Nothing to do With Anything . . .

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Both of these scenes were seen on the same day not long ago, going in to Paris to catch up with Peter, of Peter's Paris. One never knows what one is going to encounter in life on any given day. But one should never be surprised at surprises.

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Politics ?

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Some of you may have been paying attention to the local elections taking place in France in the past two weeks. Personally, I feel it is my duty as an artist, (if I may loosely assume that title, even if I don't make a living from my art, such as it is), to keep as far distant from politics and politicians as the universe will allow. In my meagre experience and no doubt erroneous observations over the years, I have often thought that politics tends to take on nasty odors very easily. And never look under a politician's rug. Out of a line up of various candidates campaign posters, this was the only one that had been defaced (no pun intended). You may draw your own conclusions . . .

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Melting . . .

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The past two weeks have been grueling
Grueling for the entire world I think
When we should be grieving
Grieving for the tragedy in Japan
We look on horror stricken
Stricken by violence and more violence
Violence haunts our days and nights
Nights too short sleep is scarce
Scarce are the moments
Moments when the fear
Fear for the future does not creep
Creep unbidden into our thoughts
Thoughts distracted by constant news
News from the streets
The bloody streets
It is a sad world
Where there are humans
Who cannot speak their mind
Speak their mind freely
As we can here
In the land
Of Blog.
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I have been absent, more absent from the blogs, yours and mine, than at almost any point in the past two and one half years since starting this blogging adventure. I miss it and I miss you. These past two weeks, since the 11th of March, 2011, have been quite mad. Literally crazy. Events in my personal life mirrored events in the wider world. Sometimes one feels that one is out of control. Sometimes one feels overwhelmed and swamped by waves one did not see coming. One can only wait for the waves to wash over, and then pick up what is left, and move on, onward through the fog.
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In April 2007, nearly four years ago, I had the good fortune to be able to spend two weeks in Lebanon and Syria. On a cliff face just outside of Beirut, to the north along the sea, are carved a series of inscriptions that passing armies left over the centuries, going back to Roman times. This one seemed somehow pertinent in view of current events in the region. Nearly 100 years ago upheaval swept through the Middle East. More upheaval seems to be in the works now. Buckle your seatbelts, the ride may get bumpy.
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This is what I felt like these past two weeks. One just has to hold up sometimes. The alternatives are not always pretty. "Boy, you've got to carry that weight . . ."
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The news coming out of Syria these past couple of days is worrisome. Syria is a beautiful country, I hope the people there can find peaceful solutions to whatever it is that ails them at present. I took the below photograph from the old Arab fort overlooking the Roman ruins at Palmyra, Syria, an oasis town halfway from Damascus to Iraq. I had wanted to visit Palmyra ever since reading John Fowles' account of his own trip there which he relates in his novel titled "Daniel Martin". (a book which I would highly recommend to anybody, by the way)
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The Moon that Wasn't . . .

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Let me start by saying that for whatever these may be worth, this is my submission over at James' Weekend Reflections, which if you haven't been there lately, is a happening place. There are usually well over one hundred entries each weekend, reflections from all over the wide world to peruse.
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Having said that, sometimes you set out to hunt a wild and mythical bird of epic proportions, and all you come home with is a duck. The Grenouille and I went out this evening to find a good vantage point to observe, and hopefully photograph, the full moon rising, which if you've been keeping up with your current events, was to be a full moon of grand proportions tonight, if it could be seen close to the horizon. There is an excellent explanation of the intricacies of the moon's exceptional state this weekend over at Travels with Persephone, which is worth a visit more than once in a blue moon.
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We were out in time to see the sun setting over one of the stretches of water near the Chateau de Chantilly, but the entire eastern horizon was obscured by a bank of clouds and haze rising up so high that there was no way we were going to get a glimpse of the full moon at perigee close to the horizon where it would appear at its largest. Oh well, we came home with a sunset to treasure, a duck, and a duck reflection. So it wasn't entirely a wild goose chase.
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No Comment . . .

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Scenes from Pennsylvania last September . . .

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The Crystal Ball . . .

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Strolling in Père Lachaise Cemetery one fine October afternoon just a few short months ago, with James, the animated animator of Reflections Weekend, I noticed this thick glass surface set in a decorative stone circle, and was captivated by the light it was reflecting, refracting, emitting, absorbing, . . . transforming in myriad transformations, demonstrating the magic in physics.
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Looking more closely into the colored depths . . .
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. . . . . . Crystal Ball
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My crystal ball has been glowing of late
Gleaming in the dark hours after midnight
Inviting me to peer ever more deeply
Into her fascinating, hypnotizing depths
She has been showing me frightening scenes
Of towering waves engulfing towns
Airplanes flying into buildings
Oil refineries burning
Black smoke filling the skies to the horizon
Derailed trains sinking ships
Volcanoes vomiting plumes of ash
The carnage of bombs and bullets
Flooding of biblical proportions
Diseases which no one knows how to cure
Thirsty thousands of people living in tents
Pirates on the high seas wreaking havoc
Hurricanes devouring whole cities
Glaciers melting melting melting
Nuclear bombs waiting in the wings
Governments going bankrupt
Bankers betting in casinos
Seas full of trash emptied of fish
Grain growing scarce
Starving hordes migrating toward food
Boat people drowning wretchedly
Oil wells running dry
Great gnashing of teeth
Flailing of limbs
Woeful wailing
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Many are speaking of the end of the world
Improbable stories of planets aligned
Ancient calendars and fateful dates
I thought the crystal ball
Was showing me the future
When in fact
She was only showing the past
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Are worse things then yet to come ?
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Dream Houses to Ponder . . . Over Yonder . . .

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One or two of you, perhaps three or four
Said you had enjoyed the dream house in the post before
That you had admired the broken down door
The failing shutters crumbling stones peeling paint galore
So I thought if this is what you like
Then perhaps you should have some more
That you may know this is no passing fling
This love for houses in various states of abandoning
This is not puppy love this is a serious thing
The flame burns deep in my heart smolders in my bones
I think of them late at night while sitting up alone
These houses in every degree of disrepair
Once full of warmth now feel only despair
As water and wind and frost colder than they can bear
Perform the slow work of demolition without care
Stone by stone, frame by frame
Once you fall in love with such a place
Then who is to blame
That you will never, ever again be the same
So I dream that one day I will find one for sale
Where I can live out my days
Quietly sitting down to finish this tale
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(Maison à Vendre = House for Sale)
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Maybe it will have shutters like these
All boarded up against the cold breeze
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The back yard may be a bottlefield where piles of glass have grown
Perhaps I'll manage to add a few of my own
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Some people call an empty bottle a dead soldier
If such was the case then this was a massacre
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Nevertheless I would put out pots of flowers in a crumbling alcove
To proclaim loud and clear a message of love
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I think such places must be inhabited by men
Who go out each day to feed birds again and again
For what else is left in life when one is sixty plus ten ?
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Lace curtains allow the light to come in
But hide the room within from passing glances
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Yes, I'd like to come home to an auld place like this
Throw open the shutters, give the missus a kiss
Sit by the window for a while with a drink and reminisce
About all the dream houses there are in the world to miss
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Out Rambling Around . . .

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This afternoon I was given orders by my daughter that her immediate happiness depended on being driven quite some distance to a friend's house, so despite the rising gasoline prices of late, I obliged her, as it also gave me a good reason to get out and get some fresh, if somewhat freezing, air visiting some places that I hadn't seen before. Like the church in the village of Versigny.
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Where there was an odd sort of gargoyle with a jester's cap and a pointed nose . . .
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Stepping up close to the base of the tower gave another perspective, and a view of the dark underbelly of another gargoyle.
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The Chateau of Versigny was built back in the 1600's.
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A plaque at the entrance announced the role that it had played in World War One. I wasn't particularly looking for more WWI history sites today, but they were looking for me I guess.
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For the past few weeks I've been remiss, I'm guilty, I've missed a few episodes of Weekend Reflections over at James' place, so am diving back in with a little splash with this scene from the moat around the entrance to a lovely property at Droizelles, just up the road from Versigny.
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Looking the other way along the same stretch of water, another reflection. Weekend Reflections rocks !
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Though I searched the web I could not find any mention of what transpired at or near Droizelles on 9 September, 1914, at the start of the war, though one site had a list of the names 49 men of the 317th Infantery Regiment who died at Droizelles that day very early in the war. Ten of those men and their Captain are buried in the graveyard around the church.
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The broken plaque on Captain Paradis' tomb spoke in eloquent silence of how paradise was lost and "France" was cut in two. He was awarded the Legion of Honor.
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The church in Droizelles has one of the loveliest crucifixion sculptures I've ever come across.
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The textures of aging stone and lichens multiplied the character of the original carving toward the realm of the infinite. Rarely has a religiously oriented work of art moved me like this did.
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Passing through an out of the way and obscure village which we had no good reason to visit, other than that it was visible on the map, we were rewarded by a dream house just waiting for a lover of dream houses to drive by and notice her. What is not to love about this place ? The window pane on the left side of the door was missing, the gauze curtain was blowing in the wind.
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On the way home the sky caught fire . . .
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