Tag Archives: rime

rimeMorn

rimeMorn © 2007 Jered Dawnne: late winter, Lincoln County

rimeMorn © 2007 Jered Dawnne: late winter, Lincoln County

A mere week after “underTree and overWrought”, my view was thus. Another place I miss quite a bit: this was part of the daily scene from our back porch of our first house in South Dakota. 3.5 acres was beyond our means to keep up with, and that was unfortunate. My upstairs condo of today pales in comparison, and has a far less intriguing view. Although to be fair, the ploughed fields weren’t exactly always “pretty”, either, I suppose.

But, I used to love those rime-covered mornings out there. It’s such an infrequent and fragile thing, the rime, and so very ephemeral. During my first few years in South Dakota, it was a novelty to me, of course, just like snow, sleet, and freezing rain were, growing up in central Texas.

The flat rise across the center of the image is the raised track for the old Rock Island Railroad. For four years or so, it was my favorite place to walk. Two of the old bridges over Spring Creek, built in the late 1800’s, lie to the left of this image, but would be obscured from this vantage. I used to visit them several times a month, as they had their own little ecosystems, and were a welcome distraction from hours upon hours of wedding post production and the long work-days spent for someone else’s benefit.

As winter approaches again, I am reminded that similar mornings remind me of this time, and even of this day in particular. It took me a week to pick up the camera again for myself, after the visit to San Antonio. I shot this having only briefly reviewed the photos from that trip; I was too raw, and raw in a manner it has taken me two handfuls of years to begin to come to terms with, in some ways. I shot this, with “underTree and overWrought” very much on my mind, actually. This was the day I gave it that name. Yes, “briefly reviewed”, for me, actually means a few things.

I learned to love the snow, here. It is very likely that I’ll eventually move even further northward, to the lands where the snow truly rules over all, and covers certain memories from obsession. That wouldn’t be a further evasion of my roots: more of an acknowledgement of the branches I slowly spread.

I might be done with trolling through my memory-factory for a while. There is still a bit of a story to tell, there. But for now, let me be on to other things.

Posted in lightwritten Also tagged , , , , , , |

of that which will become

which was (original) © 2007 Jered Dawnne

which was (original) © 2007 Jered Dawnne

i vow to roam this spring and summer. i abhor this stasis, this unmoving pensiveness. i will rediscover the little things, and redevelop my joy in the beyond. i will recall where i have been and what i have done, but i will reach beyond the little deaths that are the mundane, the well-known, and the half remembered. and i will meet the skies in celebration.

Posted in truelights Also tagged , , , , |

the wintered why

luminarial rime © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

luminarial rime © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

and so completely
entwined in rime and
reason—that dark
shining, at once
luminarial, then
interpolated—now
comes the certain
remembrance of
your embrace:
that cloak of
the wintered why.

=====================================================
image: “luminarial rime”, original © 2007, monochromed © 2014 Jered Dawnne
words: “the wintered why”, © 2014 Jered Dawnne

Posted in lightwritten Also tagged , , , , , |

solace, twain

solace, twain © 2014 Jered Dawnne

solace, twain © 2014 Jered Dawnne

i didn’t know, when i first saw these trees, how much they would stick with me. this original photograph is from 2006, about two-and-a-half years after i’d moved to the property this photograph was shot from. i didn’t actually risk the trespassing to shoot these trees from several angles until we sold that house another two years later. so before i left, i made one final trip around the area and saw the thing i was already pretty sure i knew—a thing i suspected, but couldn’t really see from our property: the two trees do not actually entwine above the ground. i’m sure their roots are all wrapped within each other, but above the surface of the earth, both trees are independent, though obviously complementary.

i managed to recover the raw image from a drive i thought was dead last night and was very pleased to rediscover this particular image. when i shot this, these trees were still an “it” (a double tree) to me. retouching it last night, i could only think of it as “them” (two separate trees), despite knowing they are fundamentally entwined beneath the ground. with some minor manipulation, i was finally able to bring out what should have been more than a suspicion to me at the time. the specific direction of the wind that morning caused the rime to build only on the north-most tree.

for the time that i lived there, these trees meant a lot of different things to me, but in these latter days, it has come to represent living here in a generally simplistic sense. i’m fairly well engrained within the community, but i very much stand alone. the challenge, and the joy, are the various collaborations within our differences, the strength we draw from one another, and the way we shape the wind.

Posted in lightwritten Also tagged , , , , , , |