Originally posted on 52 rolls:

‘Cause how many times can you wake up in this comic book and plant flowers? – Rodriguez

Flowers have their own personalities. Whenever I chance upon fuchsia heath I am reminded of a ballet, and see a chorus line of bells dancing along a twig.

Nov 2015 Barrengrounds Budanoon 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 4 Fuchsia heath

Daisies always look rather quaint, never out of place, and call out for attention even from close to the ground.

Nov 2015 Barrengrounds Budanoon 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 1 Toothed daisy-bush

The drumstick seems incongruous with its tiny batons and mass of flowers marching across open plateaus.

Nov 2015 MortonNP Budanoon 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 9 Drumstick

Exploding into space, the heath kunzea, is a vision of fireworks and celebration.

Nov 2015 MortonNP Budanoon 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 3 Heath kunzea

Appearing like a crystal, the rush fringe-lily looks lonely, hard and strong.

Nov 2015 MortonNP Budanoon 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 1 Rush fringe-lily

Flowers can evoke powerful sensations, and where there are shadows, happily bring light. With sorrow and mourning,  blooms and buds soften our hearts, and can regenerate our spirits with reminders of faith, hope and love.

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Originally posted on 52 rolls:

“A man is ‘called’ to nothing, and has no ‘calling’, no ‘destiny’ as little as a plant or a beast has ‘calling.’ The flower does not follow the calling to complete itself, but it spends all its forces to enjoy and consume the world as it can – it sucks in as much of the juices of the earth, as much air of the ether, as much light of the sun, as it can get and lodge. The bird lives up to no calling, but it uses its forces as much as practicable; it catches beetles and sings to its heart’s delight. But the forces of the flower and the bird are slight in comparison to those of a man, and a man who applies his forces will affect the world much more powerfully than the flower and beast. A calling he has not, but he has forces that manifest…

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Monsters lurk, gargoyles peer

Originally posted on 52 rolls:

Monsters lurk in shadows, filtered by memories and imaginings out of the light.

In shadows In shadows

In some places gargoyles peer from their perches.

Gargoyles Gargoyles

Across dank damp walls lichens spread their crusty textures.

Lichens Lichens

Mossy ferns drape rocks ready to spout seed into the moisture laden humus beneath.

Mossy fern Mossy fern

A stalk grows quickly on a rock face, standing erect like Priapus, perhaps signifying sinister stories hidden within.

Stalk Stalk

Reaching the plateau out of the gloom, joy greets a sea of pink petals facing the sunlight. In the dark, consciousness sometimes defers to fear and hesitation, letting apparitions and torments out to play.

Petals Petals

Looking across the canopy from the 12 Mile Peg towards the coast, the skeleton of a dead tree rises from beneath, conceivably waving its limbs ironically in farewell to the monsters momentarily freed from the deep.

Across the canopy Across the canopy

All photos taken with Chamonix 045F1 View…

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Eternities voices

Originally posted on 52 rolls:

Lately I find myself pondering eternity.

For me eternity is neither nothingness or void. Nor do I find myself abjectly contemplating a Nietzschean eternal recurrence of this life by daily sublimation and surrender to the possibility of endless reincarnation.

With the Kantian destruction of ontological arguments for the proof of a god whose existence relies on being posited by human contemplation and acceptance in faith, I find myself looking for clues to an eternity that is instead limitless, and only constrained by the will to liberate an eternal imagination without beginning or end.

I find myself wondering the colour of eternity? Is it orange as my friend responds because he has been bad, dislikes this hue, and it will subsequently torment him till after the end of time, or because for me it is simply the colour of dawn. The sun rises every day, and its recurrence over eons suggests…

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Originally posted on 52 rolls:

Every day we stand at the edge of uncertainty, but spring and its impact on circadian rhythms brings forth plenitude. The longer days encourage plants to shoot, flowers to bloom, animals to multiply, and assures our existence with the promise of an abundant harvest.

On the edge of a tilled field it is not hard to imagine forever. Verdant fields with endless sheaths of wheat vanishing into the distance, or elsewhere, canola brightly turning yellow across gently rolling hills.

Verdure Verdure

Four trees Four trees

Spring is marked by regularity. Fields furrowed with precision, orchards pruned neatly in rows, and sheep ready to lamb. It is the season of grace. Nothing is out of place. Even where a few trees remain, it is mostly out of utility. When fields are fallow, or animals graze after harvest on the stubble, shade is needed from the harsh summer sun yet to come.

There is a…

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Originally posted on 52 rolls:

There are times when I fall into a deep reverie floating through ideas, or slip into an almost trance like state listening to music, losing all sense of time, space and place. This can be quite awkward sometimes. Not knowing how one has arrived somewhere, but having an awareness that it might have just been the most beautiful piece of music one has ever listened too.

Whether it is listening to Schubert’s Rosamunde, the celtic harp, or a jazz trumpet, I sometimes slip into a world of dreams, visions or thoughts where ideas become depicted by imagery, or just sense sheer ecstasy. When younger I was often described as rather serious, a dreamer, and even once called a sensualist. Not in an erotic sense, but rather as a depiction of a person enjoying experiences coming from pure appreciation of one’s senses. It is only as I have grown older…

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The plant has an essential and infinite relationship with light

Originally posted on 52 rolls:

The plant has an essential and infinite relationship with light.. ..which is external to the plant, has supreme power over it, and.. ..if the plant were conscious it would venerate light as its god.Philosophy of Nature, Hegel

…one begins to love flowers. The religion of flowers follows the religion of the sun.Glas, Derrida

It is hard not to love flowers: their sublime colours, delight in the sun, and heralding of seasons. Hegel observed that plants which sprout in the darkest place can still find their way towards a chink of light as if they knew the way. In fields he saw “sunflowers and a host of other flowers face the sun and turn as it moves across the sky.”

Many flowers like the infinitesimally small Paroo lily, close and go to bed, when shadows fall with daylight departing.

Paroo lily Paroo lily

But what is the…

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