Modern Ruins Photography

J and my sister had long dissolved into the mist ahead of me. I didn’t mind. I was moseying along at my own pace.

Settling into the stroll, I shoved my hands into my pockets and let my eyes rove. Aside from the squelch of the mud sucking at my boots the scene was a blank space. A bush of thorns struck into the path from the left. It faded away as silently as it had appeared. Then a fence corralled me through a mystery field. Sick of being confined I veered for a dip in the wire. That’s when I spotted it.

Dover: A Hike Along The Shore

One day I want to experience a mist thick enough to conceal my outstretched hand. It will be the grandfather of all the foggy nights described in the fairytales of my youth. Nothing will entertain my sight except my vivid imagination. I almost experienced that sensation recently. The fog settling in to greet me at the Cliffs of Dover was a youngster aiming to please, but not quite legendary. Still, as it swallowed up my sister and gluttonously gobbled down my partner too I found myself left in an impressively tiny sphere of existence. Soon my only company was the squelch of mud under my boots and the soft smell of wild grass bathing in dew.

Until the shadows began to emerge from the misty curtains.

Travelling Blessings: Yeepeng International

Overhead a river of dreams twinkled as it receded into the black of night. Thousands of sparkles, each a hope and blessing, floated upward and onward. Like soft but determined little beings these messengers hurried on, carried aloft by the feelings of those who lit them, by fires as bright as each present human spirit.