Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
The chilly purple air is threaded through
With silver from the rising moon afar,
And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star
Above the darkening druid glens of fir
Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.
And so I wander through the shadows still,
And look and listen with a rapt delight,
Pausing again and yet again at will
To drink the elusive beauty of the night,
Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup,
That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.
Backlight in the fields
I can’t help doing it every year ;-)
Some b&w images from the baltic coast
|Listen to a short track I’ve composed for these images, if you like:|
In the fields in the morning.
Nature and technique, not always a contradiction?
In the darkness
Before the dawn
In the swirling
Of the storm
When I’m rolling with the punches
And hope is gone
Leave a light, a light on
(Coldplay – Midnight)
One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach. One can collect only a few, and they are more beautiful if they are few.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh