26 October 2013
Aspen leaves and sunlight married; like so many golden coins, scattered…
If the Sun Were A Tree
If the sun were a tree
Its leaves would be this shining color
And they would drop
Over the toes of my boots
When I step
There would be the sound
Of light breaking.
— Tom Hennen
25 October 2013
Garden centres, grocery stores, farmers markets, front porches - mums are everywhere, beaming their smiling flower faces into the crisp fall air. I speak of the flower variety, not the parental version; but I suppose they, too, might be beaming about ubiquitously. Especially those mums who decorate seasonally - with mums, of course! (Bah-doomp Chah! That's a drum roll-&-cymbal crash to accentuate cheesy-ness, and to signal my exit stage left, for today.)
24 October 2013
23 October 2013
Out of Montana’s many strong points, I particularly appreciate that nature’s glory is available right out your car window - just pick a road, any road. Most of the scenery I share via this blog is within 5 or 10 minutes walk of a developed surface. As an example, my vantage point for today’s shot was the I-90 underpass at the Van Buren Street exit into Missoula.
I’m not adverse to utilizing Montana’s many official hiking trails; my stance is more that I’m always glad when I get there, but it doesn’t happen as often as I should perhaps aspire to. So, should you happen to not be a raging outdoor activities enthusiast, do not be deterred by overt tourist promotion of Montana’s hiking, biking, climbing, camping, kayaking, rafting, and skiing virtues. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) The Big Sky still welcomes dawdlers and casual walkers who appreciate the beauty at hand - with no requirement to endanger life and limb, or even break a sweat. And that’s one great reason I’m still here.
22 October 2013
The patterns of these industrial spools make me think simultaneously of seashells ("...silver bells and cockleshells and pretty maids all in a row...") and train car graffiti.
21 October 2013
20 October 2013
With threatening tunes and low,
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.
The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.
The wagons quickened on the streets,
The thunder hurried slow;
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.
The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands
That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky,
But overlooked my father’s house,
Just quartering a tree.
- Emily Dickinson(1830–86).