Sunlight is scarce in the winter months, but as the season turns, the planet whizzing on its galactic orbit, the first signs of spring appear.
A break in the cloudy dome. Wispy tendrils weave an atmospheric veil, thin and other-worldly. Blowing softly but persistently from the South Pacific.
Old familiar places are suddenly transformed into an alien world, where shape and shadows interact in a certain slant of light. You cannot help but see yourself as a tiny organism clinging to a rock as it hurls across the universe.
What will they say about us a thousand years from now? What mark will we leave in the fiery sky?
The ones who wilted in the silent whimpers
Or the ones who went out with a bang.
Clouds twist and bend as they traverse the firmament. An orange haze glows on the horizon. Lonesome mariners think of home as the bay is draped in golden silence.
The Salish natives believe in a mythical beast called Ogopogo. The snake in the lake. Also called The wicked one by the Chinook. It is said to inhabit the Okanagan lake. Like the Loch Ness monster, it’s been sighted now and then, but the evidence of its existence is rather scant.
Why am I telling you this? No reason. I just thought you might like to know about the legend of Ogopogo.
Heed the imploring bard
“Arise, fair sun!”
Dormant beauty of helium
Weave the silken threads of your loom
Your tapestry embroidered in plasma
Let us have our fill of cup
And rejoice 'till the dawn of twilight.
Oh, what mystery and magic you weave Mr Wordsmith! You mesmerize with the tilt of your 🖊 pen! Great pictures too. ❤️❤️❤️❤️💕❤️❤️💕❤️❤️❤️❤️💕❤️❤️
I'm such a sucker for compliments, and you spoil me, m'lady. 😊
I hope you're enjoying the Pacific Norwthwest vibes. :)
If I could choose, I would rather go out with a bang. To live a life of regret over missed opportunities, of having tasted too little of the fountains of joy and adventure, of constant worry whether it is decent enough, considerate enough of me, how I live and behave; hardly desirable. Do I still have matters that are mine, or am I a matter for others?
The monster in the lake reminds me of mysteries, of a primal fear of the depths, it splits perception into what is beauty and what seems nasty. The best stories are probably the ones where I almost got killed, did something dangerous or forbidden, against conventions. What remains of oneself if not narratives of what was?
The wish that something of me would remain for the world after me, I find it reflected in what I wish to find of my deceased. A note in a book, unsent letters, even a diary...pieces of jewellery, stones.... If I found such a thing, what would it tell me? Aren't we more interested in the riddles posed by the finds made by our ancestors?
Your photographs make me want to pick up a brush and put mood like colours on a canvas.
I see images of the movie Run Lola Run flashing in my head. You seem like a woman who loves to take action. Bold action. It's certainly in tune with the 21st century cyberpunk ethos of navigating your own ship instead of leaving it up to other to do it for you.
What I find fascinating about the monster is that people actually believed it was real. Given that we are educated in a western system, we no longer believe in such things and simply call them myths and legends. We have comparmentalized the supernatural to realm of fiction. So, imagine a world view in which fantastic creatures do exist, surrounded by a misty forest, and a lake where mysteries hide in the depths.
Maybe in the future, it will be possible to reconstruct the personality of a person based on the digital and analogue footprints they leave behind. The greater the footprint, the more accurate the model of your personality. Imagine that! I could interact with @erh.germany a thousand years from now. I'll be in the Caribbean sipping pina coladas and rejuvenation martinis, and I'll raise a toast to you in the blockchain.
Excellent idea. I've been meaning to paint a watercolor, so I'll start today.
Nice captures! What a beautiful place! Love the colors. magical.
So happy you liked it :)