(Lost) Glacier Peak, north face—Eagle Cap Wilderness
November aspect.

Center of the High Wallowas. PHOTO was made around the
beginning of November. Looking South at the former Benson
Glacier. The Benson, named for a former governor of
the state of Oregon, lost its status as an active
glacier already in 1937. [note: the SBC mentioned
below is my own concept.]

Snowpack in the Northwest in down 50% since 1950.
Winter comes on average three weeks later; Spring,
about three weeks earlier. If you would like to experience
what the Alps might look like with Climate Chaos in 2040,
come to the Wallowas. And Glacier National Park in 2020,
also, come to the Wallowas.

| see also my page for Climate Change in the Wallowas |

On the road in the American Northwest. [click photo for next . . . ]

TWO MEDITATIONS ON FORM


(1) Form emerges out of movement;

it is the outward evelope of the rhythmic

pulse of change.



(2) Form and content,

theory and fact,

the necessary back and forth

of spirit and matter,

of meaning and sound.

COLOR IN WINTER—seven 37-step poems . . .

(i)

Red means life, as well
as violent death; it means against
a background of deep black: “Pay careful

attention!”

Red is love, is sex.
Red means: You! Get ready for change!


(ii)

Blue is the color
of cool reason, of balance, of
contemplation. The temple of

peace has no

color, although some
say that blue may show us the way.


(iii)

Green is growth, not of
money, but of sense, of new leaves,
of new ways of harvesting light.

Flowers tend

away from true green,
but then, they don’t last quite as long.


(iv)

Pink is the color
of nurturing, of hope, the stars
mirrored in a young girl’s eyes, of

bright balloons

set free atop a
snowy mountain, lighter than air.


(v)

Azure is the color
of the sagebrush steppe at first light.
O sky! Thin sphere of life above,

more mood than

color, more warning,
admonition, than prophecy.


(vi)

Fiery orange-red of
the fortissimo of sharp brass,
the pianissimo violet

of mute strings.

O movement of sound . . .
Double rainbows bridging extremes.


(vii)

Snow is not white; it
is a thousand colors, none of
which have a name, save the

touristland’s

sugar-white. This snow:—
is melting away as we speak.

COLOR IN WINTER is part of
THE LITTLE CLAVIER please preview 150 of 631 pages
w/ my black & white photography [opens in new window]

Please visit my picture-poems.com LIVING WATER
print gallery. Above is a set recent images.
(Mouseover controls.)

I might just mention here, following the ethical principle,
First, do no harm, I never use cars or snowmachines. I
do everything on foot, bike or ski. I think this in a
deep and direct way affects my work, and how I see
the world. So all the photos above were approached
on foot, including all the in between spaces, sometimes
involving journeys of weeks or months.

I would not want to work any other way.

All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 1999-2011 picture-poems.com
(created: XI.5..2007)