brambles
setting out on the nature trail punctuated with the work of an artisan, beginning with a mosaic entry depicting the beach and calgary bay, we knew we were on a curious circuit, a combination of wild raw nature and, for once, careful, intelligent human intervention.
i want to tell about this trail to calgary bay and the wild blackberries we ate along the way, the wall of fuschia in full bloom, the handcarved birds in the trees. i would like somehow to depict the dark green forest against which was set this wide crescent beach of white sand, but i get concerned this will begin to sound like a travelogue and not the odyssey it was. ahwell. nothing to be done.
the expanse of white sand, framed by tall beach grass on the approach, and outcroppings of rock at the shore, provided a compelling foreground to the sky, now full of pre-sunset drama with colours and clouds performing like cello and orchestra, singing farewell to the sun again. you can't help thinking how many thousand million days like this one have taken their leave, only to return in a few hours all wet with hello. it's impossible to think of it as ever stopping, even with death, especially when the darkest starless most stormy night is still supplanted by morning.
i want to tell about this trail to calgary bay and the wild blackberries we ate along the way, the wall of fuschia in full bloom, the handcarved birds in the trees. i would like somehow to depict the dark green forest against which was set this wide crescent beach of white sand, but i get concerned this will begin to sound like a travelogue and not the odyssey it was. ahwell. nothing to be done.
the expanse of white sand, framed by tall beach grass on the approach, and outcroppings of rock at the shore, provided a compelling foreground to the sky, now full of pre-sunset drama with colours and clouds performing like cello and orchestra, singing farewell to the sun again. you can't help thinking how many thousand million days like this one have taken their leave, only to return in a few hours all wet with hello. it's impossible to think of it as ever stopping, even with death, especially when the darkest starless most stormy night is still supplanted by morning.
posted by mollygloom at 8.10.06
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