Tag Archives: grasses

what then shall come

what then shall come (prime), copyright © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

what then shall come (prime), copyright © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

there are times when my mind wanders to past things, to past haunts, to past hopes unrealized: to moments gone before and lost in streams of consciousness that can no longer be recalled. there are nights like this when i don’t even need to wonder if i will sleep, if the peace will come, if the silence will enfold me: these complement the nights when the dreams drive from the √¶therial to the over-saturated hypercolour prominences that sneak into the waking. dreams woven in sound and vague wanderings no longer trouble me as they once did: it is the memory of what i escaped to be there and capture these moments, only to haunt me each time i revisit them and walk those times anew.

the winter before this photo was taken, these trees were nearly decimated by a severe ice storm. i was unable to capture the ice when it occurred, so maybe that’s why i think this, but i rather enjoy the way they looked that first year afterwards, with just one summer’s growth, and the aching need to survive.

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flight

birds take flight at my approach

birds take flight at my approach

they did not know, could not know, really, that i would never harm them. more than a casual observer am i, yes, but my instrusiveness is ever incidental. they’d have flown away eventually, i know, but i was nonetheless sad to see them go. of course, had they been perched upon the stalks of prairie grass, as they were when i first found them, they’d not been quite as picturesque. but their numbers somehow exploded when i came near, for the ones that i had seen at first were less than what was there.

the prairie is a profoundly remarkable place, full of things you’d never expect, and fuller still of that resolute beauty: the kind that really only speaks to you after the birds have flown away and left the grasses empty for a time.

were i still welcome in the places where i took these walkabouts so many years ago, i’d walk about them differently. i would follow the birds this time as they move from place to place, so that the journey would be constantly filled with the liveliness of their voices and the profundity of their absence, with every step, with every breath, with every glance, and every moment.

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