To all my blogging friends, I’m so sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been away and now I’m back again. Something has come up and I’m going to take a break from blogging as there is a project I need to work on. It’s going to demand quite a bit of my time and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I’ll miss you all, but should be back in about a month’s time. Hope you all have a wonderful and creative new year.
This tree was virtually cut down to its roots. I took a shot of it because, sadly, it has been constantly trimmed and never allowed to spread its branches again. It got me thinking about the human spirit. When portions of the human spirit are lopped off and kept that way, it becomes profoundly tragic.
Who can ever forget Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade’s (Al Pacino) words in the movie “Scent Of A Woman” while defending Charlie (Chris O’Donnell) against charges lodged by the school board:
“There is nothing like the sight of an amputated spirit. There’s no prosthetic for that.”
Church steeples are not only architectural marvels, but beautiful symbols of humankind’s highest aspirations. They certainly touch something deep inside of me, but sadly they also speak of a spirituality that, in its worship of the sky god, has too often become detached in a state of medieval religiosity and other worldliness. For me the words “up there” in the language of spirituality has been a serious problem. Talk to me of being “in” or “within” or “rooted” or “next to” or “with” or “humanity” and you’ve got my attention. Heaven, whatever it is, or however it is understood, is in my book always wrapped up in the here and now and in the magnificence and beauty of earthiness.
Something I admire immensely about London is the beautiful balance that has been achieved between city and nature. It’s a wonderful achievement and such a gift. While walking through a park I came upon this scene which I felt illustrated the balance so well. I pass it every day on my walk and it has become one of those special places and views I treasure. I can understand why the parks are called the lungs of the city. They are the breath through which the city finds its rest, life and vitality. I must say the scene looks a little different now with the advent of Winter – still beautiful, but in a different way.
There’s just something about the textures of the natural world that always seems to evoke our sense of touch. For example, I would find it extremely difficult to walk past an old tree without running my fingers across its gnarled and rough bark. I captured this particular Autumn texture and confess that I ran my fingers over and across it before taking the shot. It felt marvellous. Natural textures have always held a profound attraction for me.