Going Artdoors…

 

 

 

To reach Chrysanthemum River
I always follow Ch’ing Gorge Stream
Through the mountains, through
Ten thousand twists and turns—
A fine trip and not a hundred li.
The noise among boulders is tremendous,
The view into pines, serene;
Swirling water chestnut,
Distilled reflections of reeds.
My original mind is unstriving,
A pure, tranquil stream, like that.
I could stay on some big rock slab
Fishing, forever.

              ~Wang Wei

                 Color Of Nature Gorge

 

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somethingsomething

Never forget there is a place where nature does not know your name. Where boulders have no awareness of your troubles. Where the sky dances without anyone to watch or care. Never forget that you are made of this same stuff, this same potential, this same joy. Never forget that this life of yours is only a wisp of time and your days are, in fact, but a few. With this remembering, return to your life, your troubles, your tasks. With this remembering, you will once again find your way.

[Unposted, and found in the old drafts files… ]

woodland-portal

Now… go check out this post>> https://taniamarieartist.wordpress.com/2015/02/04/a-mysterious-enchanted-wonderland-of-organic-sculptures-in-the-deep-woods/

Some more lovely tourism posters found on the web…

DO plan on visiting the amazing “Four Corners” area if you are going out west… just realize that these states are not quite in their proper arrangement…

Still, it really is quite fun to balance on one foot and be in four states at once. I can do two states and four counties right up the river from Moosenut Falls, and that has its own charm… it’s on a island in the middle of the river.

99 and 44/100% Pure Memories

Summers, years ago, when my great-uncle The Bishop would open the house for two weeks, we used to bathe with Ivory in the Opequon Creek below the family home near Kearneysville, WV. Three generations pitching the soap back-and-forth and back upstream to let it float down for the others. Women first, so they could dry their hair before dinner, and then the men would go down…

 

I thought I had a photo of all of us down in the “crick”, but…

This is a watercolor of what was the swimming hole in the 1930s, before the dam washed away. When I was a kid, one of the big sycamores had fallen in the creek, and created an 8′ deep hole right off the far bank there. We had a 30′ wire-rope swing from the right bank with an old steering wheel on it.

 

Trust me, you did not want to fall short of the hole. You ended up with trunks full of shale, and scrapes to match. Strangely, nobody ever broke any limbs… couple of sprained fingers, but no breakage.

Here in America, this is Thanksgiving Day. I’m thankful for my heritage.