Articles by Bo Mackison

Twirling Leaf

source link Twirling Leaf © 2010 Bo Mackison

https://thelonelycreative.com/photography-gallery/ It is hard to hear the north wind again,
And to watch the treetops, as they sway.

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So much less than feeling, so much less than speech,

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On the level of that which is not yet knowledge:

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It is like a critic of God, the world

source url And human nature, pensively seated
On the waste throne of his own wilderness.

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The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying.

source url –   Wallace Stevens, The Region November

November and Nothingness

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source url November is all about this world wasting away, vanishing, and about us getting used to the nothingness, used to saying good bye.  ~ Vivian Swift

https://www.grupoursa.com/trayectoria/ On Decluttering:  I may choose never to declutter the interior of my home. Not when nature does such an obsessive job of decluttering the out of doors in November. All that was lush and green, all the gardens that were thick with a multitude of colorful flowers, all gone. Just gone. My outdoors world is now wearing the fashionable look of uncluttered. My maple and oak trees are bare.

here No. No inside decluttering for me right now. I need a little clutter in my life, and my outsides are feeling all too barren.

In Balance

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source link In art and dream may you proceed with abandon. In life may you proceed with balance and stealth. ~ Patti Smith

Autumn Mood

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Prairie Walk – Searching the Earth

Middleton Prairie

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Hydrocodone Purchase Online Walking the remnant prairie. Again. It calls me at this time of year, a nearly barren place at first glance. But what photographer only takes a first glance? I go to find miracles.

I’m greeted by a raven, screeching at me, he watches my movement through the grasses. Screeches loudly from his safe perch on a high branch in the oak tree. “Squawk-away-away-away!” he calls to me. I listen for awhile, then think perhaps he’ll fly away soon, so I can listen to the prairie’s quiet.

I begin a conversation with Raven, he squawks, I talk. “Fine. Sit there then. And hold still. I’ll change my lens and take a proper portrait of you.” I suppose he’s not the portrait type. He takes wing before I can unzip my pack.

I return to my search on the earth, finding little pieces of miracles as I walk. I capture the wonder of it all in notes and line drawings in my field journal and in my photographs. I don’t want this special prairie walk to be relegated to the realm of my memories, mostly forgotten.