I’m counting my blessings, and giving thanks for all. I hope you, too, find much in your life for which to be thankful.
I try to not get sucked into social media: Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr, Flickr… whatever else is out there with cute misspelled names. I have a love/hate/hate/hate relationship with Facebook, and I probably definitely give it much more space in my life than it deserves.
And Instagram? At first I couldn’t see any point in taking photos with a cell phone, formatting them into tiny little squares and then posting them to… exactly where was it they were posted to???
When I finally got a cell phone that had capabilities beyond conveying conversations, however, I simply couldn’t resist the urge to document all the minutiae of my daily life. And of course once one goes to all that bother of snapping a photo, they need to share it with someone, right? Enter, Instagram.
I see it as my photo “junk drawer.” Junk drawers don’t really contain junk. They hold any number of useful things that just don’t have a designated spot to hang out. Sometimes I take photos that I simply find amusing or pretty or whatever, but don’t really want to share on Facebook for the whole world to see.
Today I thought I’d pull out a few items from my Instagram junk drawer to share with you, but don’t show them to the whole rest of the world like Facebook does, okay? Promise?
Instagrams seem to fall into certain categories. We have…
A gate held shut by chains and a padlock, but there’s no fence. Anyone see a security risk here?
A glove balloon in the shrubbery outside a hospital. Bored interns?
Summer flowers, autumn leaves, winter snow, spring flower and leaf buds and melting snow…
The obligatory sunrise/sunset taken through power lines.
“I think I’m lost. Has anyone seen the ocean? Big… blue… wavy…”
Rare sighting today: the yellow-bellied sap maker.
I wanted to continue our walk today, but Chules just wanted to leaf.
When you forget where you packed your utensils, you have to get creative.
Taking selfies isn’t as easy as it looks, kitty.
Now I’ve shown you mine… What’s in your junk drawer?
Unrest amidst these recent ruins,
abandoned shells of concrete rooms;
gray walls, gray clouds, gray misted woods,
dampened air of palpable gloom.
Who walks along these musty halls?
Whose shadows flit across the walls?
A voice from sometime far away…
whose name is it he softly calls?
Whispered tales of haunting ghosts:
a soldier loathe to leave his post,
a submariner from World War Two
who shelled this battery from off the coast.
Strange sightings, chills, and eerie sounds.
Some say a night watchman guards the grounds,
an infantryman from the Civil War,
lantern swinging as he makes his rounds.
Whoever within these walls abide,
be they visiting spirits from the other side,
or mere figments of imaginative minds,
I leave it for you to weigh and decide.
Battery Russell is located in Fort Stevens State Park on the Oregon Coast. For more information about the history of the fort, please visit the Friends of Old Fort Stevens website.
who knows how or why what we plan when young seldom is where we end up
sadness descending sometimes cold fog enwraps me sometimes a warm shawl
In appreciation
of
and gratitude to
those who have served to keep
freedom alive
for the next generation
“I can’t draw,” you say.
Drawing is just lines.
Line up your lines
until they look like
what you see
in your mind.
“I can’t write,” you say.
Writing is just lines.
Line up your words
until they say
what your thoughts
have in mind.
“I can’t dance,” you say.
Dancing is just lines.
Lines of movement
drawn with your body
until they portray
what you feel
in your soul.
“I can’t” is just a line
we tell ourselves
when we’re afraid.
ponds of consciousness run deeper than flitting streams thought ripples take time
What Rhymes with Stanza? 