Author: WmX

I stumbled off the track to success in 1968, started chasing shadows that summer. Since then, In addition to farm-laborer and newspaper photographer my occupational incarnations include dishwasher, janitor, retail photo clerk, plumber, HVAC repairman, auto mechanic, CAT scan technologist, computer worker and politico (whatever it takes to buy a camera.) I am on the road to understanding black and white photography.

day of rest


I am trying to discover the names of the kind souls who made the two cornus florida trees appear at my sister’s funeral service.

lonely day

my mother, my daughter. The day, for a parent, that is not ever supposed to happen. Burying a child, burying a best friend, closing the best chapter of one’s life. She did all those things. Earlier this day.

homegoing


{25:6} And in this mountain shall the LORD of hosts make unto all people a feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined.
{25:7} And he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over all nations.
{25:8} He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth: for the LORD hath spoken [it.]
{25:9} And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this [is] our God; we have waited for him, and he will save us: this [is] the LORD; we have waited for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.–Isaiah

Corvus brachyrhynchos

She loved crows, she loved train whistles, she loved burning things.
This morning, Gray's adopted Corvid cell visited Westport. These are country crows, very wary, I couldn't get close, shot through the window...

Bardo


I’ve been away from home for two weeks, camera battery is getting low. Don’t stop now. We are waiting, going through the motions. getting ready to meet trains and boats and planes tomorrow.

snow

The dead might wake into a world like this,
And know its white lost ecstasy their own.
I am a stranger wearing flesh and bone,
Peering beyond my dusty chrysalis.
No scent or sound invades the integrity
Of peace beneath the ermined thatch of pine.
Nor whir of wing, nor quick heart-beat of mine
Shall spill the cradled silence from a tree.
No God of Sinai shatters the timeless pause
With “Thou shalt not.” But from each holy bush
Love speaks, articulate in this white hush.
Here life and death may meet, obeying new laws,
And mingling as easily as flake with flake.
Into a world like this the dead might wake.–Emma Gray Trigg