what I think they call a tough call. The autumnal mood lies broken and bleeding, victim of the cut and thrust of a winter that struck directly to the heart of the matter without dallying on the icy roads of the peripheral organs. Anything the veins may have been carrying had by now fast frozen. The bones, suddenly more brittle than one had ever remembered them being, began to break off upon the slightest impact. Withal, the person close to the situation happened to be passing by, and glanced in through the small porthole in the door to the surgical theatre where the heart of the matter lay bloody and beating upon the operating table. From that austere interior issued the brilliant beam of light to which the person close to the situation later referred as the golden glow.
Small island in Lower Saranac Lake, Adirondack Mountains: photo by Mwanner, 2007
10 comments:
Paradise lost...!!
It IS what I think they call a tough call, as tough as they get. The Autumn Lakes, the golden glow. Seeing these two beautiful places line up the way they do, you would think they must be connected by a rod or force through the center of the Earth.
The pictures stunning. A place I would like to be. And the words.....sort of where I have been (in this mood). Both reflect each other...(pictures/words)....beautifully.
BTW Thomas it is cold here. I now wear my wooly hat, gloves and scarf; plus three pairs of socks on my feet!
Tom,
Some resonance here it seems (by chance) w/ "fullness of time," and if you look closely at those leaves on trees on island in Lake Vuoksa, you might see the pattern. . .
12.9
light coming into cloud above blackness
of ridge, pattern of leaves on branches
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
what is to come on the side
of time, that present
is there, what that is, but
how different thought
silver of rain drop falling in channel,
whiteness of gull gliding toward ridge
I am beginning to see the pattern, in the fullness of time.
The rush of cold air over warmer water has caused the knights to break out their white satin undergarments.
They are shivering on the shores of Lake Vuoksa, and ice is forming upon Lower Saranac Lake.
Woolly coat and hat, half-gloves, four shirts, two pairs of socks.
Spooky night, black satin rain, phantom ring of doorbell at 2:35 a.m. scaring all the cats awake.
(Paradise lost in the drainspouts.)
Connected by a rod or force through the center of the Earth, by the way, is where I've always wanted to be in difficult weather.
(Are those glimmerings we see through the blizzard the headlights of the logical snowplows?)
The cyclical pattern of nature is not manifested in the seasons only. Neither is its beauty. This post is a clear example.
Not directly related to the post here, Tom - but a rather apt moment to say...
a copy of your Feeling for the Ground arrived through my door not five minutes ago!
Very nice of you to drop it by but you did rush off so fast. I do wish you'd stayed for a cup of tea.
Cheers, Tom.
Tom,
Yes, it must be ("Paradise Lost in the drainspouts"). . . . I've been lost in AT&T hell for 4 1/2 days here, finally it has let me back into the system (after talking to people all over the word (Philippines, Little Rock, St. Louis, San Francisco and, at last San Ramon, where Sopanara saw what was needed to make the final connection again. Meanwhile, light light grey rain continues to waft down from the invisible heavens. . . .
12.10
grey whiteness of fog against invisible
ridge, motion of green leaves on branch
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
following, connection among
concealed and graphic
that pictures this, or more
than it, making sense
grey-white clouds reflected in channel,
cormorant flapping across toward point
Ah, in life, the seasons, the lights. Lucy, to think of your summer by the deep lake at the bottom of the world is a ray in the darkness.
and speaking of...
Ray, to think of your winter at the other end of the bottom of the world would be less pleasant had not one just come away from sipping coffee all through the drizzling night with you at the Melancholy Cafe.
And so it is dawn again, Steve, and
light grey rain continues to waft down from the invisible heavens. .
. .
silver of rain drop bending tip of redwood bough
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