Monday Morning Wake-Up Call


Photograph: Masao Yamamoto, “Tori” (via Mennyfox55). Masao Yamamoto (born 1957) trained as an oil painter before turning to photography. His portraits, landscapes and still lifes are silver prints that are delicately toned and sometimes overpainted/dyed. Among his previous publications is Small Things in Silence.

One autumn afternoon…

One autumn afternoon I take the clean crockery out of the dishwasher while I am frying sausages and cooking macaroni, and when the dishwasher is empty, I load it with breakfast plates…It’s drizzling, the sky is grey and the air perfectly still. Somewhere above me there is a honk, then another, and I look up. Maybe ten geese are flying by in V-formation. I can hear their wingbeats as they lie on the air with their outstretched necks and undulating movements….

Within me the migrating birds are living a life of their own. I’m not thinking of them, but they are there, in the stream of sensations and feelings which at times freeze into images. Not clear and distinct images, as with photographs, for that isn’t how the external gets depicted within us, but as if in rifts: a few black triangles, a sky, and then that sound, of several pairs of wings beating up in the air. That sound awakens feelings. What kind of feelings? I ask myself now, as I write this. I know them so well, but only as feelings, not as thoughts or concepts. The sound of birds’ wings beating maybe fifteen metres up in the air, heard twice or thrice every autumn for forty years.

Once, in childhood, the world was boundless. Africa, Australia, Asia, America, these were places beyond the horizon, far away from everything, with inexhaustible reservoirs of animals and landscapes. That one could actually travel there was as unthinkable as that one might journey into one of the many books I read at that time. But slowly – for it didn’t come to me as a sudden insight – I began to understand what the migration of birds signified. That they flew all that way under their own power, and that the world wasn’t boundless but limited, and that neither the place they left nor the place they arrived at were abstract but concrete and local.

Yes, that is what I sensed as I wedged the spatula under the slices of sausage and placed them on the green serving dish, then poured the macaroni into a glass bowl. The world is material. We are always in a certain place. Now I am here.

~ Karl Ove Knausgaard, from “The Migration of Birds” in “Autumn


Notes:

5:00 PM Bell: Roll em’ Out!

Goose-geese-duck-funny-tgif


Notes:

Sunday Morning: Morning Glory

What’s the story: Morning Glory! from Ben on Vimeo.

Awe inspiring. Period.

No words to describe this…sit for one minute in awe.  Well, perhaps there is one word to describe it…and it was the only word spoken on this clip: “Dude!”


Snow Geese. Shot at Merrill Creek Reservoir, near Washington, New Jersey on January 3, 2013.  Source: Grindtv.

T.G.I.F.: We’re marching to Saturday…


Related Posts:

What’s with the birds?

4:15 am.  I’m running.  Thoughts clanking and clanking and clanking around.

Mother Goose and 5 goslings on highway.  Car approaching.  I slow to see if they get out of the way.  I stop.  Car slows.  Car stops.

Mother opens her full wing span and stands hissing in the middle of the highway – – guarding her babies against a 4000 pound mass of steel.  Babies waddle off the road with Mother following closely behind. Car passes by.

I start running again.  Another car approaching one mile out.  I see the geese back on the highway.

[Read more…]

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