AUTUMN CLOUDS

Villa des Amis/September 2013/LPC

    

AUTUMN CLOUDS

This existence of ours is as transient 

    as autumn clouds.

To watch the birth and death of beings 

    is like looking at the movements 

    of a dance. 

A lifetime is like a flash of lightning 

    in the sky.

Rushing by like a torrent 

    down a steep mountain.

                                           ---Buddha

Global Warming

Swiss Alps/2008/LPC

Global Warming
There was ice here

Huge sheets of it

Clinging to the earth

Carving the soil

Pushing in retreat

Leaving contours

Creating conditions

For new life

Including mine

I have clung to the earth

Pushed it 

Left contours

Created new life

They will say 

I was here

My offspring

They will do the same

Then be gone

The ice will return

Take comfort in that
                     ---LPC 9/25/13

APPARITION

Sometime during the last 

snowstorm I thought I

saw a jackal 

 lurking through the 

 white  expanse

of the meadow; 

nothing more than a  glimpse

as he(?) passed 

through the  swirling  snow 

before  disappearing 

AROUND  the stones marking

the cenotaph. Ghostly apparitions

have  appeared  here before,

but this  ONE  had  a  chilling, 

foreboding  nature.

  

A sense of dread numbing defeat

arose, hasn't ceased, haunts me. 

I saw the tracks.

No Self

 Les Quatre Vents / La Malbaie / Quebec

The geese do not 

wish to leave 

their reflection behind;

The water has no 

mind to retain 

their image.

          

   ---Zenrin Kushu

CAIRN

CAIRN/Villa des Amis/December 30, 2012/WSC

In the process of understanding and interpretation, part and whole are related in a circular way: in order to understand the whole, it is necessary to understand the parts, while to understand the parts it is necessary to have some comprehension of the whole.

David Couzens Hoy

cenotaph

Well Head Stone in CENOTAPH/Villa des Amis/December 2012

                            

                           Cloud

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

And the nursling of the Sky;

     I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

I change, but I cannot die.

 For after the rain when with never a stain

The pavilion of Heaven is bare,

        And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams

Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

          Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

I arise and unbuild it again.

                                    ---Percy Bysshe Shelley