The Tortoise at Ringmer, Sussex. Wood engraving.
Eric Ravilious (1903 - 1942)


Hiking in the Grampians.
Photographed 29th September, 2017.

Photographed 21st December, 2020.


Jesus lying in his mother's arms
is a photon released from a dying star.
We move through the forest at night,
the sky is full of momentary light,
and everything we need is just too far.

We are photons released from a dying star.
We are fireflies a child has trapped in a jar,
and everything is distant as the stars.
I am here and you are where you are.

We have lived a long time here in the forest.
We lie beneath the heaps of leaves.
We are partial to this partial light:
we cannot sleep and fear our dreams.

There is no order here and nothing can be planned.
We are fireflies trapped in a little boy's hand,
and everything is as distant as the stars.
And I am here and you are where you are.

We lie among our atoms and I speak to you of things and
hope, sometimes, that maybe you will understand.
There is no order here, and there is no middle ground,
and nothing can be predicted, and nothing can be planned.

A star is just a memory of a star.
We are fireflies pulsing dimly in the dark.
We are here, and you are where you are.

We are here, and you are where you are.

—"Fireflies", Ghosteen (2019)
Nick Cave

Portals, with creeper.

Photographed 16th August, 2018.

I bind unto myself today

The power of God to hold and lead
His eye to watch, His might to stay
His ear to hearken to my need

The wisdom of my God to teach
His hand to guide His shield to ward
The word of God to give me speech
His heavenly host to be my guard

The Mighty Three
My protection be
Encircling me
You are around
My life, my home
Encircling me
O sacred Three
The Mighty Three


Iona, Journey Into the Morn (1996)

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.

For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.

—and the rest, from Jubilate Agno,
Christopher Smart

Earth, receive an honoured guest:

William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice;

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

—"In Memory of W. B. Yeats", Part III,
W. H. Auden

Vega nightfishes in the Great Sky River. Copyright © 2021

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