A Photo and A Poem

Monday, November 16th, 2015 14 Comments

Tunnel View

Yosemite National Park

California

Ansel Adams (1902 – 1984) immortalized this view with Clearing Winter Storm, Yosemite National Park, and since thousands of others have taken this same shot. I  took the same one last year here. I’m thinking my photography has greatly improved in this time?

This view can never ever become tiring, I don’t care how many times it’s been photographed, I personally love seeing all the photographers, professional & amateur, around the park. I will give you a little hint though, coming outside of the summer season is so much better and so much easier to enjoy the park. Last year when I took this same picture there had to have been over a hundred people at this location. This time, in November at sunrise it was me and another photographer and our tripods there. If you ever have the chance to visit this National Park, I strongly recommend hopping on the chance.

And now I am going to share with you a poem by Martha Medeiros that I happened to come across this past weekend. A poem that spoke to me loud and clear. A poem that makes me think of California and all the natural wonders that she offers to everyone.

~~

Dies Slowly

by Martha Medeiros

He who becomes the slave of habit,
who follows the same routes every day,
who never changes pace,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
who does not speak and does not experience,
dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white,
dotting ones “it’s” rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,
that turn a yawn into a smile,
that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
dies slowly.

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,
who is unhappy at work,
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
to thus follow a dream,
those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,
die slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself,
she who does not find grace in herself,
dies slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,
who does not allow himself to be helped,
who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,
dies slowly.

He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn’t know, he or she who don’t reply when they are asked something they do know,
die slowly.

Let’s try and avoid death in small doses,
reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.
Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.

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