Easter Sunday, High Park, April 16,2017

A good friend and artist Darlene Perry passed this poem along some time ago. She thought it reminded her of me when she read it.1-DSC_0426 Indeed we all have our special places, our hideaways. Places we go to breathe, think, clear our minds and regenerate our souls. 1-DSC_0440This is my special place. Full of life that will be lived, with or without me. I am blessed enough to not only be an observer but also to take these photographs of moments in those lives.1-DSC_04991-DSC_0538 When I first read this poem it hit home and I thought surely that must have been someone I met in my special place.1-DSC_04841-DSC_0518  Please enjoy these few shots and please enjoy Wendell Berry.

The peace of wild things

 When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief.
 I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light.
 For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry


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