Blurred color... What are your dreams? Be assisted (if you will)
bringing them to focus~~ ideation, imagination, creation, cogitation, hard work, paint, and sweat... all issuing forth to find a home canvasing the heavens, crossing the sky.
I was astounded to find this lovely etching on a rich granite stone found at the grave site where my
mother-in-law (Barbara) was recently entombed
(just on the 29th.) What lovely grays and blues elicited
from a stone.I have seen this as a painting but it
looked hauntingly beautiful etched on granite. It was a wonderful focal point and a nice surprise for a somber occasion. lg
I found... the man on the moon! (Just kidding, obviously...!) But it is...a man on a rock. And a B-I-G rock! Again, this is from our travels last weekend. W-a-y out on a gravel road (in the Appalachian mountains) I spied this graffiti around a corner bend in the road
drawn out on a series of rocky ledges very high up. I thought the colors were extraordinaryagainst the iron stained brown and the gray rock. I don't know who the author(s) are, but it provided some fun viewing and does make for an unusual photograph. There is no way for you to appreciate the massive size of these rocky ledges and subsequent drawings (but I thought I would try to communicate it to you!) What can you find??! For you. :-) lg (As always, click to enlarge for detail and effect.)
Sunday Drive with Grandpa: We are taking full advantage of the wonderful weather we are having (highs in the 70's with lows in the upper
50's at night.) Sunday we took a drive along Highway 221 out of Blowing Rock, N.C. and down a gravel road (old Edgemont Road) that goes down (maybe) 2500 feet. We only went partway down its steep switchbacks and peered into rocky gorges along the way. Here are a few photos from our journey. On another road up, out and back, the road changes from gravel to pavement and back (again) to gravel. People live down in this area (which amazes us as they are deep in the 'boondocks' of the Appalachians; there are some very nice cabins and some 'pretty rough' methods of living deep in these ol' mountains... I would say.) Sandwiches along
the road on the way back while overhearing
the 'grunts' and talking of rock climbers
500 feet above us was a nice touch. Grandpa ate his sandwich on the tailgate.
Do enter in. This is the Todd Bakery in Todd, North Carolina (population just a bit over 2000.) The 'downtown' consists of about 4 or 5 buildings set down off of a small country highway road and along a small river. This old building is over 100 years old. Inside, you will find a (sweet) women who bakes her own bread and sweet items, and also walking sticks, wooden bowls, cards made of local photos of wildlife and mountain scenery, hand knit items and various arts and crafts from this area, all made by local artisans. It is quiet in Todd. People live in Todd; visitors raft and tube there, they trout fish and there is also a small stage where (local) musicians come and play. Todd is known for its music (Doc Watson plays here.) Todd is the kind of place where you can close your eyes and see a dirt street (of yesteryear) and a horse-drawn buggy or two. I just got this one shot off of the 'bakery,' which gently invites all passersby to enter in through the wide wooden screen doors. Step right in.
Oh, to be a butterfly fluttering I go up and over treetop, flower winds that take me so Oh, to be a butterfly dainty, lithe and trim lofty breezes are my friend o're yonder holler rim Oh, to be a butterfly up, away I go captivating flutter-by, red flowers that I know... My acquaintance is the bloom standing alone on the hill My playmate bouncing mountain air- catch me if you will Oh, to be a butterfly yellow black and blue mosaic floating on the lawn all fanciful for you.
I must fly, she thought and off she flew-- all this time, she was thinking of you. I must away, she dreamed of a place shiny, new and now she has gone there... ahead (of me) and you. Husband-- dear one, hold your head high, for down the road (just a piece) in the sweet by-and-by... she stands waiting alone with arms
eager (outstretched) and open wide... to hug
(once again) your sturdy,
strong neck. And lofty you will be, and flying you will go to the sweet arms of Heavenly God-- to a place, once more, where together you will trod. Do not weep for me, my gentle husband. Do not weep for us. We will not be parted for longer than a moment; than a glimmer. United again we will know the fullness the wonder the glory of a love that blooms on heaven's boughs.
With love, dedicated to my mother-in-law, Barbara Jane Powell;
( June 8, 1933 to July 29, 2011.)