Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves , or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare, ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang Forgive me. I was just testing out what Shakespeare would look like with some ML thrown in. This is one of my favorite sonnets, Sonnet 73. I love how the words always create a picture in my mind , especially these first lines that describe the aging process in terms of seasons, putting the colors, the feeling and even the silent abandonment of the trees into his verse. Shakespeare didn’t have ML, he had to use words. But doesn’t it look pretty now? Here’s another good bit,from Hamlet. It's one heck of a play, let me tell you. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest… You know, this is a lot of work. I think I will just stick to words. |