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A Day in the Brine

~ Unkempt Mind dribbling in the seethe

A Day in the Brine

Tag Archives: Twilight

Amidst All Your Philosophy

18 Wednesday Jan 2023

Posted by smilingtoad in Photography, Quotations

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Nature, Photography, Black and White, Abstract, Twilight, Snow, Literary Quotes, Blur, Cinema Quotes, Urban Debris

“If men lie in this world, what makes you so sure they’ll be honest in the next?”― Rashomon (1950)

“Logic is of course unshakeable, but it cannot hold out against a man who wants to live.”
― Franz Kafka, The Trial

“Immanuel Kant marveled at ‘the starry heavens above’ and the ‘moral law within.’ It’s a lovely sentiment, but one that I cannot wholeheartedly share. We are marvelous in many ways, but the moral laws within us are a mixed blessing. More marvelous, to me, is our ability to question the laws written in our hearts and replace them with something better. The natural world is full of cooperation, from tiny cells to packs of wolves. But all of this teamwork, however impressive, evolved for the amoral purpose of successful competition…

“And yet somehow we, with our overgrown primate brains, can grasp the abstract principles behind nature’s machines and make them our own. On these pastures, something new is growing under the sun: a global tribe that looks out for its members, not to gain advantage over others, but simply because it’s good.”— Joshua D. Greene, Moral Tribes: Emotion, Reason, and the Gap Between Us and Them

“Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.” ― David Hume

“The Sun the Color of Pressed Grapes…”

20 Saturday Dec 2014

Posted by smilingtoad in Photography, Quotations, Sea

≈ 42 Comments

Tags

Abstract, Beach, Black and White, Blur, Drear, Experimental Photography, Nature, Ocean, Pensive, Photography, Quotes, Sand, Sea, Twilight

Prelude to the Monody“He opens his eyes and stares directly into the morning sun which wallows up from the misty sea like some bloated, dying fish. The sky is gray and immobile, a dome of lead. A cloud hangs mute and dark over the western horizon. High up, barely visible, a seagull floats on motionless wings. Its cry is weird and restless.”
– Ingmar Bergman, The Seventh Seal

Chewing Sand“I had forgotten that time wasn’t fixed like concrete but in fact was fluid as sand, or water. I had forgotten that even misery can end. ”
– Joyce Carol Oates, I Am No One You Know

Liquid Binding“Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.”
– Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Pastel Sadness

19 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by smilingtoad in Experimental, Photography, Poetry

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

Black and White, Experimental, Florida, Grain, Grief, Melancholy, Nature, Ocean, Photography, Poetry, Sadness, Sea, Sunset, Twilight

SadnessBWIn a fatal blue fugue,
she bruises
the edge of an hour.

She swallows the
Evening’s clear cries
of dark-dipping gulls

flung across the sunken wound
of Sunset.

grainHer brash toes dissolve through
the wrinkly-white
sibilance of quiet Tide;

her cloudy dress of Pastel Sadness
dragging carelessly behind.

grainzA summer child is Twilight,
as overhead, Night begins to swim.

grainyAnd in a rasp of
Rain-stung wind
she mutters something soft
and inarticulate
as she kicks away
the last cherry shadows
of an old rusty day.

Still Summer Sundered

02 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by smilingtoad in Photography, Poetry, Sea

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Abstract, Black and White, Blur, Nature, Ocean, Ocean Photography, Photography, Sea, Summer, Sunset, Surfing, Twilight, Water

04-22-13 Surfer Waiting lrg DSC_7179

Still Summer sundered-

Distant storm smolders

04-22-13 Sunset lrg DSC_6932

Sunset swimming

On glazed Surf

Bruised horizon

Vomiting waves

04-22-13 Surfer Abstract LRG DSC_7209

Vanquishing this

Once sickly-placid

Ocean Lake

Life Amongst these Ancient Walls of Coquina

05 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by smilingtoad in Experimental, Green, Humour, Introspection, Photography, Stories

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

Black and White, Castillo de San Marcos, Children, Clams, Coquina, Crabs, Ecology, Florida, Fort, Gastropods, History, Moon, Nature, Photography, Rambling, Reverie, Shells, St. Augustine, Story, Topography, Twilight

Pale crest of moon begins to inch above the living waters. The drawbridge bell warbles in the distance, where the cold, white Lion keeps his post. Head erect with curling mane and face crinkled, exposing those long fangs, with eyes sharp and bold, guarding his old vitative city, the coy and romantic St. Augustine.

A wash of bleary cloud swathes the horizon, a crimson sun smoldering through as it slowly succumbs to blue twilight. I amble along, creep down the steps, listening to the murmur of children, the chime of the water, the din of the incandescent city looming behind us. Castillo de San Marcos gleams flecked-granite grey in the sluice of sapphire night, the light of sodium vapour casting reddish beams onto those decrepit walls.

Poised with the camera directed at the steps cut into the corner of a weathered wall, little girl delicately gambols into the frame. Divine moment-

Shattered.

“Suzan!” bawls a woman, eyes contorted into a perennial frown as she rushes by, intent on the wee one.

Child, a startled, coy fawn, looks to her mother, eyes wondering.

“Don’t do that! It’s rude! Can’t you see that lady was taking photos?! You are supposed to wait!” the woman booms at the child.

I wince audibly at the odious moniker, “that lady,” but grin to the child, who manages a fast look in my direction. Corrected and crushed, she turns away, directed by her mother, and the two decant swiftly into the darkness…

Can a child be not allowed to flit free for a few moments?

“What blasted rubbish!” I cry.

Lad in striped t-shirt tosses a startled glance my way, pondering why photographer is yammering away to herself. Photographer takes no notice.

“Who ever came up with such a horrendously officious rule?” I wonder in dejection.

I should think any happy-go-lucky photographer, like this old driftwood-faced one, might actually want a child to bolt into the photo. This is my own confession- it is always my hope a stray figure may meander into a scene I am shooting. How I curse and spit- blast you oh fiendish fate!– when a dashed subject tottles right around me, donning the clever smirk, avoiding capture, or stops and stands with a bloody polite smile planted on the visage, “Look, I’m waiting for you! Go ahead, I have all the time in the world to stand here and wait for you to shoot that sunset that would be so invigorated by a stunning silhouette of my German Shepherd and I walking right into those glorious aurific beams!”

Why do individuals seem so oblivious to the fact that they are ambulating pieces of artwork? Photographer shakes head, does not understand…

Reverie aborted.

A couple of teens scamper above as I meander down into the moat. Remarks are made, but not deciphered.

“I don’t care if she hears!” however is clearly audible, and a rejoinder, “Ah, she doesn’t notice, she’s taking photos.” Laughter.

“Look!” comes the singing voice of a child, “Can I go down there too Daddy?!”

“No way, it’s dirty down there!” comes the father’s rapid reply.

Oh bother…let the wee ones come down into the moat…come, come! If they got a bit of mud on their shoes, just take them off when they get into the car, and if their clothes get sullied a bit, just wash them later. Not every day a child gets to gambol in a real moat of a rugged, old fort, pocked with musket holes, glowering over the waters, protecting the oldest city in the States. Excellent bragging rights on the playground I should think.

Another reverie ensues as I snap away.

I imagine those three students, I mean children, crowding around the old sage, I mean photographer, joining her for a wee jaunt in the not really so muddy moat.

“Yes, now, I’m sure your dad has been filling you in on all the history here, but I bet he doesn’t know about the swifts that live here!”

“Swifts?” asks the little girl.

“Yes, they are eerie bat-like birds that live high up in that dreary tower there. See, it looks like a giant rook from a chess-board. Inside there they make nests of their own spittle, and cling to the walls with long, snaggled claws for feet!”

“Sweet!” cries a lad.

“Look up there! See that flash by! Not a bat, that’s a bird. They look like little boomerangs swiveling through the night sky. Hear that strange chittering, sonorous cry? That is the sound of the swift. They are hunting the mosquitoes!”

“Whoa cool!” chime my perfect pupils. I mean children companions.

“I wanna pet one,” the little girl smiles at me.

“Ask your parents to volunteer at a wildlife hospital one day, and you may be able to pet a baby swift!” I respond.

We walk along, avoiding gooey patches of mud in the middle of the moat.

“Come, feel this brilliant moss!”

“Feels like velvet,” little boy cries.

“Aye it does! Imagine this plant here thriving on the moisture, clinging to this wall that is slowly returning to the earth, eroded by the kiss of salt, by the roots of these little plants, by the thrust of wind, and the endless slap of rain. And somehow these tiny plants grow, right out of the rock!”

“Yes! Look! That plant looks like a little tree! The moss looks like little flowers!” cries the smallest child, the one that had asked to come into the moat with the nutty photographer.

“Aye, and come over here, quiet, very still, slowly, we are lions stalking our prey. Slowly we approach this ancient wall.”

“What are we looking for?” the girl asks in a whisper.

“Crustaceans! They’re everywhere!”

Astounded, they behold the wee crabs scuttling along the wall.

“Crabs!” they chime with joy.

“Look where they make their homes! In old musket-ball holes that tore through and marred this 340-year-old wall of coquina! Coquina literally means crushed shells. Imagine being that little crab, living in a bullet-hole, living in a material made of the crushed shells of his old friends, the mollusks, or perhaps more commonly known as clams! It is so incredible how connected to nature Castillo de San Marcos Fort really is! And just think maties-Florida itself is made of animals! The waves of the sea ground along and layered the bodies of clams and other ancient seacreatures, and then the sea-level dropped, and this limestone, coquina was formed. Terrestrial, or land-loving life, sprang from that and made Florida what it is today.”

“Wow!” they cry.

“Imagine that!”

“Yeah! There are animals all around, and the fort is actually made from animals!” they all exclaim, animated, looking for more crabs, as the creatures scuttle into the darkness of crevices and holes.

“Poor clams” the little girl says dolefully.

“Ah they are very long dead, lassie,” I smile to her.

“Oh look at that!” she cries.

“A gastropod!” I bawl happily.

The lads romp over.

“It’s a snail!” the older lad whispers, petting the shiny spiral shell.

“Listen, do you hear that?” I ask my little clan.

“Frogs!” they understand.

We begin stalking frogs when the father above yodels, “Right kids, time to go! Say goodbye (not to the nice lady, but) to the old, barnacled briny lass that you let prattle away senselessly at you for a little while as you humoured her with your grinning faces and your jubilant exclamations, running about hooting with her in the muck of this old dirty moat!”

Now that would have been true politeness!

“We saw bat-birds and gassy-pods Papa,” the smallest one cries as their voices fade into the darkness.

Cheers from the moat,

-The Abominably Incessant Rambler

The Sapphire Sea

03 Friday Aug 2012

Posted by smilingtoad in Introspection, Photography, Sea, Stories

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

Black-tip Shark, Florida, Moon, Night, Ocean, Photography, Sea, Sharks, Story, Twilight, Whale

I want to continually drink in these flitting days. The way the dawn beams through the water, the sight of wild energy, a lambent, emerald green looming through the visage of a wave, before it crashes into sound and vanishes- it is within these moments I thrive.

I bequeath myself to the sea, the fuel of all my passion. I relate to the little crab, with his legs of gold and eyes of grey swirled marble. I merge with the brine, and tumble with the waves-

I tumble so much so with the waves that I now must relate a wee story. Please forgive the abruptness.

It was a fine evening, the rosy moon beginning to climb above the milky horizon. The enveloping Blue of twilight was swallowing the last languid gasps of neon sunset, becoming just a blur of memory, as I swam away from my companion, a little black-tip shark. After an hour of swimming alongside him, as he darted fast and swiftly in and out of the scintillating ball of tiny, flashing fish, desperately spitting out from the glazed surface of the sea, it was now time for our farewell. It seemed he understood, and he glided close, his dorsal fin slicing through the glass surface as he drifted right beside me, the way a dolphin might in a film. It was mournful to part, but we both had to move on. Our worlds so vastly different, it was truly phenomenal that we were able to abide in harmony together for so long.

So, feeling doleful and forlorn, I flippered downshore, cheering myself by imagining I was some sort of jubilant otter, periodically diving, kicking hard, then up for air, and down again. Sometimes I did a little roll-over at the surface and chirped. After an hour torn in half, I had finally swum to the point I desired, right in front of the boardwalk, where, oh eventually, I would fall out of the ocean, begrudgingly rise to my feet, and wincingly meander back into terrestrial life.

However, the night was truly fine, a great stream of ashen moonlight kissing the Sapphire Sea. Still imagining I was indeed some sort of sea-creature, I allowed the waves to carry me, toss me, slosh me about in the swash, nearly beaching me on shore; and then I would manage to flipper back into the depths. Over and over I did this.

At last, my moonlit silhouette emerged from the tangy brine, and I puttered behind some fellow beach-goers as they were departing. Clambering the boardwalk, still in a deep reverie, I was astounded when a male Yorkshire accent broke through the chiming of the waves, “Was that you out there in the water?!”

“Oh why yes, I was swimming with some sharks a bit. It was groovy,” I replied with an invisible grin that hopefully beamed through the darkness.

The voice boomed again, “I thought you were a li’l whale!”

(The compliment of my life)

“Oh yes?! There were many sharks too. Did you see them?” I asked.

“Was it cool?” he asked.

“Oh yes very cool. Swimming with sharks always is.”

“No, the water. Cool, was it?”

Obviously, he had not gone in for a dip. Even in the dark, I noticed he was wearing socks and sandals. Never….in Florida, socks? Oh my…and they seemed to be almost knee-high.

“Oh well, it felt fabulous, just right.”

Then his wife chortled, “Oh this is the whale? Nice to meet you. Goodbye!”

And they dashed off, vaporizing into the night.

An astonishing, and deeply gruntling way to end the evening. I reflect back now with tears of tender joy that I was indeed mistaken for a whale….life is too glorious!

Many ecstatic cheers,

Autumn Jade

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