Port Orford, Oregon
Dew Drops on a Spider Web
Tag: Photography
Words to Live By
Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.
– Aristotle
There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors. – Adrienne Rich
A picture I took the day before yesterday on a hike. This is about a mile from my house through the woods. Running off the wetlands, a stream of water runs under a foot bridge right before a walk up a huge hill. At the top of the hill you can look across the valley to the other hills, almost mountains. One spring red trilliums popped up along the rivulet. The rocks in the area are now covered with moss.
March
Before it goes out like a lamb, it’s time to talk about the month of March. Looking back in history we’ll remember this month, in 2020, as the time when the Coronavirus grew exponentially in the U.S.A. Not that we weren’t forewarned, by the explosion taking place in Europe, preceded by China, and Iran, etc., etc.. in previous weeks. Covid-19’s here to stay for a long time; forty five days until we see a peak, eighteen months before life goes back to normal, if it ever does. In the long haul a positive outcome to this situation can be found within ourselves; find ways to beat it psychologically, remain optimistic, and use it to be more creative and productive in our personal lives. Take up painting, the piano, reading novels, writing as much as we can. How can we reach out, and help others, and bring them into our lives? What special talents do we have that we can share? There are certainly people living in a more precarious habitat, in which I’m living. Selfishly I hope I don’t catch the virus, or be a carrier and less selfishly, pass it on to someone else. So, where do we go from here? The answer seems to be nowhere, nothing versus something, and now being never. What is true is we are all vulnerable. No-one is exempt.
Back to March. What do we know about this third month of the calendar year, which during Roman Times was the first, and not the third of the year? A month named after the god of war, called Mars. Special days in particular yearn to be celebrated. Such as St. Patrick’s day, on the 17th, especially by the Irish, but even if you haven’t an ounce of Irish in your blood, you’re always welcome to partake in Irish generosity.
On the 15th of March, back in Roman Times, an old woman warned Julius Caesar, “Beware the Ides of March.” Against his wife’s best wishes Caesar ignored the oracle and ventured out into the Roman forum only to be assassinated, and find moments before he fell to his death that his best friend had betrayed him; thus the famous quote “Et tu Brutus?” The circumstance is a reminder to follow the wisdom of Shakespeare spoken in one of his plays “Love all, trust a few, and do wrong to no-one.” And, in the wake of the Corona19, to listen to the oracle; Stay home, protect yourselves, and others.
Since I am a curious person, who seeks novelty in all things possible to brush away the the sins of idleness, and boredom, I have a trivia fact for March. Does anyone know what September, October, November and December stand for? I found this out the other day through a post by the Farmer’s Almanac. The meaning of the prefixes of these months in latin follow suit with March being the first month of the year, for Sept means seven, Octo, eight, Nove, nine, and Dece, ten. So whatever happened to January and February? There is an answer, but at this moment, I can only say; “I do not know it.” Just like there are answers surrounding the mysteries of the Coronavirus, but for now uncertainty reigns, and only time will tell.
Choices
In the dark forest…
…the moon is the guiding light. The air is crisp, birds are none to be found. Autumn hangs on, like the last leaves to fall. Muted green of olive bushes, alone reflect golden beams. The clock has spent its time. Alas! the days are longer, the light is stronger, and winter won’t be far. Sleep deeply under the evening stars.
Sparkle
Taking pictures helps me get in touch with feelings. Thoughts generally rush through my mind, and a mix of emotions, negative and positive can be all tangled up. When I go out with my camera, and interpret my surroundings, the scenarios I play back are put on hold.
Energy re-emerges in the waves beating against the shore. Anticipation and lethargy lie dormant within the rocks, which sit like dinosaurs on the beach. I imagine them stirring in slow motion. A golden sun, peaking out of gray clouds over still ocean water, signals optimism and hope. Self-expression comes in many shapes and forms, taking the place of words.
Photos were taken on the beach, in Carlsbad, California. Click on the images, for a full view, and titles.
Stillwater ~ July 2017
A recent visit to Stillwater revealed new and exciting discoveries. Even though I came here many times before it was easy to skip over details of the city, as I was busy going back and forth across the river, to be with my aging mother. Now she is gone, but not forgotten, for she taught me to see from the heart. She would like my pictures.
Stillwater is a place I love to explore, with my camera, especially in the morning and early evening. Please see the photos individually, and read the captions I wrote.
White flower on a sunny morning on my walk.
I called this the gnome house because when you get closer there are gnomes all over the yard. I got very good vibes from this house.
The Art of Writing. These old boxes looked so lonely, in a row. They belonged to a lonelier looking set of apartments. Seemed to be almost vacated.
Quite proud of this picture, I had to venture into the side yard of someone’s property to get it. Hope they don’t mind. Many of the pictures came out blurred but this one was the magic moment. Here you can see the paddle boat coming up river. Behind it is the new bridge, almost in completion. This new bridge should slow the traffic which now pours through the downtown of historic Stillwater, to cross over into Wisconsin.
In flight. Got to get there some how.
Found this hydrant. Just in case of fire.
Some drying flowers along the fence of Fairview Cemetery.
A view of the old lift bridge and grain mill. This bridge will soon be part of a State Park and converted into a walk and bike way, when the new bridge downriver is inaugurated. Should happen in just a few days.
On a trolley tour the driver told us that these square houses were for the ‘River Rats’ or the men that worked on the The Boom. Rarely did they bathe thus came the name. Many of them perished in the dangerous work of logging dams. The history of the lumber business is fascinating, and created an environment where the Lumber Lords lived alongside people of walks of life. It must have been a very vibrant city, indeed.
Abandoned house in Stillwater. I saw this house two years ago. It looks much the same as it did then. Not improved from its dismal state. Perhaps someone will buy it and give it a new face. This is common in Stillwater, as it is a desirable place to live, for many reasons.
Taken at dusk this renovated house. This style of house is abundant. I believe it is one of the older types of houses, lived in by the working class, who worked on the river boom or lumber yards.
A few years ago, I featured a page on Stillwater that barely scraped the surface. Have a look at what I found; https://tiffanycreek7.com/stillwater-minnesota/.
Evelyn’s Rocker
Evelyn went to heaven
Through the gates of evermore.
To her friend, she said,
“Rock once more.”
By TiffanyCreek
“Credo” by Virginia Small
Just get to the point,
he said.
But which point,
she wondered.
Is there just one
and how do we decide
which one it is,
or should be?Just make your point
and let’s be done with it,
he stated.And her mind wandered
from that room,
to another point-
a rock at the edge of a finger
of land jutting into an ocean.
Watching water merge with sky,
she rested on that point
as waves dashed around her.Okay, she said,
after what seemed to him
too long a time,
this is my point:
We choose our beauty,
be it jagged and dark
or smooth or gleaming.But what makes something
beautiful?
We must have a standard,
he pressed.Yes, she agreed,
and then imagined
another point,
a clearing near the top
of a wooded mountain
reached only by foot
after a five hour hike.I want to tell you about a place
I once visited, she said.
Let me pull the threads of
a picture-memory
and then
let’s sort
for words
that point
toward
something
like beauty.
“Credo” By Virginia Small
Connecticut Review 2006 Vol. XXVII No. 2
Featured Image “Abandoned Farm” by Dave Dreimiller
On Tiffany Creek 