" I Read the News Today, Oh Boy ..."

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Today I was dismayed to read
In a French news magazine
The story of a precarious cooling pool
Perched perilously high above the ground
And its precious store of tons and tons of spent nuclear fuel
In the badly damaged building of reactor number four
In a place called Fukushima
And of the radioactive nightmare it could unleash
Should the water in it happen to leak out
In the event of another minor earthquake
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And in the same story learned
That ever growing numbers of outraged Japanese
Are protesting every week now against nuclear energy
They are calling it the Hydrangea (or Hortensia) Revolution
For they have adopted as a symbol the hydrangea flowers
Which bloom in abundance in the summer in Japan
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Hydrangeas also abound in Brittany
Where I photographed a few at close range not long ago
Before I learned about the revolution in progress in Japan
So I offer these images for whatever they are worth
To the revolution, to the people of Japan, to the people of Planet Earth
While hoping it is not too late to avert the catastrophe
Which hangs suspended, fragile yet dreadful to contemplate
Over our heads.
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This evening at the dinner table
I tried to explain to my fifteen year old daughter
What the potential scale of the consequences could be
Were the water to leak and the stored fuel catch fire
But was unable to find adequate words
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The human race perhaps really is
Too smart for its own good
The sorcerer's apprentices may soon have their day
How can such stupidity exist
In a world where delicate hydrangea petals still bloom ?
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A Brittany Bouquet With Reflections . . .

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Why post a picture of of a bright bouquet ? Well, just because. But maybe it was someone's birthday very recently. Or maybe it is someone's wedding anniversary tomorrow. Or maybe... just because life should always be brightly lit by flaming pink bouquets. These flowers cut from the garden outside were seen in a house in Brittany a few days ago. My mother-in-law's to be precise. At 85 she still takes pleasure in gardening and arranging her bright bouquets.
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And for once am getting in relatively early to James Weekend Reflections, with this shot in very old glass in Brittany, in the town of Treguier. I love how the warped surface distorts the shutters and gutter of the house across the street. "Life is but a dream..."
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A few days after the black and white shots were taken shown two posts back, we went back on a much sunnier day to see the house between the rocks in a different light, and caught a bit of a reflection in the pond as well. As you can see the ocean is just behind the rocks and house. Apparently a few years ago during a storm a large wave washed over the property, submerging the car. A precarious place to live.
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Battered Old Boats . . .

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One aspect of exploring in Brittany that I particularly love is the possibility of finding old battered boats that have been abandoned on obscure and rarely visited stretches of beach, and left to disintegrate slowly over the years until they disappear entirely. I have not been blogging much of late as I've been out scouring the Brittany coasts looking for such hidden treasures. (And I apologize for not responding to your wonderful comments... but beachcombing while on vacation is taking up all of my time... well, almost all, some quiet time with family and friends has also been occurring.)
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Few subjects of photography move me as much as the poetry of an abandoned boat which will sail no more forever. The layers of paint applied painstakingly over the years to keep them seaworthy and beautiful to behold, which now are wearing off in the weather, flaking, fading, falling, create works of art (in my humble opinion) which grand masters of the abstract would have a hard time rivaling. When I find such subjects I make dozens of photographs, as the reality of wood and nails and caulk and paint will not last for long. If I had more space at home I would probably have a whole yard full of such relics, and maybe one in the living room. May you enjoy seeing these images of battered boats as much as I did creating them.
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Bisoux From Brittany . . .

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Twenty six years ago I set out on a bicycle from Saint Brieuc in Brittany, and rode along the coast from there for ten days heading north and west through Paimpol to Perros Guirrec. On the second day out I discovered by chance near the village of Plougrescant a house wedged between two much larger rocks. With the camera I was using at the time, shooting black and white film, I took a picture of the place which you can see here, posted in the very early days of this blog. Yesterday, again more or less by chance, I returned to that magical place, and made a new photograph from nearly the exact spot as the one from 26 years ago. As you can see, not much has changed.
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A few moments later it started to rain, speckling the water with drops, as visible below. Within a minute or so, the sky broke open, unleashing a torrential downpour that had me running for the car under an umbrella to protect the camera. Was drenched from the waist down by the time we were able to get back into the haven of the automobile.
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Just before getting up to the house between the rocks on the seashore, we stopped in a small church in Plougrescant, where there were lions waiting to greet us under the tomb of an early religious figure from centuries ago. And there was a pile of wood chairs in a corner in case they might be needed to keep the lions at bay.
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Not much later in the afternoon the wind from the west had driven the rain away, giving place to fluffy clouds and sunshine when we went to visit the nearby Chateau de Keralio, with its portraits of ancestors on the walls and cherubs in the chapel.
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Oh, PS, in the title of this post, the word "Bisoux", in case you were wondering, is French for "hugs and kisses"...
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