Start of Day

 

Started so many days and have never been proficient just persistent. Know where to go need directions in daily vision and process.

This day took me down to the river above the falls where The Largest Most Regal Eagle crossed my path at the shoreline as he traversed the Falls heading East. I first thought he was my spirit amimal Blue Heron but envisioned what I felt. I lit a warming fire in the mist of warm water and cool air in stones placed to fashion fireplace. As the fire grew from kindling to crackling the Eagle returned and took residence in the habitat of ancient wolf tree and my life was present and focused. I stood at the shore with a vision of the wonder of this earth and prayed with him

for our future

CaptainKen

Waterfall Nature Meditation

 

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We took a walk on a sunshine day as a Spring Brook rushed down the side of Isinglass Mountain into the waters of Kilton Pond and on to the Smith River and summer hopes and dreams. At night when I let the dogs out you could hear the Stream Roar to the heavens as the Stars soared above and all was right with the natural world in which we live.

Writing 201: Poetry: Landscape

Frigid Footprints Etched in Time

 

Time to reflect find meaning

Ready and gather strength for future seasons

Time to live in a present moment built on the past

To find bliss each day in just being

In feeling hoping loving

In gently holding to patience and faith

Touching natures surround unbound

 

Time is infinite change in an expanding universe

Like the lake surface blanketed in snow from transient storm

Change in flakes and crystals of water mixing moving gathering

Little twisters of white move in gusty gestations

Infinite equations of changing destination and motion

 

Eyes watery and face worn with lines of season old and the days’ cold

Manmade mirror of glass in shore side ice rink

Altered the blanket by pulling it back for gliding space

Tuck in the edges to border and shape

Sore eyes gaze in wonder from weathered countenance

 

Great Spirit of nature and all uses a whisk brush of gust

A vehicle of wind and a wispy medium of snow

To draw-paint a picture in the tenor of the season and flux of time

Transposing a lake shore rink into an ever changing etch a sketch image of life

Shaken by wintry blast infinite design is cast

Writing 201:Poetry:Hero(ine):Ballad:anaphora

Anaphora: repetition of a word or cluster of words in a poem or prose poem.

I awoke with longing and frustration in my being. In a life tinged with sorrow I could not shake the feeling of the dream.

If I could not write:

I could live with it, carry it, carry on, and not put the heavy load of feeling down.

I could make a blanket of my tears for they roll down and carry salt of the earth.

I could leave signs, in the bank of streams and water’s edge of lake and ocean, where waves of wind, water, and time could wear them away.

I could etch my life sketch in stone, but there is too much to say, and words alone would consume the day.

I could read signs of nature and learn to live in wilderness on my own.

I could watch the seasons pass never knowing when it’s my last.

Could I not write?

Feelings, emotion, experience, knowledge, and lessons learned, would stay lost in time.

Though experienced and felt, never seen, not thought out, and only mine.

Dark and lost in shadow, never letting in the light of memory and time perspective,

Never leaving a clue to how I found my way as pathfinder.

2014 Sand Sculpture Competition at Hampton Beach N.H.–Overview

Great job but a long day in the sun.

Great job but a long day in the sun.

DSCN2021DSCN2114Hit the road early to ride the 99 miles from home to Hampton Beach. I wanted to take pictures of the Sand Sculptures before the afternoon downpours alter the art perfection. Already some wind though hot hazy and sunny as I tucked my self behind the Cycles shield for gusts. Route 4 to Route 93 to Route 101 all a good motorcycle cruise to my destination. The beach culture was just getting started with various groups and couples heading to the sand, some starting volleyball games, some swimming and exploring the shore. The Sand Sculpture is a joy which I am drawn to each year. Enjoy!

Working on the tan

Working on the tan

The strip with so much to do see and buy.

The strip with so much to do see and buy.

Side detail

Side detail

Bathing beauty

Bathing beauty

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Vollyball

Vollyball

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Wait for me!

Wait for me!

Family excursion

Family excursion

Life is a beach! Hampton Beach N.H.
Sand Sculpture Competition 2014[/caption]

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Wistful for Wisteria

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Wistful for Wisteria

Peeper frogs choir symphony at night
Birds singing in the crisp morning air

Loons cruising on the pond in synchronized natural movements
A collidascope of motion as cutting winds make designs on the surface

Pen’s potential energy released if only for a line a day
Spring comes slower in my new northern home

Surrounded by forest, hills and mountains
Ice out on the shallow pond April 24th the last pushed under by a day of gusts

In mind’s eye a clear view of the prospects as buds grow and change in color
I find myself Wistful for Wisteria which grew in beauty each year at my old abode

Pictures now memories
A scent I will never forget

As a polar vortex winter fades
and nature comes alive

Here April comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb
and May showers bring late May and June flowers

All the more wonder after a first spent northern winter
Hope and Faith have brought me here

where I belong

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[click on any image for a sharper view]

Breaking Trail as Seasons Change

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Yet another rain is coming tonight so I strapped (the old term), stepped into cross country skis as our golden ‘Mari’ picked out the ball of the day and we set out down lake. Conditions were good, slick not wet. We followed the first outlet which fills a small pond to and across a dirt road and into the woods on an old logging path. The path soon disappeared into new growth with an uneven obstacle filled journey ahead. The golden can go under and around small bush tree fallen log bramble and briar where the rabbits can go.
There is a feeling of freedom in leaving known path. I shift in zigzag moves looking for the (easiest), less difficult way forward. A sense of direction and fondness for a feeling of motion in emotion my guide.
The woods are silent but for our breathing, snap of breaking branch, crunch swish of skis traversing snow. Perfect circles of brown under the evergreen trees, a dry place to stop, gather thought and bearing, to feel the freedom in this live free or die state I am in. Fully alive, partially lost, physically strong and breaking trail in woods and wetlands seldom tread by man. A half hour in I find remnants of what was once a field property border, an old stone wall. Built boulder by rock by stone in clearing a field which is now reclaimed by the forest wood growth it was before man attempted to tame it.
The nature of this place laughs this day on my clumsy country crossing. Direction change from South to South West as the wall which appears to have cornered the field disappears with my tracks. Sense of direction and feeling for light penetrating clouds now carry me toward a grand wetland depression in forested hills. I know it as a continuation of the water flow from lake to pond to steam to trickles that drain to wetlands. Until today it was only a view from an old fire lane that traverses conservation land.
Find the filtered sunlight and search the distance for the open space beyond the wood. It is there wetland lives and when I find it I will follow North East from trail breaking toward broken trail I know.
A flash of white on a hill ahead and above me is followed by another as I focus. I halt and signal the golden to stay quiet for it is a family of deer on one of their familiar trails. We had seen tracks, rabbit deer perhaps moose but there is magic in the meeting! Our silence allowed them to move calm and free, our scent lost in light breeze.
We climb the hill and follow tracks to the SW end of the wetland. A break in the trees frames the view. Home to the deer, to me it is a dear moment in viewing. With no easy way down I remove the skis and use the pole straps to bundle them. Now hiking in 4 to 12″ of snow I can follow a more direct route. We move up and down hill to gully to hill, jumping across streamlets and slow and careful on the weak ice of pieces of wetland.
Joys in the movement, the sights, the feel, the physical cost paid back ten times in sore satisfaction. My mind map of the woods and wetland expanded. The view from the road is now a topographical memory of depth sound sight and feeling and on this day it feels like home.