SCARLET GILIA (Ipomopsis aggregata) with SWALLOWTAIL in South Wallowas

SCARLET GILIA (Ipomopsis aggregata) with SWALLOWTAIL
in South Wallowas
[ click photo for next . . . ]

.
On the road in the American Northwest.



Chance proposes;

Intelligence disposes.

No one can predict which

flower the butterfly will pass by next.





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


FROM THE SOURCE

This is good.

This is pure.

This is sacred.

Water from the source.

If this can't be trusted,

what can?



TIME IS NOT IMPORTANT

Time is not important.

Time is not a resource.

Time is not money.

What is important is rhythm.

Cycle within cycle within cycle,

to know and to move

with the turning wheel

about its motionless hub.



THE EYE THAT PERCEIVES

Colors fade,

Countries come and go,

Even the eye that perceives this,

itself mostly water,

will return to nothing but water and air,

coming and going, coming and going,

what remains is the sound

of the rushing water.



A NEW CENTURY IS BORN

Water purifies.

Fire purifies.

Sound purifies.

A blind seer sits next to her spring
and writes in a laconic, crystalline prose
of events to come;

Bodies are burned along the banks
of a slow, dark flowing river,
and ashes return to the sea;

A wild-eyed shaman chants his song,
circling distant planets on his drum,
and shakes his high-pitched rattle
with a thousand silver bells . . .

and a new century is born.



WHERE THE SUN NEVER
SETS ON GREED

Ah, Nature in spring . . .

The blue skies of love making, nesting

and frolicking about.

BUT BEWARE: Never far away

are the Captains of Industry, of deliberate scarcity,

of the 24/7-world where the sun never sets on greed,

A tree falls, already dead,

in a meadow unwitnessed,

and the whole world hears its sound.



BEFORE THE COMING DAWN

Before the coming dawn

when the Earth speaks in whispers, if at all,

when the sound of the river is muted,

a solitary robin marks the coming morning

with its song,

a bit out of tune, perhaps,

but what does it matter?

We all sing with the voices that were given us,

and that is the beauty of the world.



July the 9th, 2012,
Camp Lost & Found,
smoke coming in from the South









Featured gallery, mountain water . . . .
Please visit my MOUNTAIN Water Gallery—some of
the best of my flowform photography w/ a selection of the highest quality
prints & frames . . . [ mouse over for controls / lower right fro full-screen ]





All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 2012 picture-poems.com
(created: VII.29.2012)