north light

Month: June 2012

wandering
the edge
trying to focus
sand on driftwood
holds my eye

This Is Not Photography

This is not photography.
This is flower watching in sweet, soft September sunshine.
This is the smell of the lavender filling my senses.
This is the sound of the river rushing past, and the buzz of the bees going mad with abundance in the herbs.
This is earth time before office time.
This is stolen time.
This is me time.
This is all time falls away and nothing else matters.
This is the way the light falls on the petals of the flower on this softest, sweetest September morning.
This is silence.
This is all love to the flower all love from the flower.
This is being beyond thinking.
This is loving beyond judgement.

This is not photography.

This is my practice.

This is my salvation.

This is my love song.

This is my practice, and my prayer.

Photographic Memory

I’ve got about an hour to spare before I have to go to work.

I head out into the garden. It’s not actually raining, just a cool, damp, fresh, gorgeous morning, when the earth feels softly alive.

I want to take some photos of a daisy in the garden. I read this beautiful idea about taking 100 photographs of the same object, and I knew instantly what the subject should be, some daisies in the garden that I photographed and wrote about last year. Continue reading

Macro Gratitude

The macro lens has changed the way I view the world, for ever, and for good.

The macro lens lets me see things like this.

Silver Starburst

Oh, I know.

It’s just a common or garden flower of the wayside, of the fields, of the hedgerows. Continue reading

Where There Is No Path

I mentioned the other day that I’d been trying my hand at barefoot breathing. The piece that follows was based on Day 6 of the 10 day course, including 60 breaths, and the invitation to walk barefoot and follow your intuition rather than a path, or the way you would ‘normally’ go.
It was a lot cooler when I did this (10 days ago), and the morning started off decidedly chilly.

This is what happened next. Continue reading

At the Level of the Tiny

Things are happening at the level of the tiny.
Through all grief, through the deluge of tears,
Gasping in wonder, laughing in astonishment, crying with delight,
The world reveals itself with beauty at its centre.

Through all grief, through the deluge of tears,
The wings of the butterfly are folded, still, in perfect poise.
The world reveals itself with beauty at its centre.
There is nothing beyond this: this act of worship, this act of communion.

The wings of the butterfly are folded, still, in perfect poise.
Gasping in wonder, laughing in astonishment, crying with delight,
There is nothing beyond this: this act of worship, this act of communion.
Things are happening at the level of the tiny.

butterfly on lavender

Why I Take Photographs

Because otherwise I’d never have seen this.

Tiny, inconspicuous flower by the road edge.

Bend down and notice, I mean bend right down and notice,

Pay attention, take a photograph:

You never know what you might find. Continue reading

The Colours of Astonishment

I don’t know too much about birds. I love to feed them and watch them in the garden, and I get a huge sense of well-being and connectedness from so doing.

And every so often I catch a photo of a bird that makes my heart jump with wonder. Continue reading

Remember to Look

I was out walking the other day, along by the hedgerows, down to the falls.  (One of my favourite places to go and marvel.)

I was happily noticing what I noticed, not least the early signs of autumn, irresistibly arriving. My noticing and walking took me down to the edge of the river, where the water was low enough to walk on the edge of the river bed.

Some early leaves had fallen, and I was wondering how they would look against the grey pebble river floor.

And then I thought to myself,

Oh, but you’re supposed to be looking out for your invitation
And turned my head, and looked back up the river.

 

This is what I saw.

The invitation of the trees

It took my breath away.

It’s simply the way the trees are arching.

It’s simply the way the light is falling.

It’s simply – I don’t know – it might not even speak to you – it doesn’t matter.

It simply: invited.

It simply reminded me to remember: to open my eyes and look.

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