Articles by Bo Mackison

Labyrinth Visit

Labyrinth

watch Labyrinth © 2013 Bo Mackison

enter site Shrouded in haze, the labyrinth,
in a barren place, air molecules heavy from a passing thunderstorm.
A few raindrops and faraway rumbling, then closer, long and onerous,
like a door sliding closed in the distant skies,
grating, heaving, cloud against cloud.

Turns on a Labyrinth

Tramadol 50 Mg Price Turns on a Labyrinth © 2013 Bo Mackison

https://drbatayneh.com/pediatric-ophthalmology/ I draw close, hesitate at the labyrinth’s entrance.
I am here, I have yearned for days to travel the hours here, to walk the passage, and now
I stop, uncertain. What am I looking for? An answer? A calming? Reassurance?

Cracked Stones and Dead Weeds

Buy Ambien Online Overnight Cracked Stones and Dead Weeds © 2013 Bo Mackison

Zolpidem Buy Online I stop at the only tree near enough to study,
a crab apple, stunted in the shade of ancient oaks.
search its dead branches, its leaves a premature yellow,
faded, rusted with scab.

https://www.jacobysaustin.com/general-info/ But on one branch there is a green twig,
a cluster of three pink leaves unfurling.
Peer at stones at my feet, uneven and broken, to regain my bearings
and a scraggly branch pokes sharply into my shoulder as I pass.
“Listening?” it seems to inquire.

Labyrinth Stones

Labyrinth Stones © 2013 Bo Mackison

The plastic wrist band from an earlier event
gouges my skin, the band a bright cherry red, blood-red.
I pull at it, but the security band has no give.
I read its black print, ignored earlier in the press of a crowd.

“Void if detached!” Void?
I am void if I choose to detach from this path I follow?
This walk, exhilarating yet difficult.
This path that questions me as I form questions to ask of it?

Ancient Oak

Ancient Oak © 2013 Bo Mackison

Nothing in the labyrinth appears alive,
shriveled brown weeds, crumbles of oak leaves,
worn stones, chipped and cracked.

The ancient oak sentry is dying.
There are no other’s footprints, only the circular
indentations of raindrops from last night’s storm.

A fleeting thought, the impulse to flee the necessity of loss.

Acorn Oil Lamp, Rusted

Acorn Oil Lamp, Rusted © 2013 Bo Mackison

Thoughts tumble in my mind. Who will reclaim this labyrinth?
Shine the rusted acorns oil lamps, trim their wicks?
These oil lamps, like rusty upturned breasts, no longer of use,
their offer of light in these shadows forgotten.

I walk the path. Towards the center. Wait and listen. Retrace the path.
Relinquish control so I can hear the whispering answers, accept guidance.
I walk the labyrinth three times. I wait.

Winding Road

Winding Road © 2013 Bo Mackison

Void if detached? I choose to not detach.
I am not alone. A few ants, a brown moth in camouflage.
I pick up a tiny white and black feather, a half walnut-shell.

I am in the labyrinth. Alive. Me.
I glance at a squared stone as I ready to leave. Clinging to its surface,
a bit of heart-shaped moss, bright green.

Alive.

—————-

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Recently she has also been pondering labyrinths and  journeys.

Desert Heat

Dixie's Final Resting Place

Dixie’s Final Resting Place ©2013 Bo Mackison

a·ban·don

1 [uh-ban-duhn]

verb

1. to leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert.

2. to cast away, leave, or desert, as property or a child.

 

Abandoned in the Desert

Abandoned in the Desert ©2013 Bo Mackison

de·sert

 [dih-zurt]

verb

1. to leave (a person, place, etc.) without intending to return, especially in violation of a duty or promise. Synonyms: abandon, leave, quit; forsake.

 

Desert Heat

Desert Heat ©2013 Bo Mackison

des·ert

1 [dez-ert]

noun

1. a region so arid because of little rainfall that it supports only sparse and widely spaced vegetation or no vegetation at all.

2. any area in which few forms of life can exist because of lack of water, permanent frost, or absence of soil.

 

 

Abandoned Stove in the Desert

Abandoned Range in the Desert ©2013 Bo Mackison

range

[rnj]
noun

Buy Carisoprodol Online 1. The act of wandering or roaming over a large area.

Ambien 10 Mg Price 2. A stove with spaces for cooking a number of things at the same time.
Hot Stove in the Desert

Hot Stove in the Desert ©2013 Bo Mackison

 

heat

[heet]

noun

1. the state of a body perceived as having or generating a relatively high degree of warmth.

2. the condition or quality of being hot: the heat of an oven.

3. the degree of hotness; temperature

verb
4. to become hot or warm

 

I first photographed these abandoned ranges/ovens/stoves scattered about the grounds of the Post Picket House, a historical but unmaintained property that’s part of the Boyce Thompson Arboretum near Globe, Arizona. Ovens abandoned in the desert. Really, who needs an oven in the desert?

The good folks in the Southwest describe their temperature highs with the disclaimer that it’s a dry heat, as if that negates the fact that is it nearly as hot as Hades. In my mind, when heat is described as “dry as an oven” it is still hot. Really, no matter what words you use, lingering temps over 100˚F deserve the descriptor HOT. If you’re not convinced, you could always poke  your head in a hot oven for a second or two — not advised though.

So…is the interior temperature of an oven abandoned in a desert as accurate as an oven abandoned elsewhere? I would presume so, considering age and condition of said abandoned ovens.

Disclaimer: Obviously, the prolonged high humidity and temperatures in the Midwest — though NOT dry like an oven — is responsible for the lucidity of this post. A week with temps over 90˚ and brains begin to soften around the edges…

~~~~~~~~

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.   She is awaiting a break in the weather. Or not.

 

Garden Party – Emerging Coneflower

Coneflower, Emerging

Coneflower, Emerging ©2013 Bo Mackison

“To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.” ~ William Blake

 

And here
is the flower
not yet unfurled

petals not yet drooping
on the edge of a breeze
like the flutter of a heartbeat

a spark emerges from the depths
and disappears in the heated haze
on a sun-drenched July morn.

~~~~~~~~~

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.   Her exhibit, source link Garden Party – A Celebration of Botanical Photography, is at the Alicia Ashman Branch Library Gallery in Madison, Wisconsin and runs through September 5, 2013.

On Watch

photo(21)On Watch © 2013 Bo Mackison

A lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature.
It is Earth’s eye, into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.
~ Henry David Thoreau

Skies hint of purple,
the sun withdraws.
Winds calm in the heavy summer air.

A tumble of rocks deep
disappear in gray shadow.
Ghost carp glide under the dock.

The spirit trembles, shaken, then
regains its equilibrium
On watch for the first star.

No Trespassing

Beach Scene

Sand Grasses © 2013 Bo Mackison

Sand dunes.
Protected.
No trespassing.

A ragged, twisted, never-ending fence
lines the sandy beach. Trapped
between the Atlantic’s cold waves
and brittle fencing. This is shadow land
cross-hatched, undulating zigzags
etch the sun-baked sand.

Waves in cadence, rush and roar,
past the beyond, murmur in melancholy.

Driftwood weathers silver-gray, a rotting
crab snags in the jagged fork. A purple jellyfish
upside down, adheres to a protruding stone–
will it rehydrate in high tide or disintegrate
in the blistery sun?

Two women walk near the waves,
an elder protected by a red straw boater,
carnival striped blouse, her daughter’s arm.
She steps with deliberation, settling into each step.
Her eyes seek the horizon,
she knows the strength of the tide
swelling near her canvas shoes. The sea holds her gaze
until the daughter grips her elbow, guides her inland.

The waves tumble in, the winds rush through beach grasses
and trees, tangle our hair, blow sand in our eyes.
We swallow grit. Our arms protect
our faces as we hasten along the path in search of the car.

The distant air is effervescent,
like a gauzy veil, one cannot peer through.
It is future, always hidden.

————–

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She strolled the beaches of Long Island and recalled the lyrics of a favorite song . . . “the ocean is a desert with its life underground.”