Wednesday, April 30, 2014

there's light and there's Light

Cake Walk

by Charles Wright

Invisible, inaudible things,
Always something to hanker for,
                                                     since everything's that's written
Hankers alongside with them,
The great blue heron immobile and neck-torqued on the fence post
A negative pull from the sun-swept upper meadow...
Eleven deer in a Mark Morris dance of happiness
Are lighter than light, though heavier
                                                       if you blink more than once.
There's light, we learn, and there's Light.

To do what you have to do - unrecognized - and for no one.
The language in that is small,
                                               sewn just under your skin.
The germs of stars infect us.
The heron pivots, stretches his neck.
He hears what we do not hear,
                                                 he sees what we're missing.
The deer walk out the last ledge of sunlight, one by one.

{from Caribou, by Charles Wright - on the recommended shelf above}

So you see, yes, there's always something to hanker for. And the thing is: to do what you have to do, unrecognized and for no one. It has to be this way, yes?

I had more or less pledged to myself that I wasn't going to take photographs outdoors until something green appeared. Until, spring.

But a couple of evenings ago, after dinner, I let the dog out, and it was so nice I sat on the back stoop for a bit. The light arrived this evening in my backyard like a magic trick. What is there to do but succumb? To observe. To follow it. To see what it will teach you next.

In this one, the shadows from the slats of the fence caught me:

The light so full and piercing in this one:

More clear here, but the bokeh around the empty urn!

And then this bird starts to sing up high in the neighbour's tree:

On the way back inside, I returned to my bird, and one or two of these will be added to my 'recurring bird album' on Flickr today. The burden of light, the burden of snow, the burden of any weather, belongs to this bird.

After I shot the bird, again, I was drawn back to this light:

The light suddenly becomes more mellow, sombre.

So this is what spring looks like here, so far. Mainly just a yearning. A hankering.


  1. This is SUCH a soul-filling post. Thank you!

  2. oh !
    and your longing and hankering resulted in little masterpieces.
    they are.
    they are still lifes. as sure as if you'd picked up a brush.
    how beautiful! thank you for this... at the end of a long day.

  3. Gorgeous, and thanks for sharing that Charles Wright poem. Brilliant.


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