BLOOD MOON RISING...

"There are nights when the wolves are silent, and only the moon howls..." -George Carlin

"The moon is always jealous of the heat of the day....." -Alice Hoffman
 
                                             

"Don't tell me the moon is shining. Show me the glint of light on broken glass..."

                                                                                                              - Anton Chekhov

                                   "Stay wild, Moon child..." -Ritta Klint

"See a flame in a spark. See great things in little beginnings..." -Richard Sibbes

"God put the moon in the sky to remind us that our darkest moments lead to our brightest..." -Lynne Ewing

"Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe..." -Hanako Ishii

                                          
"The moon was so beautiful that the ocean held up a mirror..."

                                                                    -Ani DiFranco 

             "Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly ..." -Khaled Hosseni           

"You're my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other..." -Richelle Mead

"Drag me to the moon, to catch a star an seize its brilliance, as I'm swept up in amorphous dust..." -Bradley Chicho

         "We ran as if to meet the moon..." -Robert Frost

"Don't tell me the sky is the limit, when there are footprints on the moon..." -Paul Brandt

"The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon..." -Jean Ingelow

Photographs 2025 Campbell River, B.C.

 

THAT HOUR to SUNRISE....

"DAY BREAK" by John Clare (1793-1864)

The red east glows, the dewy cheek of Day

Has not yet met the sun's overpowering smile;

The dew drops in their beauty still are gay,

Save those the shepherd's early steps defile.
 

Pleased will I linger  over the scene awhile;

The black clouds melt away, the larks awaken-

Sing, rising bird, and I will join with you:

with day-break's beauties I have much been taken,

As your first anthem breathed its melody.

I've stood and paused the varied cloud to see,

when day's first rays, the far hill top adorning,

Fringed the blue clouds with gold:

Oh doubly charmed I hung in raptures then on early Morning.

"What breaks in daybreak? Is it the night? Is it the sun, cracked in two by the horizon like an egg, spilling out light?" -Margaret Atwood

"Every day is a fresh start for you. Every sunrise is a new chapter in your life waiting to be written..." Juansen Dizon

Photographs (2025) Campbell River, B.C.

SUMMER FROCKS...

It was a biting, black fly summer, years ago, in a small town in Ontario, on the edge of the Ottawa River. Days filled with the incessant chirp of crickets, late in the evening, to lull you to sleep, in the dark,rain starved heat.

It was the middle of August that I got the invitation. “You are cordially invited…” Oh dear…not that…”To a retirement party. A High tea.A ‘cherished experience’ with tea, buttery scones, clotted cream, jams, finger sandwiches, small cakes and light entertainment.”

That was us. The light entertainment.

There was a dress code. “All ladies will wear summer frocks, hats, stockings and shoes.” Really? Summer frocks? Stockings? 

The hall was huge. Round tables spread with white linens,and a vase on each, with a single, drooping sunflower. Standing fans perched in front of huge open windows. But it didn’t help.

The air was dead and dry. Smoldering.

Tons of peach and floral prints, small and large hats, with fake flowers, bobbed on a sea of permed hair. The murmur of countless women, waved and eddied in  the stifling room. They poured tea and munched on sweets.

In the far corner, our string group dutifully scraped away. Old songs mostly. Some new . We even took requests, but stopped short at “Poison” by Led Zepplin. It was a hit that year, in 1989.

Besides us, there were two opera singers in red satin, ferociously singing excerpts from “Bizet’s Carmen”. 

Speeches afterwards, droning on  endlessly, in the sticky air. Sweat beads plopped into tea cups. 

And the tea. Lemon custard tarts, tiny, heart-shaped scones, bowls of watery cream sitting precariously on ice cubes. There were sweet jams, walnut bars, warm strawberries, and questionable sandwiches, with oozing cream cheese. 

When they had eaten their fill, the sea of summer frocks stood as one, crinolines rustling like rusty leaves. There came an unmistakable band aid-ripping screech, when they all peeled themselves off of the leather chairs.

A table toppled. Dirty dishes, tea cups and cream splashed. It was over. 

Sunflower centre pieces were auctioned off, only to find they were full of  earwigs, all trying to make a break for it. Our quartet played the theme from Doctor Zhivago, till our sweaty fingers slipped off the fingerboards.

There was a slimy, forgettable hush, broken only by the squelch of so many shoes. I guess I forgot to mention that most of us got around the dress code by wearing socks with sneakers. 

After all, the invitation didn’t specify what kind of footwear……

Photographs 2025