Field Notes / Illustrations / Celestial Ramblings
Thursday, 22 June 2017
to my childhood sweetheart
💖 One of my earliest memories of you is when, as a nine year old girl, I was arranging a 'pop up' shop at the farm gate, laying ...
Thursday, 8 June 2017
the ancient urge of scavenging
rubies, emeralds and saphires at Rhineshark Bay ~ That ancient urge of scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick ref...
Tuesday, 6 June 2017
make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came
The following is an excerpt from a poem by novelist, poet, environmental activist, cultural critic and farmer, Wendell Berry. It's title...
Monday, 6 February 2017
from a visit to Gorthaclode Do truths find their way home? Are there imprints left behind from centuries before, when smoke and steel dro...
Thursday, 2 February 2017
Journey between Viking ports Ireland, February 2017 There is no univeral tick tock. 'The dividing line between past, present, and...
Tuesday, 31 January 2017
Wedged into burrows across a blue shale the hinged shell hides its soft form Fossilized © 2017 Cartophile's Log While sailor...
Sunday, 29 January 2017
The Sea Horse
Following a path back through time where horses once raced along its shoreline while echoes of an earlier tragedy reverbate across the rocks...
Saturday, 28 January 2017
An archipelago of silver lakes, phosphoresecent rain puddles stretch like stepping stones along the cliff edge. Thinly traced lines link ol...
Friday, 27 January 2017
On the approach of the anniverary of Yeats' passing, there was an invitation to share thoughts on 'He Wishes For The Cloths of Heave...
there's been a single blue line of crayon drawn across a wall in every house.... © 2017 cartophile's log Several years...
the boundariless domain
Historic Saintes Maries de la Mer is the sacred festive ground for the annual veneration of Saint Sara, saint of the nomadic peoples. Th...
Thursday, 26 January 2017
When the Way governs the world, the proud stallions drag dung carriages. When the Way is lost to the world, war horses are bred outside th...
Remember when we wove through the screeching traffic and steam haze, traversing vibrating sidewalks and zebra crossings, striding quietly ...
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