Why is it that books become more attractive with age. If you look at a new book, you see something that is merely functional. Something to read. To entertain or inform.
But a book with some age? It becomes a thing of beauty. The slightly yellowing pages that may curl slightly contain their own beauty apart from what they may contain.
Are people like that? Do we gain a beauty with age?
Maybe we should be like books. Good books get preserved and have the chance to get old. Books with nothing to say are lost.
Maybe that would give us the impetus to be good. Be good so that we can have the chance to get old.
This is a midnight back yard shot from many years ago. I like the way the green intensified with the long exposure.
A shot from the late 7os on the ferry to Victoria.
I am feeling a little hungry.
I was looking at this old photo and it reminded me of Monopoly for some reason. B&O railway and the lesser lines on the board.
Many decades ago, Monopoly was an ever-present game. I confess that I was never super fond of the game but that is perhaps because I was never very good at the game.
I should try playing it again sometime.
Portait of the back of a head. I love the golden hair. The overall glow. Most of all I love the earring. It has a sparkle that make the photo.
Okay, I have lost track. Is this day 14 or day 21 of this mind-numbing insomnia. Who cares, right?
I go to bed and sleep for 30 minutes then wake up with the stupidest thoughts running through my brain. Thoughts about things like "If I am thinking the stupidest thought imaginable, does that make me a stupidist?"
I think about how much extra time I have with this added wakefullness only to realise that it does me no good because my brain is functioning at such a low level that I cannot take advantage of the extra time.
I feel like I am an addict. I am addicted to being awake.
I lay in bed, alone, sleepless, and the only throbbing that is happening in my body is in my brain as it tries to come to a decision concerning the proper time to give up and get the hell out of bed.
My brain has become an old moss-covered fence dividing reality from fantasy, sleep from wakefullness, and it is crumbling and falling. Once it falls completely the mossy fantasy world might overwhelm any crisp reality.
Eyelashes are nearly unnoticed but they sure can make a statement. They can be held in certain positions to be flirty or skeptical. Angry or joyful.
Although they are overshadowed by the eyebrows, eyelashes are the subtle gossamer curtains covering the eyes and are opened to show as much as you wish to show of what is inside your being.
At what point does a home a quaint part of the landscape. The last inhabitant moves out and people must think of the shack as an eye-sore but it eventually becomes part of the surrounding nature.
Or is it still just an eye-sore?
What is the world is the point of a sport where you have an animal run like hell then you chase it mounted on another animal, through a rope around first animal's neck and then, well, get animal number two to make a sudden stop. You then run up and tie the feet of animal number one.
It served a purpose at one time on ranches. But as a sport?
It is, however, damned exciting.
I shot this one summer at the University of Victoria while waiting for my Canadian Lit class to start.
The foot belonged (probably still does) to a future veterinarian.
I enjoyed that summer. Shot quite a few good photos.
I like ballons. That's all.
I love the colour of this picture (shot in July, 1978 using Fujichrome film). Take away the bottles of paint and the girl is just a girl. That sounds rude but without the the focal point of the bottles the image lacks interest.
It is an ugly hat but the feather adds some interest to the photograph. The feather and the ring.
This picture was shot on Kodachrome in June 1978 with my Canon F1.
The problem with scanning photographs is getting the colour just right. This is very very close to what is on the slide.
A crime scene photo taken at at business burglary a couple of years ago. The mighty R.C.M.P. was on the scene investigaing but what are the chances that they would actually make an arrest? Slim.
They need to go through the motions but do they have expectations or are they resigned to the fact that they are going to have another unsolved crime on their hands? It says nothing about their skills but I am certain that they are over-whelmed with crimes of convenience and minor incedences and lack the resources to do actual crime-solving.
They probably won't get their man.
I bought a tin of Wild Salmon the other day. This is a big event for me because I have a history with salmon. It makes me . . . well, to keep things clean . . . it makes me ill.
Why did I buy it? A whim. Years have gone by and I thought maybe, just maybe, I have changed. Or salmon has changed.
I was wrong.
We both remain the same.
A very intense performance and, even though it was country, I enjoyed it.
I ever ever told you how much I hate country music?
I did enjoy Fred's performance though.
Do trees feel? Is it too much to think that if we feel pain then dogs do as well. Birds. No. We can accept that but how about krill? Or peonies? Or trees?
The universe seems to be a living organism of which we are all seemingly insignificant parts but maybe the universe feels a twinge of discomfort when one of us feels pain. Maybe the loss of a tree causes just as much discomfort to the universe as the loss of Einstein.
Maybe it is time that we mourn the passing of a worm.
I broke a nail about two months ago. Well, I actually misplaced it. Lost it. Gone bye-bye. It is 3/4 back now but my finger is still swollen. Numb and tingly at the same time.
I now have nail envy.
This picture, shot 37 years ago, is a reminder that ourbodies change over the years. That body with the firm thighs and tight stomach muscles, is now 37 years older and is probably showing signs of that age.
A summertime fall of snow. Actually a Canada Day fall of cottonwood tree fluff shot at Cottonwood Island Park.
It is amazing that the presence of the sun can be see without the sun actually being seen? A glow. A shadow. Warmth. A feeling of well-being.
I guess it is kind of like friendship.
Yeah, I know. You've probably seen a picture very much like this one but I am feeling a little fuzzy in the brain. The world is a little off-kilter and I just can't seem to see it straight. Make it straight. Perceive it it straight.
The world is just plain wobbly.
Have you ever dreamed that you were flying? When I was a kid I dreamed that all the time. I was either in my personal little helicopter or just plain flying like Superman.
I don't seem to have those derams anymore. I guess when you get to be a certain age reality catches up with you and you just cannot lift off.
Maybe the dreams will return when I hit my dotage.
This Chilcotin cowboy (he is Chilcotin or(Tsilhqot’in, Tzilkotin) and a cowboy) was so damned proud of his belt buckle.
One thumb pushes it out as he explains that he won it in a National Rodeo Championship. It shows a cowboy roping a steer.
I believe he was from the Tl'etinqox band.
A cowboy sits atop an animal that quivers with tension. A few seconds that will seem like an eternity. The bull will not want to keep his rider.
The cowboy's face is etched with tension. One final adjustment to his hat and then . . .
. . . the countdown begins. Seven seconds. He knows that it could be his last ride. Forever.
Sometimes you meet a person who affects your life for many years. Warren was one of those people for me.
I guess, from my perspective, he was jovially gruff.
Actually, I put this picture in to show that I photograph more than just women.
What is it about outdoor music? It seems to be so much closer. More intimate. If you are in a concert setting in a hall or theatre, the music may be as good but it loses the intimacy that is possible out beneath a sunny sky. Even a rainy sky.
It all seemst o be so much closer in feeling even if it is not in not distance.
Monkey Forest Loading dock in the very run down warehouse at the CN site in Prince George.
The angles are what I like. Triangles. Sqruares. Rectangles. The whole package.
I was at the beach with friends when their son decided to do some tanning. The angle of his body nearly intersecting the shadow from the pole adds interest. And the woman sitting in the background. And the strip of blue at the top finishes the photo.
This is Quesnel Lake which is one of British Columbia's deepest lakes. It is actually a fjord lake which is a lake formed by a glacier cutting into a valley bottom. At a depth of 530 metres (1739 feet), Quesnel Lake is the deepest fjord lake in the world.
It is also very beautiful.
And very very cold.
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Michael Michael died March 26, 2022. He spent 8 days in Hospice, was free
of pain, coherent, had many visitors. It has been so wonderful to see all
the lov...
2 years ago
