I could not understand why men who knew all about good and evil could hate and kill each other.
I return in reminiscence of Rifle House Cemetery where the annunciated turn of an iron gate launched a thousand and more butterflies towards the welkin.
The figure does not have to speak it is perfection to these eyes…a grace upon the earth.
Film brought me here. Thirteen years have passed since my lens last scanned these views. I have changed…
– the English Channel lapping at the shoreline – waves cresting and breaking while on the horizon the sails of little ships hint at what once was here. One can only imagine in this place.
Perhaps these happenstance words I gather may become useful, perhaps they will bond with me to capture Orion’s (the hunter’s) day from the Tyndall Blue?
I have many time on visits to London wandered past the Café de Paris, once hopeful to perhaps visit but this did not come to pass.
All engines are firing…perhaps a bit rough but I have been sensing this return for a bit. On my way here I was anxious, yearning…the desire for one more try…I am ready…it has been a long while.
More embedded images…every generation will have them. What scenes lurk these days within our lives that perpetually remind us of the horror, the horror. We cannot escape the river.
Colourful, large and fuzzy…their work is considerably important to all humanity. They are of the kind…the pollinators…without them there would be no crops, no wildflowers. Honeybees too are important, but bumbles can fly in cooler temperatures and operate with lower light levels. Honeybees and associated beekeeping was declared a war essential and beeswax was used to replace petroleum products to waterproof ammunition and as a replacement for sugar, which was rationed.