Not intended for commercial purposes or use.
Not intended for commercial purposes or use.
March 28, 2011
March 22, 2011
Misty Mountain
Mount Zhongnan
The Tai Yi peak
is near the capital of Heaven.
Its range stretches
all the way to the coast.
As I look back,
the white clouds are close in.
As I look close up,
the blue mists suddenly disappear.
The middle ridge divides into
two ever-changing sceneries.
On dark or clear days
each valley has a different view.
Wanting to put up
at some one's place for the night,
I ask a woodcutter
on the other side of the stream.
~ by Wang Wei, Translated by Edward C. Chang
March 20, 2011
Navajo Healing Chant
Dark cloud is at the door.
The trail out of it is dark cloud.
The zigzag lightning stands high upon it.
An offering I make.
Restore my legs for me.
Restore my body for me.
Restore my mind for me.
Restore my voice for me.
Restore my feet for me.
Happily I recover.
Happily my interior becomes cool.
Happily I go forth.
My interior feeling cool, may I walk.
No longer sore, may I walk.
Impervious to pain, may I walk.
With lively feelings may I walk.
As it used to be long ago, may I walk.
March 13, 2011
Wedding Crasher
Not intended for commercial purposes or use.
With the price of gas increasing almost daily, I'll be sticking close to home to practice my photography. Not that my little excursions ever went very far afield, but my physical range is a bit more limited now. These shots were taken while passing a pleasant afternoon at a nearby public park; a hint of spring and the promise of new beginnings in the air.
March 8, 2011
Burnt Out
You pull over to the shoulder
of the two-lane road
and sit for a moment wondering
where you were going
in such a hurry.
The valley is burned
out, the oaks
dream day and night of rain
that never comes.
At noon or just before noon
the short shadows
are gray and hold what little
life survives.
In the still heat the engine
clicks, although
the real heat is hours ahead.
You get out and step
cautiously over a low wire
fence and begin
the climb up the hill.
A hundred feet
ahead the trunks of two
fallen oaks rust;
something passes over
them, a lizard perhaps
or a trick of sight.
The next tree
you pass is unfamiliar,
the trunk dark,
as black as an olive's;
the low branches stab out,
gnarled and dull: a carob
or a Joshua tree.
A sudden flaring-up ahead,
a black-winged
bird rises from nowhere,
white patches
underneath its wings, and is gone.
You hear your own
breath catching in your ears,
a roaring, a sea
sound that goes on and on
until you lean
forward to place both hands
— fingers spread —
into the bleached grasses
and let your knees
slowly down. Your breath slows
and you know
you're back in central California.
~ from Magpiety by Philip Levine