Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’


I am on a Thoreau kick right now and have been catching up on some long over due reading…and, rereading. There are many facets to Mr. Thoreau that have been over shadowed by his many writings. For one, Thoreau was a transcendentalist whose core belief was that there is good in all mankind and that governments destroy that goodness. I have yet to wrap my brain around this aspect of the transcendentalism thought, but I do enjoy the idea that Thoreau hated governments as much as I do today….. Here is “The Fisher’s Boy”;

 

MY life is like a stroll upon the beach,
As near the ocean’s edge as I can go;
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o’erreach,
Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.

My sole employment is, and scrupulous care,
To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,-
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
Which Ocean kindly to my hand confides.

I have but few companions on the shore:
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea;
Yet oft I think the ocean they’ve sailed o’er
Is deeper known upon the strand to me.

The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view;
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.  

H.D. Thoreau

 

The smell of salt air, the cries of the gulls and the tastes of fresh caught sea food….A composite of 7 photos.

Read Full Post »


Sunsets, mountains, solitude, a comfortable old rocking chair and a unique companionship.

The Missouri River

Another hard day of work faced him, but his commitment to this new life drove him on with an intense determination to finish the uncountable tasks he needed to complete before the snows hit.  That morning, a light patchy mist enveloped his ridge, appearing to him like an unknown army of wavering ancient ghosts upon the muffled landscape. Taking sips of his strong, pungent coffee, waiting for his breakfast to finish frying, he noticed a subtle movement on the edge of the haze covered tree line. He watched as a large wolf emerged from the ghostly mist and walked slowly and deliberately towards him. Something inside told him he had nothing to fear, but he reached for his hunting knife anyway, slipping it close just in case his instincts proved to be incorrect. The old wolf continued to approach, stopping several times to survey the old man before coming to within several feet, then sitting back on its haunches, and looked at the frying with sizzling meat. There is definitely something unnatural happening here and the old man sat in wonderment. With slow movements, the old man took a piece of uncooked venison from the cooler and tossed it to the wolf. With movements that reminded the old man of a favorite dog from many years before, the wolf bent down, sniffed the piece of still bloody meat that landed close to his immense paws and picked it up, slowly chewing. He seemed to savor not only the morsel, but the ease of its gain.  He old man chuckled as he realized he was not entirely alone on this mountain side. His fantasy provided a pseudo companionship that was missing from his life. A bond seemed to have developed, and the old man sat in peace.

“You know, you and I. we’re both the same. We live our lives alone, relying on our instincts in nature to keep us alive and never giving up our freedom.” the old man said. “Maybe some day, you will understand what I am telling you.” The wolf stared back and blinked. 

Breakfast finished, the two departed and the old man went back to work. Progress was continuing slowly and the rain tight roof began to take shape. Soon he would be living comfortably in his little one room log cabin. The plans for this new home came from his dreams. Small, warm, and with a front covered porch facing the setting suns.

“Home.” he thought. “And here I will watch my final sunset.”

What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.”  Crow Nation

More at ryeder

And at Tanka

Read Full Post »


Sunsets, mountains, solitude, a comfortable old rocking chair and a unique companionship.

He remembered vividly the first encounter with this magnificent animal. It had happened many years ago, when he first came to this high mountain meadow and began reconstruction of this old log cabin. With lots of work to do before winter settled in up here in the mountains, and it arrives early, the old man spent most of his daylight hours repairing the cabin and putting up his winter supplies.

He had just sat down to rest from felling a large tree when he heard the sound of snapping dried brush. Startled, he turned to face a large wolf, close enough to see the reflection in its eyes. Fear kept the old man sitting, watching. They stared at each other for several minutes before the wolf turned and slowly disappeared back into the thick forest from where he came. Unnerved, but with a sense of wonderment, the old man sat pondering what the hell that was all about. Something much more different had just happened than anything he had ever encountered before in his long life and he sat in awe.

Realizing he was wasting daylight, he returned to the task of limbing out the felled tree that would, in time, become part of his new home. The work was hard, but the work helped with the constant heaviness in his heart. He truly missed his wife. Their marriage was long and filled with all the positive things that a good marriage is supposed have. He missed the light-hearted conversations, the warmth of her body against his on cold winter nights, and all the little things that made her his wife. She was the kindest, most compassionate woman he had ever met, and her absence was an ever-present abstraction in life. One that brought a warm smile to his face and painful tears to his heart.

As he rested upon the stump, feeling the warm late summer breeze upon his face, his thoughts transported him back to a time many years ago. A time when his world was right. Good times, with many laughs and much closeness.  In time, he learned to accept the fact that she was gone and he treasured the quality of life they shared those last years and all those precious memories he held.

Loneliness adds beauty to life.  It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night  air smell better…Henry Rollins

Photos at Ryeder

Eats at Tanka

How to organize your photographs without going crazy…

Read Full Post »


Sunsets, mountains, solitude, a comfortable old rocking chair and a unique companionship.


The old man sat quietly on the steps of his small hand-built log cabin overlooking the vastness of a high mountain meadow. His realization that his days were numbered rested quietly on his mind as he contemplated the many years he had lived a good life. He counted his good friends, good family and the many fine memories he owned and genuinely knew he had prospered where many others had not. High in these remote mountains he had lived since he found himself alone. He now relished the seclusion away from busy and overwhelming noise of civilization. The peace and quietness had helped sooth the loss in his life and rendered a spirituality that created a connection with the natural world. Here he was home at last.

 

As he sat quietly thinking of those times he had relished his good fortunes, he heard the subtle approach of padded feet come slowly around the cabin and stop close to where he was sitting. The old man slowly raised his head and knew that his only companion sat quietly in front of him. Their eyes met, relaying a trust and understanding of what friendship truly was. The old wolf, eyes showing a trusted reliance existed between them, sat intently watching the old man.

“My friend,” the old man said slowly, “Our time is coming to an end. We both have lived a long life, and we both can leave knowing we did our best.”  The old wolf rose to his feet and came closer to the old man. His eyes showed an understanding of what the old man had said and moved to nuzzle the man’s hands. A knowing smile appeared on the old man’s weathered face and he knew that this unequaled bond was one of genuine friendship, born from solitude.

A distant rumble of thunder that echoed down the valley, reverberating off the granite ledges and rolling into the vast nothingness brought him back to life. The rainstorm was far from him, but here, the sun still shone on his rough face. He stood up stoically and picking up his tools, he placed them in the bed of his antiquated Jeep. Another day completed, the old man returned to his log cabin, prepared and ate a small dinner, then retired to his sleeping bag, content in the fact he had accomplished much of the work he had planned for today. Sleep came very quickly. 

Morning had come to the high country. Mist spread across the low lands and the sun peeked through this fog, turning the chilled air a subtle orange. The air  crisp, clean, and invigorating.  Stirring the coals of last night’s fire, the dropped a few pieces of dried firewood into the old woodstove and prepared his breakfast. Good, strong hot coffee with fried potatoes and a slab of fresh deer meat. The aroma of the coffee had shaken his memory of when, as a child, he had gone with his dad as he cut pulp wood for a little extra income to help feed the family. The coffee his dad made over the fire was strong and pungent. 

“So long ago.” he thought, “Where did time go.”


This is an excerpt from “The Old Wolf”.

Written by me, and lost for a while.

Maybe……someday I will finish it.

“Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors, we borrow it from our Children.”

Photographs and Creativity from the High Plains.

Read Full Post »