I can't sleep…
I’ve been following Manoli Rizo‘s photography blog for some time…admiring her work. I just loved her most recent post.
This man. His “herd.” The march in unison. His peace, pride and contentment.
Manoli, hats off to you. You’ve done it again.
Take a minute and hit this link and pan through Manoli’s photos of this man and his family. (And Foreign Language competency anyone? If someone could translate the intro of the post, I’d be grateful)
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.
Ray Bethell, ~85 years old, is a professional kite flyer from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. He never picked up a kite until he was 50. He is self-taught. He contracted a rare virus in his early 60s that left him completely deaf. He has travelled and performed worldwide and has won many kite flying competitions. In this video, he performs a kite ballet with three kites to Flower Duet from Lakme by Delibes. I can manage to get one kite up on a windy day. This man, performs magic. What an inspiration. Volume up.
Ray Bethell was the subject of a documentary short film titled “Good Stuff” which won first place at the 2005 TriBeca Film Festival in New York City. This film, which I’ve included below, is well worth a watch and listen as well.
Good Sunday Morning…
Sources:
Loved this clip. The music. The side by side images. Have no idea what “La Musique Nous Rapproach” means (this despite four years of high school French). Linguee.com offered many potential translations including my favorites: “by design the city brings people closer” and “music brings people together“. Enjoy…
La musique nous rapproche from Gioacchino Petronicce on Vimeo.
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The Moment
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.by Margaret Atwood
Sources: Poem via Growing-Orbits via chasingtailfeathers. Image: Plagved
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