Signs of Life :)
Last winter, in order to let ample sunshine fill our lazy-siesta-days, we had slashed down the branches off one side of the Sapodilla (Cheeku) tree in the courtyard. But now since summer was approaching, we were missing the verdant lushness.
And then, a couple of weeks back, a sprig of unspoilt, green leaves poked their head out on the upper reaches of the trunk (image 1).
The freshness spread and now we have similar shiny heads sprouting all over the once barren branch (image 2).
Bring on the summer now! :)
The sea’s only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally the chance to feel strong. Now I don’t know much about the sea, but I do know that that’s the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind death stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that, love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up & your eyes open
With the grace of a man, not grief of a child
And learn to build all your roads
On today because tomorrow’s ground
Is too uncertain for plans, and futures
Have a way of falling down in mid flight.
After a while you’ll learn that even sunshine
burns if you have too much..
So you plant your own garden and decorate
your soul instead of waiting
for somebody to bring you flowers
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and learn
With every friend or lover you learn
With every goodbye you learn.
While we continue to destroy ourselves and anything else we can lay our hands on, Nature continues to grow more beautiful and astound us.
I run along the bees
Realms around all golden
Feel the ripples through my mane
The pot of memories broke open.
Glide above the grass
And swim through the breeze
Soaring with the fleeting dew
Yesterday & I; chalk and cheese.
Laughter bounces off the rocks
Whimsical feet find no ground
Hide and seek, day turns dark
Moon above, wistful whispers abound.
The starry orchestra
Plays all night long
I find me, me finds I;
Who was who, no one could know why.
Aurora Borealis: An item on my bucket list - if this is not other-wordly, what is?
Life on the road is something I was raised to embrace. Me Ma always encouraged us to open our eyes and our hearts to the world, make up our own minds for experience of being inspired. I see life in angles, in lines of perspective, a slight turn of the head, the blink of an eye, subtle glimpses of magic other folk might pass by. Cameras help me translate, interpret and understand what I see. It’s a simple act that keeps me grin’n. I never set out to become anything in particular, only to live creatively and push the scope of my experience for adventure, through passion. Still all of it means something to me, same as most anyone with dreams. My heart bleeds Celtic blood and I am magnetized to familiar frontiers: broad, brutal, cold coastlines for the right waveriders to challenge. This is where my heart beats hardest. I try to pay tribute to that magic through photographs, weathering the endless storms for rare glimpses of magic each winter is both a bless’n and a curse I relish. I want to see wave ride’n documented the way I see it in my head and the way I feel it in the sea. It’s a strange set of skills to begin to acquire. It’s only achievable through time spent riding waves, all sorts of waves on all sorts of crafts, means more time learning out in the water. Floating in the sea amongst an ocean swell, you’ll always learn something its been a life long classroom teacher of sorts, and hopefully, always will be. Buried beneath headlands, shaping the coast, mind blowing images of empty waves, burn away at me. Solid ocean swells powering through deep cold water.Heavy waves… waves with weight. Coaxed from comfortable routine, ignite the imagination, convey some divine spark. whisper the possibilities, conjure the situations I thrive amongst enough to document. We all take knocks in the process: broken backs, drownings, near drownings, hypothermia, dislocations, fractures, frost bite, head wounds, stitches, concussions, broke my arm… and that was just the last couple of years. Still look forward to getting amongst it each Winter though, cold creeping into your core, driving you mad, day after day mumbling to yourself as you hold position and wait for the next set to come. The Dark Side of the Lens - an art form unto yourself not us: silent workhorses of the surfing world. There’s no sugary cliche. Most folk don’t know who we are, what we do or how we do it… let alone want to pay us for it. I never want to take this for granted, so I try to keep motivations simple, real, positive. If I only scrape out a living, at least it’s a living worth scraping. If there’s no future in it, this is a present worth remembering. For fires of happiness or waves of gratitude… for everything that brought us to that point in life, to that moment in time to do something worth remembering with a photograph or a scar. I feel genuinely lucky to hand on heart to say I love what I do. And I may never be a rich man but if I live long enough, I’ll certainly have a tale or two for the nephews. And I dig the thought of that.
~ Micky Smith
From the land of faeries.. :)