Of Crystal Balls and Faded Fake Flowers . . .

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Another cry in the wilderness . . . journeying out into endless space . . .
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As reflections go this weekend, it's not much of a reflection in this crystal ball, a bit of sky with horizon, a double reflection actually, from the front outer surface, and from the back inner surface, the photographer doubled in the middle, the same elbow pointing up and down.
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A crystal ball on a gravestone, an overturned candle holder.
Who can say what the future holds ?
What wavering flame will light the ever after ?
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Where do the fake flowers come from that people put on graves ?
How on earth are they made ?
No machine could do this painstaking work so perfectly
I can't help but wonder if there are kids in sweat shops
Somewhere sewing these bits of synthetic fabric together,
Forming the brittle blooms, glued on plastic stalks,
And finally placed on tombstones  ?
Looking surprisingly like real flowers
Not wilting quite so fast as the natural
Yet fading nevertheless
Over the passing years
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What kind of a world do we live in
Where massive amounts of industrial and human energy
Are expended churning out fake plastic flowers ?
I find myself asking the question more and more often these days :
What if we were wrong ?
What if we were wrong about nearly everything ?
What if there was another way to live ?
A way to live with no plastics strangling our oceans,
No petroleum causing wars, no guns, no money,
No cars, no television, no movies,
No computers to send thoughts like this around the world,
No nuclear anything, no jets screaming across the skies,
No greed, no hate, no tribes bashing each others brains out,
No religions causing only divisions,
While the human race knows only endless multiplication
Subtracting intelligence from the idiocy of infinite addition
A way to live with none of this madness we wallow in today
What if there were another way ?
What if we were wrong ?
What if we were just going through the motions
Because someone told us when we were little
That this was how it had to be ?
What if we were wrong ?
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(Perhaps a subconscious tribute, it occurred to me later, to "Imagine" from Mr Lennon ? Nothing new under the sun . . .)
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Pierre Szekely Fireplace . . .

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Blogging.
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Blogging is . . .
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Blogging is about meetings of minds. Blogging is about meetings. Chance meetings, encounters of the blogging kind.
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Today I met a blogger, after about three years of a virtual and long distance conversation. She hails from California, but was travelling in France. Her name is. . . well, let's just say her name is English Rider. And her blog is here. (as well as in my sidebar at "Where's My Effing Pony?") And it was a pleasure to meet her. Not only was it a rare pleasure to meet her, but she became the first person today to actually buy one of my books. Imagine that, she came all the way to Paris to buy a book of photos from the Causse Méjean ! Ok, she will be doing some other things in France while on this side of the ocean. But still, I'm thrilled. So thank you E.R. ! ! !
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Not only did she buy one of my books, but she gave me a book of poems by Claude Farhi which was illustrated by her husband, who is a very fine painter indeed. If you are curious, you can find some of his work here. He has had numerous shows in both France and the USA. He is also a sculptor, a carver of stones. He and E.R. run a business doing creations in stones for clients in various places. Stone roofs, stone kitchens, stone bathrooms, and stone fireplaces. When she showed me some pictures of fireplaces they had conceived and installed, I couldn't help but think of a large stone fireplace I had seen this summer in a chateau in Brittany. It was carved by the sculptor Pierre Szekely, and was rather lovely, in my humble opinion, to behold. I mentioned to E.R. that I thought both she and her husband may appreciate it. Without further ado, here is the chateau and the fireplace in question :
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Poetry Spotted In Passing . . .

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What's not to love about a window like this one ?
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Or a door like this ?
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Or a hand-painted wall ?
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Or a sign like this ?
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Seems to be a lot of visual poetry out there yet.
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Reflection illusions . . .

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Painting hanging in gallery window
Across from cathedral
Oil on canvas suspended in air
Plate glass as translucent mirror
Sky and clouds in paint
Merge with  sky in window
Seamlessly seeming to be
But all is illusion
Digital image regurgitates
Giving a glimpse
Around the world
Of colors on a screen
But what does it mean
How far is the distance
Between meaning
And meaningless ?
Cathedral in stone
Speaks of ancient rites
From another age
An age of stone
And superstition
While we deal and reel
In reflections
Illusions
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PS... Do stop by Weekend Reflections . . .

Stone Memories . . .

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Well, I suppose I really did have my head in the clouds. Someone broke the chain fairly early on, and the hoped for millions of page hits did not materialize. Sigh. :-)
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Back to the drawing board. Or more precisely, back to the light table, and the editing of photographs taken over the years. Here are a few more from Florence, Italy, in the San Miniato al Monte Cemetery. Shared with you with all my heart.
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Memories in stone
Darkened by soot
Locked in rust
An angel's love
An infant's trust
Broken dreams
A fading photograph
An eternal smile
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Don't Break the Chain . . . or . . . Head In the Clouds . . .

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The purpose of this post, as was the purpose (though less clearly stated perhaps) no doubt of the previous 1166 posts here in the Magic Lantern Show, is to propel this blog into the limelight of international recognition and acclaim from millions of viewers.
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Well, isn't that pretty much the purpose and secret hope of every post on every blog the world over ?
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Now, for that to happen, some "buzz" has to be generated. And for "buzz" to happen, you have to pass this on and tell other people to look at this page. More specifically, you have to tell at least ten other people to look at this post immediately. Not tomorrow, not the next day, but right now !
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And tell each of them to tell ten more of their friends and acquaintances to look at this page. If you decide not to heed this instruction, which has it's roots in an ancient Egyptian prophecy, a forty pound blueberry eating pigeon is going relieve itself in the next day or two on the windshield of your car. You don't have a car ? It will track you down regardless. But if you do obediently follow this non-negotiable order, good fortune will arrive in your life by the truckload starting one month from today. So don't break the chain.
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If just six or seven levels of ten people each passing this on to ten more people occur, there should be over a million page hits here within the next 24 hours. So I am counting on you to not break the chain and incur the wrath of the forty pound pigeon !
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Ok, maybe I have my head in the clouds again. Like the folks in this first photo, which is my contribution to James' Weekend Reflections.
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And speaking of having one's head in the clouds, I was considerably amused by some of the extraordinarily creative images which can be seen by doing a Google Images search for "head in the clouds". And discovered at the same time that there is a movie I hadn't seen or heard of, starring Charlize Theron and Penelope Cruz, by that same title, Head In the Clouds.
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And speaking of James, away from his Reflections page, he has another fine blog called "Something Sighted". On August 24th he posted two photos there, with a subtle play of foreground and background in or out of focus, from the cemetery at the San Miniato al Monte church on the south side of the Arno River in Florence, Italy. Oddly enough, I was also in that same cemetery in June of this year, and of about 75 photos taken there, the very last one was this one, with the same sculpture which appears in James' photos, but from a slightly different angle. Rest in peace, Sylvia. One notable person who was buried there is the author of the Pinocchio story, Carlo Lorenzini, or perhaps better known under his pen name, Carlo Collodi.
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Another sculpture in the San Miniato al Monte cemetery was this infant, gazing at the clouds above.
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This is Lorenzini's tomb in Florence.
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