Shores Of The Night

SH3Dusk, when evening turns magenta
Time to tell the day to rest
To abandon its hurry
Time to think again
SH6On the shores of the night
I relive the day. Was it good? Was it bad?
Have I lived? Have I loved?
Was there a dream for me?

When the evening turns to silence
And I’m safe and still
Have light and shadow played their part?

SH4When the truth rises from the mist
And tenderness arrives
Let’s consider this life for a while

SH8On the shores of the night
I’ll let the day float past me
And I’ll rest forever


Until waves are rustling at my feet and break the silence.


The Wise One Reflects


Everything that has to end

Can be a new start

Never be imprisoned by your past life


Much I did not recognise

Much I simply missed

But I always did find something worthy


Vivid dreams of paradise

Yes I dreamed them too

Once I got there it had all but vanished


Walls are being raised up high

Walls come crashing down

Careful, don’t get hurt by falling debris


Once the ice begins to melt

Falling through is swift

But the risky first steps must be taken

Amidst The Atmoscape

This memorable journey through the early morning Mediterranean mist, memorable for many reasons, just came to mind and I thought why not. So here it is.


Atmosphere of course would have worked. As they are from the Greek words atmos (vapor) and sphaira (globe, ball, etc). But I didn’t care as much about the sphere part of it, for me it was all about the atmos. I had driven under this blanket of vapor, without even a peek of the sun for two hours. Then driving north-east along the coast and climbing up the Mountain range I found myself exiting through the top of that world and into the bottom of another, separated by only the flimsiest barriers of water vapor and elevation.


At this spot, I had a foot in both places as the mists swirled across the Mediterranean Sea beneath, giving me the barest glimpses now and again before pushing up the mountains, caressing me with its gentle, cool breeze and the promise of a beautiful new day.



Imagine somewhere out there is a planet


Populated by intelligent beings
Who may just look like us
And on that planet there stands a library


Full of books
Written by Poets
Philosophers and

And maybe

When the hatred and greed has become so great

That nothing more can save us here

Then, maybe there, a book can be found

Once opened you will find


The recorded downfall of our earth
You will read reports about us
About our lives
About our death


And our two sunsets
Which were so great
That no tears could quench them

And from seven billion eyes
A mourning red rain ran

Now just a floating tomb in space

And whoever wants to witness
That the earth shall never weep again

Needs to be united against war, greed, poverty, inequality, education inflation and nuclear madness


And whoever cares will play their part in
That this book is never read

For seven billion eyes


Will cherish our blue planet, our only home without fear for love, light and peace.

The Old Tree And Me



These woods are lovely, dark and deep

But I have miles to go before I sleep


Enticed by poets’ words and song

With roots so deep, unmovable and strong


Where branches capture dreams undreamed

And all my dreams will start with these


Now evening has fallen, and nightingales are singing

The last of Sunday’s Bells is ringing

And on the darkest hour of the year

Over treetops you perceive

Scarcely a breath – silence

Wait then; and soon you too

Will have peace


1000 year old Olive Tree – Palma



Sitting by the ocean, sky full of menace, water rustling and the night was never ending.

Recently I have revisited some forgotten images I made at different times. And whilst looking through these lonely small pieces of exposed film one of my favourite pieces about photography came into view in the form of a fellow Photographer writing about his experience on carrying his Camera for a year without any film in it. He still made photos, just not onto film.


This stuck with me and I recount the story now and then, mostly getting puzzled looks and scratched heads. Many don’t get the why of it. I do.


I stand somewhere, I look, I think, I carefully line up the compositions in my head. I pull out my camera, I expose film. Then nothing. I haven’t been scanning them in. They sit in their pages waiting for The Moment to arrive. But that is not even all true. It isn’t that they are waiting for the moment; it is that they are waiting for me. And this is largely because what I want out of the process I have already achieved: the rethinking how I look at the world, the rethinking how I look and go about photography. I don’t need some finished image to do this. I just need the camera and a place and peace of mind. I’ll gladly expose the film with the plan to get to it at some point but by the time silver halide crystals have reacted to light, my intentions have been met.


So my drive to keep making photographs has remained strong, I just have not had much drive to create something finished. This is good and bad, I suppose. It definitely hearkens back to my philosophy that I do my photography for myself and the photos are a beneficial side product that comes of that way of life. But those completed images have a value that is only realised in finishing them and the sharing that generally comes afterward. I enjoy the sharing and inspiring and the teaching and the motivating. But my own motivations focus on other aspects of this process.


I know what you abandon dies. What you leave leaves you too


I know you can’t go back. If there’s nothing to go back to


For All Time

AT2Two are sailing on the ocean, two are in a boat
One knows the stars
One plots the course, not apart, remain unite

Night is falling, morning appears
They find each other for all time


Two are scaling mountains high
Two are climbing to the sky
One looks at the world
One seeks the light

The earth still lying flat on the hand
Two are close to clouds, sea, land
And hold each other for all time


AT5Two already in the shade, two are sitting on a beach
One feels tired, one feels unwell
The long search for peace is within reach
Already all has been said
Already all has been dared
They held each other for all time


Just don’t forget to soon

What once was, was my life too

What remains

What now remains

Are friends for all time


Welsh Gold

Yesterday saw the last of our puppies depart for its new home. Rigby is going to live in Wales with our good friends Mark and Juliet.

RIGS1 They came bearing lovely gifts. I had absolutely no idea that there is such a thing as a Welsh Single Malt Whisky. And if it tastes half as good as it looks I am in for a treat.


And like the other Aur Cymru used to make jewellery worn by kings and princes down the ages, Penderyn single malt is also rare and highly priced.

To those who love it, it’s a new kind of Welsh Gold.


As for Aur Cymru, I have been sworn to secrecy about  the location of this River. One of the very few places the rare Welsh Gold can still be found.

“Iechyd da”!  To you all.

Silence Is Another Way


To saying what I want to say.

I remember this image, because it was a triumph of sorts, albeit a small one. But then again, so many of the pictures I make are small triumphs. This photo came after a challenging time. Photography is perception. I photograph what I see, or how I see. So how I think, how I feel are all deciding factors. Go out in a bad mood, or get discouraged, sullen, glum, unfocused or frustrated and these things impede one’s ability to see clearly. I was under two clouds not long before I made this image. There were the literal clouds hanging overhead. Those I didn’t mind in the least. And then there were the other clouds we sometimes find ourselves under.

But this story has a happy ending, or at least a happier ending than it did beginning. Things were turned around, some choices were made, I zigged instead of zagged. Sometimes this isn’t easy to do, but it is important to do, especially as a photographer. I slowly made my way back to that place I like to visit as often as I can, that space where I operate with a sense of wonder and curiosity for the world, where there aren’t edges or boundaries and time flows and light flows and in this case, the ocean flows. I stood there having climbed down a steep ravine, the cool ocean breeze gusting around me, causing curious little dances around my feet and I watched and waited and exposed and breathed and looked and found myself again. At least a bit of myself for a little while. But that is how it goes.


We need our places to play and to just be our ideal selves. I have found many places in the world that suit this purpose for me. I’m glad this image happened, then, for all the reasons partially explained and many others not.