Archive | April 18, 2012

Poetry month – camp songs












It’s a web like a spider’s web
Made of silk and light and shadow
Spun by the moon in my room at night
It’s a web fit to catch a dream
Hold it tight ‘til I awaken
As if to say that dreaming’s alright

In a valley, by a mission
Stands an old oak tree
By the mission, there’s a fountain
Where my love told me. (chorus)

On an evening, I was leaving
My love dreamt of me
I was sleeping, she was weeping
And she said to me. (chorus)

I met a stranger, his name was Danger
We rode side by side
Down to Sante Fe, I killed a man they say
Danger told me ride… (chorus)

If I return, they will have me
By the old oak tree
In the valley, by the mission,
Where my love told me. (chorus)

Poetry month – On My Honor – Girl Scouts


On my honor I will try,
There’s a duty to be done and I say aye.
There’s a reason here for the reason up above
My honor is to try and my duty is to love

People don’t need to know my name
If I do them any harm then I’m to blame.
If I help a Friend then I’ve helped me
To open up my eyes that I might see.

I’ve tucked away a song or two,
If you’re feeling low there’s one for you
If you need a friend, then I will come
And there’s plenty more where I come from.

Come with me where the fire burns bright,
You can see even better by firelight,
You can learn even more by the campfire’s glow,
Than you can ever learn in a year or so.

We’ve made a promise we’ll always keep,
We’ll pray “softly falls” before we sleep,
We’ll be Girl Scouts together, and when we’re gone,
We’ll still be trying and singing this song.

By Cindy Dasch


In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a fascination with how light affects things. (Yes, I meant as in influences things.) Nothing can mesmerize me more than light hitting something in an interesting way.

I think it’s partly that I was born blind in one eye and only partially sighted in the other. Light becomes the thing that makes a difference and focuses your attention. Much to my parent’s chagrin “Light!” was my first word not “momma” or “Papa”. I was told I said that word and only that word over and over and then shut up again until I could speak full and complete sentences. So the concept of light had to have been really important and it still is.

When you are blind you aren’t afraid of the dark but you definitely notice when light is not present. I can remember sitting and watching dust motes sparkling in the air for hours as a child. It seemed like magic.

So a good share of my photography depends on how light is or isn’t interacting with something and I will climb around in the shrubberies to get a photo I see light doing to something or through something.

Right now I’ve been watching the raven that nests somewhere above my desk ride thermals and being totally enthralled with the light on her feathers. She is really shiny and almost purple black. Gorgeous!

I’m not a big fan of skyscrapers but the three across from my desk are mirrors and I never thought I would say this about a skyscraper but at times they reflect the mountains and sky surrounding so well they are almost invisible. It’s the lower totally black buildings that stick out like a sore thumb.

Some people take photos of shapes and what they are doing. Some focus on the perfect framing. I want to see what the light is doing. I want to see how the colour changes. I want to catch the spark that makes it live. I want to know what different times of year or day do to the colour of the light. I want to catch that ephemeral moment of perfection of light.

Love thia view of the Irish view of the energy centers of the body

Confessions of a Hedge Witch

The history of herbalism in Ireland begins in the eighth-century myth of the Battle of Moytirra [Magh Turedh] (1).  The story relates how Dian Cecht , the “pagan Irish god” of medicine, became aware of his son Miach’s superior skill at healing, and so of course killed him in a jealous rage.  Out of Miach’s grave grew 365 herbs, one for each of his joints and sinews, and these were gathered up by his sister Airmed, who laid them out on her cloak.  She began to classify the herbs according to their different virtues, but Dian Cecht (this dude is beginning to annoy me) saw what she was doing and mixed up the herbs so that, even to this day, all their virtues are not known.  [The idea that there were 365 joints and members of the body was a common belief in early Ireland.(2)]  Later during the…

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