Reading this I can feel the crisp air dancing through my nostrils and the peaceful of voluntary loneliness of the hunt. Reminds me of hunting trips with my late father. Very transporting.
Your imagery here does a great job of evoking a sense of season and place. The mentioning of the rabbits somehow painted a picture of a lonely and windswept hill for me.
I appreciate the mindfulness you put out in the mornings! It’s a great way to center myself before I gotta lock in for the day :) great work and keep it up!
Reading this I can feel the crisp air dancing through my nostrils and the peaceful of voluntary loneliness of the hunt. Reminds me of hunting trips with my late father. Very transporting.
Marvelous reflections and memories. Thank you, Stan.
WOW!
stunning photographs
thank you mr. one cloud!
Jonathan
just one word - all lower case
onecloud
also marty
Thanks marty, i did type it as one word but once again find myself the unwitting victim of autocorrect!
of course ! LOL !
Your imagery here does a great job of evoking a sense of season and place. The mentioning of the rabbits somehow painted a picture of a lonely and windswept hill for me.
I appreciate the mindfulness you put out in the mornings! It’s a great way to center myself before I gotta lock in for the day :) great work and keep it up!
Thanks Raymond. I appreciate your comments and encouragement!
How beautiful these images and your words are. Love this post.
Thank you, Patris.
Beautiful photos and love the lines about the morning chill. Goes perfectly with the photos.
Thank you!
Reading this makes me even colder than I am, living here in Minnesota. Good words.
Your comment made me smile through my shivers. Thanks, Karen.
Nice. Reminds me of “A Rabbit as the King of Ghosts”.
Which I just reread … I should clarify: Steven also writes about a rabbit, and the sun (tho setting rather than rising), and a silhouette …
Thanks Brian. Now I feel I need to just read Stevens and nothing else while hibernating this winter.
The second photograph. What I see.
Beneath the waning day, a sentinel stands tall,
In solitude's embrace, against the twilight's call.
The sun, a golden artist, paints the sky with flame,
While shadows dance and whisper the ancient tree's name.
Fields of whispered secrets, in the breeze they sway,
A tapestry of nature, at the close of day.
The mountains, they slumber in the fading light,
As day gives a last curtsy to the onset of night.
The tree, in stark relief against the burning sky,
Holds stories in its branches where the eagles fly.
A sole witness to the quiet changing of the guard,
From the bright ballet of day to night’s starry boulevard.
The image captures more than a simple scene,
It's a moment of peace, where the earth and heaven lean.
And in this quiet hour, when the hustle fades away,
The beauty of the world is found in the ending of the day.
I love this line in particular: "The sun, a golden artist, paints the sky with flame"