spring cleaning

big wind and thunderstorms coming in from the Atlantic yesterday pushed back the Mediterranean front back to sea. as with humans the struggle is constant, stubborn, relentless but nature’s battlegrounds, at least around here, leave a certain kind of drama that’s beautiful, peaceful and clean but you know… it’s just a calm interlude until the next round.

Canal dreams

that’s also the name of a fantastic novel by Iain Banks but my canal dreams aren’t nearly as dramatic, poetic nor finely constructed. i don’t dream of canals as such but since i mostly sleep next to one my waking self can’t help but think that somehow some sort of liquidy-stary impressions seep in when my eyes are closed. here’s un aperçu, bonne nuit !

whirl-whirl, swirl and twirl

make my head spin till it falls off.

butts+flops=buttflops

i never thought the transition from making images of caught fish where they’re actually held and/or mostly immobile to free-moving birds in flight would be easy but easy was never the goal.
it’s a fascinating challenge where there’s a lot more flips and flops than images that come out as hoped. in other words, it’s a bit like continuously getting your butt kicked whilst carrying around fancy glass and electronics and staring off, squinting into the blue all the while asking for a harder kick.

i love this, the journey, the creatures and of course the never-ending attraction to waterways where all this happens. more than a place to enjoy seeing some nice butts while getting my very own kicked, it’s home.

fish/fly

a happy little chub slurping down a mid-afternoon snack.

one of the slurpees ? doubt it but it’s still a fly.

a well-meaning friend asked me if this was still a fly fishing blog.
here you go.

“He’d grown unused to woods like this.

He’d become accustomed to the Northwest, evergreen and shaded dark. Here he was surrounded by soft leaves, not needles; leaves that carried their deaths secretly inside them, that already heard the whispers of Autumn. Roots and branches that knew things.”
~ Michael Montoure, Slices