mist

mist

as the mist of midnight’s steps

cradles the morning caress,

i awaken too,

with a lust for you

I captured this image in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Fairy Stone State Park. I giggled at first sight of the morning’s mist in its stream along the lake at the irony of the parks name. To me, this looked as if a group of fairies were passing through and left their magic behind.

The park, one of Virginia’s first, was opened in 1936, and received its name from the mysterious “fairy stones” found in the area.

The origin of the stones are that of a Christian and Pagan mythology, believed to be that of fairies tears upon hearing of the crucification of Christ. These staurolite crystals are only found in a few places around the world. Virginia, it seems, has the abundance of them while they can also be found in Georgia, New Mexico, Brazil and Switzerland.

Geologists describe their origin as a result of a shift and change in surrounding mountains over time. The dreamer and romantic in me prefers to believe the myths of the fairies and it seems I might have captured a little proof of them. What do you think?

wild: a haiku

wild: a haiku

in the wild of me

special thoughts rain blissfully

forest grows louder

I captured this image while in one of the bayou’s outside of New Orleans in Louisiana. I love the look (and feel) of Spanish moss and how it seemingly rains throughout the branches of trees. A moment after I captured this image, I found myself beneath this tree, letting the moss trail across my face and couldn’t help but feel as if I was being greeted by its soul. if only we but listen….

train rides

train rides

hitchhiking to these, my forgotten spaces

thumbs up to the clouds waiting for the train to catch that wind

the bell tolls silently so to those who listen

to those with no fear of letting go

i cradle my bag, my makeshift courage kit

to wander now needlessly to where the leaves blow, where they seem i shall fit

always the backseat traveler i still shan’t take the helm

for it not my eyes that lead, but my heart that swells

i follow where it takes me, perhaps to dead end roads

pulling out my kit with compass to direct me as best it knows

ye of little faith, the reclusive voice no more

for those journeys once forgotten i now ready the score

days absent of sunlight, of curtains drawn

now places me on this train, piercing through dusty windows all those what ifs now gone

IrisU2

I photographed this image along the Blue Ridge Parkway, Milepost 34. I categorized it within my abandoned photography as what you see here is the remnants of an old logging railroad. Although it is abandoned it is not forgotten and is visited quite frequently among hikers and travelers alike and offers a serene, picturesque moment to step back in time. Thank you for reading. For more of my nature and abandoned photography please visit my gallery here.

 

Listen to me read Train Rides 

 

sanctum

sanctum

beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

for it is there

among borrowed ears

the cadence of you,

of i

falls freely

beneath blooming arms, those towering magic wands

those leaves, an artistic blend of hues

lent by the color of our words

birthed from our woes, our joys

now drip dropping in tiny doses

a repertoire of moments

gifts caressed from our swollen lips

beneath this our found sanctum

a secret place, a perfect hiding spot

where treasured scribing

and whispers in the wind

hold a love affair in soft reverie

infused within the veins of its hollow

beyond distances they traveled

weathered testaments of time

reaching for the sun

how they glow

how it flows

upwards

outwards

reflecting within

beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

Listen to me read Sanctum 


queen of the shades

queen of the shades

minnows wading beneath

the dance of the trees

lending a choir to the air as earthen creatures stir

but to catch a glimpse of she

their maiden of the shade, their spring breathing persephone

a narcissus sips from a nymph filled river bed

unable to resist the breath of its perfume,

she bows as its smile upon her spread

one selfish delight, she thought, to adorn her hair

reaching for its heavenly invitation, clutching its core,

but the earth it trembled, a prelude to a darkening lair

a stallion then arose, with rider crowned in shade

his moon-fed eyes reaching for her own

spilling of promise to immortal blooms

of a forest braided, never to fade

longing for the wonder, unafraid of what the gods would cast down

she took his hand, this god of the underworld

and became his queen, in shaded crown

in their descent, winter took hold

til this maiden, now queen of the shades returned in season anew

giving her breath to the forest turning it back to its gold

Emancipator/Natural Cause

-just breathe-

Listen to me read Queen of the Shades


metamorphosis: photography

metamorphosis: photography

Equally as beautiful as new life peaking from the earth during the spring, I am truly captivated by the colors and the absolute imperfections of trees shedding their dreams during the fall. I say this as ever since I was a child I’ve always thought of the falling leaves this way. Never to color inside the lines, no rules to follow, to simply just be. I found the following images I captured in my backyard precisely that.

For more of my photography you can visit my gallery here

just breathe

harbour

harbour

drifting in this cosmic womb of rain

to you, this harbour beneath the shore

my mind resigning its weight, a bare jewel afloat,

to kelp fields, dense and fragments dark,

guiding in this underwater dance floor

traversing through your canopies wild

seasons unfold before my eyes

gardens spring blooms from a winter’s release

while the sequoias of the sea lend me their lean, serenely keen to the sun drenched skies

cerulean paves these streets of peace

as buckets of wings residing beneath the sails of tide

to antiquities void of a pirate’s lore

filling my lungs along this cathartic ride

straying further and further from the salty fits that marry my skin ashore

i fall deeper and deeper into this estuary

where a love evolves, where my heart explores

slipping into frocks left behind of mermaids best

the ballroom awaits as i untether my weathered steps

to which it replies, please, be my guest

swimming anext urchins as they needfully feed

watching otters safely sleep between the holdfast trees

i am but a visitor but a resident akin

to this underwater sanctuary that wishes me au revoir

after welcoming me with ease

This piece was inspired from watching the documentary, My Octopus Teacher featuring the kelp forests of South Africa. Filmmaker and photographer, Craig Foster begins a year long journey studying and ultimately befriending an octopus living within the kelp forest. It is beautiful and heartfelt as well as an educational piece that I would recommend giving a watch.

In writing this I imagined and truly listened to the testimony of Foster of just how magical skin diving and traversing through this underwater garden becomes to the soul. Daily stresses seem to become weightless, as trees, anchored and wise, become our guides.

The images shared within this piece are that of Foster captured during his journey within the forests in South Africa.

Kelp forests, these beautiful underwater oasis’s, are endangered, mostly so by threats from fisheries, marine pollution, invasive species and climate change. If you’d like to learn more about the ambassadors of the sea check out Sea Change Project. The group, of which Foster is a member of, is striving to educate and protect the ecosystem that is a sanctuary and home to many marine animals and wildlife.

Thank you for reading.

Harbour-Sohn

just breathe

braids

braids

the fabric of my bones

these places weaving in and through to you

where evergreens whisper, liken their leaves to call

 

in broken trails now enchanted, blushing blooms braiding to my heart

to ravens licking moonlight, in lush romantic song

 

the fabric of my bones

these places weaving in and through to you

keeping you close, keeping you whole

for me to remember, for you to kiss my soul

 

Blackmill-Gaia

Image by Brian Kirhagis

 

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