Black waters of forgetfulness
Whipped to cream in rocky pools
Echoing with ancient tales of the grail.
Shrouded in coats of moss
Water carved rocks rest eternally
Under the hushed gaze of a seer.
Past reflections offering answers
From the stone bowls and cups
Of the deep shadowy river.
These two shots were taken in quick succession, as I lay on my stomach in the windswept golden grass. I liked the both, so was delighted that this weeks photo challenge asks us to focus on focus. It gives me a great excuse for posting both shots, and asking which you prefer.
There is something about lighthouses which captures my imagination, sweeping me off into childhood tales of sea journeys, pirates, shipwrecks and kidnapping. As a child I imagined how wonderfully different it would be to live in one of these icons of the storm filled coast. Cut off from the rest of the world, living in the heart of sea storms, valiantly keeping the light shining what ever the weather seemed impossibly romantic. The reality was perhaps somewhat different, but I hated the idea of automated lighthouses, it killed the whole wild tale in my head. It sucked the romance out of a light tended by hand, to save countless unknown lives at sea.
In Gaelic they are called taigh solais, which translates as house of light, which feels more romantic and less functional than the English equivalent. The original lights were used to guide boats safely into harbour, shining out across the waves, drawing boats in like moths. Later they became warning lights, built on treacherous reef filled coasts, the light kept the boats safely at bay out in deep clear water. I find this sharp shift in use and so symbolism fascinating. The light switched from one of safety and home, to one of danger and distance, and because of this lots of work was done to create lenses which could focus the light more intensely, thus giving it greater reach across the waves.
There was a flurry of lighthouse building in the 19th century, but now having been automated in the middle of the 20th century, lots have recently been decommissioned following a review of provision. This one at Barns Ness in East Lothian, was built by David A Stevenson, a member of Scotland’s famous lighthouse building family. It survived machine gun fire during the second world war only to be darkened on 27th October 2005. Deemed no longer necessary it stopped shining its unique light signature across this stretch of water, and now sadly stands in darkness as night falls, it’s heart and purpose lost, no longer a bright house of light.
Until 1966 its paraffin lamp was manned by two lighthouse keepers, after semi automation this fell to one keeper, and after full automation in 1986 it lost its keeper altogether. Once they are fully automated lighthouses are remotely monitored, and this whole process to me feels like the slow removal of the soul of the light and its tower. Each light had its own pattern, so that sailors could know exactly where the lighthouse was, and orientate themselves even when tossed about in a wild dark night storm. To me this gives the light a personality and a soul, which would be linked to the soul of the keepers who tended the lamps, how sad that this one has been snuffed out.
May the light shine out of your eyes like a bright lamp in a window at night, welcoming strangers into warmth and company. (an old Gaelic blessing)
Petals flung open exposing heart and bones
Careless shadows flung into plain sight
Arteries dark secrets illuminated
For those who are looking
Her whole truth is visible
Its shameful flaws bated traps
Breathlessly holding her skirts ready
But nobody runs to escape the revelation
The sun radiates and earth rolls on peacefully as ever
There are places on this earth where the knots holding reality in place are very loose. You can find them at the edges of things, where two constructs meet and weave, and there’s a path out through this woven space leading to release. Out through the shimmering golden grass, and along the edge of the ocean and the sky. Hold my hand, and follow me, into the time when the knots almost came undone. Into the time when reality almost lost his grip.
Everything was so relaxed on this day that motion had almost stopped. The wind was a faint whisper, unable to even stir a ripple on the water. The ocean itself had almost forgotten to flow with the tide, it was so carefree and relaxed. No one was paying any attention the the sun as he tried to move the hour forwards, and the sky began to slide into the sea. It’s was a tiny movement to begin with, just a beautiful reflection.
Then the sun succumbed to the release, and he forgot to hold himself together. His glittering light spilled out across the water in thousands of shimmering stars, each one a little baby sun, dissolving into the salt of the sea.
Now things were really unravelling, and the slide out of reality was almost inevitable. Too many threads had become untied, and the light of the sun was beginning to unweave the water and her waves. Ocean and sky were merging, and no one cared. The spell of release was gathering strength, and reality had only just woken up.
He stood and watch in disbelief as the sky slid without hesitation into the stillness of the sea. Clouds were drifting without a care across the water of the earth. The above had become the below, and this was beginning to release even stronger ties which had never been eased since the first knots of this world had been put in place.
Were those fish swimming through the clouds, and were the birds flying in water? Nothing made sense anymore, and anything was possible. A wish whispered into the watery clouds at this moment would certainly come true, and reality could be shaped in any direction. The carefree release was in danger of flowing out across the whole face of the earth.
The distant isles of the otherworld came sliding across the horizon, and reality knew he had to act fast. He started with those mythical rocks. Drawing a firm straight line across the water, to separate the otherworld from ours, he began putting the ropes and threads back into their proper places. Setting motion back through the world in a stately and proper order, but for a little while the sky lingered in the sea, enjoying the new view, returning when the sun had regathered himself and dropped below the horizon, as he should do every evening.
It’s beautiful to be in the spaces where reality is thin, and a carefree whisper releases our minds into the soft light between here and there. It’s also beautiful to return to ourselves when the adventure is over, and we walk back along the now dim path, calmer and more centred, as though our own threads have been re woven. Following release is a re- gathering, and the cycle flows on into eternity.
You can click on any image to see it in all its glorious detail.
And you can click on this link to see lots more interpretations of carefree in this weeks photo challenge.
The Edinburgh Festival is in full swing, and our city streets are crowded with locals and visitors from all across the earth. Probably the single most congested spot in the city in the afternoon is the Fringe Street Event, on the stretch of the Royal Mile which runs past St Gies Cathedral. All around the ancient spires actors from the fringe shows advertise their acts on the street. You can get a taste of scores of acts for free, in a carnival atmosphere, full of fun and colour. It’s hard to know where to look.
You can also find a constantly changing array of busking musicians, who get half hour slots to show case their talents. So the air is filled with a bewildering array of musical notes and styles, all adding to the chaotic buzz of the street. All of them are very talented, and a wonderful free show, which changes hour by hour.
You will bump into characters from all sorts of different time eras, as though a time machine has brought them all together into one historic setting. This chap was in a steampunk Sci-Fi show, and very happy to pose.
Scattered through the area are all sorts of living statues. I find their slow movements entrancing, and their elaborate themed costumes are wonderful. This golden clockwork lady performs with her hoops when people put coins in her jar.
You might even find fairies floating through the crowds, sprinkling magic and advertising their show.
Just in this area of town fly posters are allowed, and even encouraged. All free surfaces get covered in growing layers of adverts vying for your attention. This row of phone boxes are very close to the Fringe Ticket Office, and so they get quickly covered. There’s a feeling that if you stand still too long you might get covered in posters too.
Here are a few more of the wonderful characters I came across on Tuesday. All of them are actors keen to talk about their shows, pressing flyers into the hands of everyone whose eye they can catch. The historic back drop of cobbles and cathedral adds to the dramatic and slightly surreal feel of the whole experience. The crowds of people, feel like a timeless throng pressing through the history seeped streets, and the atmosphere is wonderful despite the crowds.
I hope you enjoyed my montage of the Edinburgh Fringe 2013, on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile. Let me know your favourite if you have one.
This post is composed for David and Joanna, over at Pairidox Farm. They have been asking for some ovine shots from around Scotland, and so here is a collection from this past year. These first photos are from Loch Carron in Wester Ross, and these sheep have some amazing views down the loch and across to Skye.
I wonder if these lucky sheep have some of the best views from fields in the country? They certainly looked content, if a little shy, and I love the way their ears shine pink in the sunlight. They say that fairy or fay animals are identified by having pink ears…..I wonder.
Mother and daughter are enjoying the spring warmth and the sweet fresh grass. These photos were taken at the end of March this year.
The next set are an unusual looking breed of sheep, but I found them full of character. I took these down in Northumberland in the middle of April on a walk through Northumberland’s National Park. They were super confident, not an ounce of shyness, and seemed to enjoy the attention.
The ram in particular seemed to know he was rather handsome.
This ewe gave us a very pretty smile, with her pearly white teeth. Her ear tags almost look like ear-rings!
And then the ram granted us a beautiful profile shot. I would be intrigued to know their breed, as I loved their dark wrinkly faces, and their cheeky confidence. I would say they had lots of character compared to your average sheep.
There is a very mixed feeling about sheep in Highland Scotland, as during the Clearances people were moved off their ancestral lands and sent to foreign shores, to make way for sheep, and the wealth the Lairds thought they would bring them. To finish off this ovine post here is part of The Canadian Boat Song, lamenting the loss of the old homeland and the invasion of the sheep.
LISTEN to me, as when ye heard our father
Sing long ago the song of other shores—
Listen to me, and then in chorus gather
All your deep voices as ye pull your oars:
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand; 5
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.
From the lone shieling of the misty island
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas—
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides: 10
Fair these broad meads, &c.
We ne’er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,
Where ’tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,
In arms around the patriarch banner rally,
Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam: 15
Fair these broad meads, &c.
When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanished,
Conquered the soil and fortified the keep,—
No seer foretold the children would be banished,
That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep: 20
Fair these broad meads, &c.
Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter!
O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore—
The hearts that would have given their blood like water,
Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar: 25
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.
In the eternal world of the dead
Sun shines upwards from beneath the perfect feet of heroes.
Grass ripened peacefully for millennia under dark skies
Pauses unchanging in this breathless land.
The storm of life blows through
Throwing seeds tumbling into death
And through the gate of life
Back into our world
And all it’s chaotic change.
I went down to Gullane beach yesterday evening, ruffled and creased from the week, not really expecting anything wonderful to take photos of. I almost didn’t take my camera, but as I bundled the three dogs into the car, something told me to go back and pick it up. I’m so glad I did, as just 10 minutes along the road it became clear there was going to be some beautiful light this evening.
These are two shots taken standing on the same spot as the sun sank slowly into the ocean and the distant sky. The beach had emptied of people shortly after I arrived, and other than a couple of other photographers I had this wonderful show of reflected light all to myself. The light softened and warmed and sent beautiful shadows and highlights across water, sand and rock. I was mesmerised and enchanted by this soft unexpected sunset. Transported somewhere far from the worries of the week just passed, lifted into an eternal space, where all can be set right by the wind and the waves. The day ended with a silk kiss across the shore, and I was swept up into its warm breath. I let go of the day without noticing and slid joyfully into the evening, into the gathering darkness, into the freedom of the weekend.
See more shots taken from two angles at the weekly photo challenge.
And remember to listen to that little wise voice within……she knows more than she lets on.
Here are the rest of the photos I took at Thundering Pool in Northumberland a couple of weeks ago. The light is dim in the shaded hollow, and all the rocks are twisted and wrinkled into faces and shapes from the otherworld. Shadows and light drift and shift, and sound is muffled and distorted. In other words nothing is quite as it first appears in the shaded hollow of Thundering Falls.
There is a timeless feel reaching back to the age of dinosaurs, when ferns were as high as a mans head, and gulls had the wingspans of eagles.
The shadows and light play tricks on the eyes.
The water tumbles and sparkles into the still depths of the pool.
Here all wishes might be answered, if only you know how to ask.
Beneath woven rose shadows the fairies wait
All delicate blossoms and shimmering laughing light
Till the thorns claim blood.
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