FERN OF THE ANCIENT TYPE

Thursday, August 4, 2011.  Curls, curls, all curls.  It waits, like some giant unfolding snake head, malevolent, maybe not.  It sits in this green lushness, patient, older than I can imagine, having existed in this form forever.  Then it unfurls, soft and green, wide.  A dew catcher.  A place of rest for thirsty insects.

ROCKS

Thursday, August 4, 2011.  Offerings at the bottom of the falls, around the pool, mist playing around the rocks tossed to earth by beings unknown or unnamed.  And then there are the rocks placed into the nook on the right.  Who has crawled there, scaled the wall, to place these gifts that mark the presence of the seeker, the penitent or the loyal?  The stones, worn smooth by time and water, sprayed by the shower of the water or the falling rain, nestled in a cranny.

SKY KOI

Wednesday, August 3, 2011.  These Koi have taken flight against a clouded sky.  They no longer swim, they have been released by the beauty and serenity of their setting.  Accident of nature, or design?  What shapes their color - the gold, the orange, the brilliant white?  They are denizens of the temple ground; guarded, cared for, asked to help us reflect on beauty in a place given to lamentation.

BLACK AND WHITE

Monday, August 2, 2011.  Thousands of miles away and the familiar is there.  Color and absence, the carving away to expose what lies beneath, the disaffection of youth.  No sorrow, no joy, just the question about where am I, who am I?  Did I see a reflection, did I see something that questioned my training, did I realize that I haven't been told the entirety of the situation?  Youth  matures into knowledge.

RAIN FOREST RED

Sunday, August 1, 2011.  From the City of black and white to a land of lush color.  This red hanging on a tree was a hue that was not the blood red that would make a statement in New York, or the pinkish tone favored by the Barbie set.  But here it was, hanging in profusion, bright, insistent, awake.  It was right for the forest, belonging here in proximity to the ocean, showy.  What happens when it is moved?  Does it retain its pride of place, and in what context?  Regional.  Is it an example of what belongs where it is?