‘Tis the first home, the foundation. This strange little city making its way along the Mississippi River. Here’s where the memories are stored. (Some of them might be a bit waterlogged.)
Bob Good Photography Studios A few snaps from the bike trails between Downtown La-X and the Trempealeau Hotel. Some of the City trails are currently flooded out but the Great River State Trail was amazing!
Here’s the start up…an old wood bridge to begin the trail
Passing on to the green
Through the green
Passing by ponds
The swamps will be filled with cat-‘o-nine tails come autumn
Ah, the goal—time for a brew
And then the sunset
Is there a more beautiful place? Can there be?
An Interesting Word, Reflection
On the one hand, it means to duplicate itself upon something else without being absorbed. It is thrown back. If the light shines upon an object that can reflect, it will appear as if part of it. When the light disappears, the object will look as it did before, unaffected by the reflection that had been upon it. In our beautiful photo, when the moon moves away, the river will be left alone. The moon will leave not a mark behind.
On the other hand, we have a meaning that is almost a total opposite. When we reflect on something, we take it in, consider it, toss it about in our minds. It is more than thinking, and it certainly is not tossed back to the original. With reflection, we absorb the thing we are considering.
And the funny thing about a word like Reflection, when you reflect upon it, you are reflecting.
From Tao and Zen
It seems, in this doubling of self (see the tree above and in the water) that the tree and the moon have surrendered. Is that it, then? How it works? When we just surrender to nature, allow the stiffness to drain through and then out of ourselves, we become magnified? Or is this a glimpse into a parallel universe? Will the tree in the water become alive and live on in another world?
With all of this, it doesn’t matter. The beauty of the scene is enough. It invites us in…to surrender there.
Photo from La Crosse Tribune MacGilvray road, outside La Crosse
There is something about bridges. Alone, symbolic, creating a path to another shore. Who knows what will be found there? It’s the mystery and the answer together. Any type of bridge, crossing a river, stream, lake… Any size: huge, small, and “one car at a time” for the single road.
Arcs carry their own beauty. Someone called an arc the most perfect shape in nature. Why? Half a moon—beginning and end together? The alpha and the omega in one view. From the side— especially above water where you can see the reflection—you see the whole. The light and the dark sides. The coming together of everything. Thinking of it, there’s the arc from life to death. There’s the arc of the short story. (Try writing one without an arc.) The arc of a marriage?
And here we have the bridge and the arc together. Mmmmmmmm…what thoughts can we merge?
The Heck! You say
So I was off for the very long weekend of Memorial Day honorariums. And I traveled in silence, unconnected. How incredibly other-worldly it was. Beautiful and filled with such lovely journeys in mind and spirit and body. Travel on lakes and notes in music. Companionship and dog days—swimming and the joy of chasing sticks. How we swam and explored and drifted.
And then the dog and I returned to this place of our very own moorings.
Cuyahoga Valley National Park post
And heard what happened in our absence. Withdrawal from the Paris Accord? Ben Carson saying that poverty is a state of mind? Mike Pence saying that climate change is just a leftist issue, not of concern to anyone else. Sometimes keeping your head in the sand, your feet in the water, and your head in the sky are where we belong. That our boats may sail on.