Posts Tagged ‘bench

19
Apr
17

Ranch Dog…

“Properly trained, a man can be dog’s best friend.” Corey Ford

Camp-Dog-Frenchglen-SwittersB

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08
Jun
16

Take a seat now and then…

‘Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.’ ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

a trailhead-bench-oneonta gorge-SwittersB

15
Oct
15

in the shade…

“O woman!- In our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please, and variable as the shade, by the light quivering aspen made; when pain and anguish wring the brow, a ministering angel thou”

Sir Walter Scott

shade-bench-Mexico-SwittersB

07
Mar
15

overgrown…

once upon a time

an inviting solitude

life has overgrown 

yellow bench-weeds-birch tree-Portland-SwittersB

07
Jun
14

Sitting Still

“Watermelons and Zen students grow pretty much the same way.
Long periods of sitting till they ripen and grow all juicy inside, but when you knock them on the head to see if they’re ready…sound’s like nothing’s going on.”

 Peter Levitt

photography-old bench-tall grass-SwittersB-sepia

“Sitting in your garden is a feat to be worked at with unflagging determination and single-mindedness – for what gardener worth his salt sits down. I am deeply committed to sitting in the garden.”
– Mirabel Osler

“Sitting is the gateway of truth to total liberation.”
– Dogen

04
Feb
14

Simplicity begets……………

A stone bench adjacent to the beginning of the Oneonta Gorge trek. Always in the shade, the bench would be quite inviting on a hot Summer’s day…much less so this very cold January day.

trailhead bench oneonta gorge SwittersB

“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.” Henry David Thoreau

23
Nov
13

The Bench & The View: Seasons Change

Wall Bench Leaves SB

A View From The Park Bench

Upon this old familiar bench
From which I’ve spent a time or two, 
Just gazing at the sky above
And watching chestnut trees, 
Which change throughout the seasons
Now their copper leaves do fall, 
Which gather on this stony path
And tossed upon the breeze.

For scattered far across the field
And through the air with random flee, 
From every bough it seems to pluck
Until each one is bare, 
Now soon the winter shall be here
With icy chills the frosts and snow, 
When I’ll not stop but carry on
And find no comfort there.

(Entire Poem by Andrew Blakemore)




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