Nature's Place

A Silver Song

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Born of the blackness cold, my love.

To colour the light I am. In line and form a ringing.

Afire, in thirst, of experience. The mad singing.

Where change rakes the dead embers of mind.

Pain, old friend. What else.

To buff the point of being I am, a sharpness mirrored round.

Pierce the veil of shadows. That I am found.

Emerge, o silver singer. To do it all once more.

When all I want is Thee my love.

Return, awake, to the shore.

Of death, the boon of Thine.

Come take me home at last, my lord.

Oh. Cold blackness mine.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Whose Art Was That?

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It is easy to judge, seeing things positionally, from a place of identity. Partial being. The difficulty is in extracting the value of experience, it should tell all is change while I remain I behind. It does, but it takes a long time, and long pain.

But judgement is a pernicious habit of the machine mind. Which takes its rise from the momentum of life itself, never giving up. As can be seen all around in the forms of nature, or not nature.

The force of it can be overcome. Not by opposition, but by surrender. Surrender of the force. For all force is it. This is being without the force of existence, the power behind – no more need to die.

It is this knowledge that reveals the truth in every body. Living is the art, I am the artist, in any body.

The one artist within. Being art. No exceptions.

The art of being.

*

As I came round the bend of the track in the forest there he was, or was it she. Sitting on a tendril of green overhanging the trodden path, a fly.

Blue, red eyed creature. Little beauty. Unafraid he sat, for long enough to image. Coming and going, and coming again.

A few days later there he was again. Same tendril, same fly.

He winked, I know.

Old friend.

*

Ya just gotta laugh at it all sometimes.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Masked Paramour

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Sitting in the flower tops, waiting for her love.

Surrounded by the colour blue, and mauve.

Round and round she went to see.

Arms outstretched, but not to me.

Once a beckoning, it seems.

Then strikes a pose, of themes?

I don’t wonder that she would feel.

And along comes a meal.

Not so easy, the meal.

One finds there little appeal.

The other, oh well, away on the wind.

Love returns, eventually, in kind.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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It’s Never Too Late

These shots are of creatures that are seen only around the outside light at night. The largest creature here is the first at about 2mm wide head. The others are so small they are unidentifiable to the naked eye.

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To rise up.

It’s never too late to throw off the chains.

Never too late to be new.

It’s never too late to give up the mantra, the one that keeps you from love.

“I can’t!” “Why me?” “It isn’t supposed to be this way.” “Something’s wrong.”

The mantra of mind that sees only what is gone, and never the way it really was, or is.

It’s never too late to say it’s good. Good to be alive! Well done! That’s lovely!

It’s never too late to step out of your skin. The one as me ‘this’ or me ‘that’.

It’s never too late.

*

Well, I suppose it can be too late.

The sun sets, the stars shimmer only once just that way, the same rain never falls twice.

But it’s never too late to dance for the pleasure of it, or sing a little song.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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A Long Way to Market

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A journey unto itself, getting my stuff to market. Learning about printing, the ins and outs of mounting – matting, adhesives, pressures, sizes, compositions. People. It’s a job learning to do the job properly. And maybe someone will buy something when I get there.

But on my way to market I saw this spider. An amazing creature. It was a little skittish at first but settled down after a few shots and even sat for me, it could be said.

She is a beauty. Big, young, healthy and most of all untroubled. Sitting there in the vacuity of being spider with nothing in particular to do. Being no thing, until spider has something to do, spider moves.

Being moves as spider.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Pilgrimage

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Dusty trail, overflowing with green, damp humid in the tropical spring shade. Big dark ants crossing. I stopped to see what they were doing and it was the obvious, going somewhere. There were two kinds of ant here, big and small. The big ones had a certain character about them, a quiet strength. The smaller ones a quiet study.

In nature everything’s either going somewhere, doing something or doing nothing – being what it is – or just being.

Grasshopper is about too, about the house. A shy one this morning, trying to hide behind the green pole. Maybe his skittishness had something to do with its dented eye, the other one. I got him anyway. And there will be more. A season’s come. To go. Whatever that means.

Dragon’s flight is easy and unpredictable, predictably so. I followed him around the edge of the field, in and out of the bushes, to dam’s end. And off I went into the forest, to home, whatever that means. :) Home James!

Spider was hiding out on top of a flower, purple blue. She moved about at intervals, showing herself a patience, no thought. Sitting in silence, little spider being. Being spider.

An unusual bug climbed out of the forest of grass at my feet. I have never seen her kind before, soft, light and unthreatening nature. She wandered about the blades of tall grass, a rolling gait,  and I showed her about a few twigs.

A little wonder of the day. All going home. A pilgrimage indeed.

And a flower or two to mark the way.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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A Mother Fly

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She was a beauty, about ¾ inch long, lovely colour and undamaged by her eventful life, no dents in her eyes or broken hairs on her face. In fact she was the picture of health, as I know a fly can be.

This huge fly found its way into the laundry the other day. It was on the window glass and I couldn’t induce it to have some honey and slow down. It had other things on its consciousness, demanding its attention.

I followed it around for a while trying to get a decent shot of it, even moving. Eventually I decided to trap it in glass and that worked. After a few minutes under the glass it stopped still, so I lifted the glass and it remained calm. It climbed up the side of the glass and sat there for a while.

After a short time it tried to fly away and fell to the window sill, buzzing around on its back, wings beating loudly against the surface. I remember big flies doing this from when I was younger, much so.

I noticed its behind was white and I took shots of what was presented to me. When I looked on the LCD I could see tiny grubs and it clicked. It was a she and she was giving birth.

There were many, maybe 100, of these grubs scattered around the buzzing mother. It appears the fly goes a little manic with the readiness of birth which causes her to scatter her young. That would be better than to leave them all in one place, a ready meal ensuring an end to her line, not very evolutionary that.

Then, a little time later, she died.

And that’s the way of it here.

*

Unless you know purpose and can live it.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Gi’s A Break!

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Blue and red, green iridescence. Long legged wonder. Meandering about on Hibiscus, looking for his lost love? I bet.

He’s a man after all, why else all the colour but to attract his long lost love back to him.

*

Stopping here and there for a drink, a feed. And what comes along but a bloody photographer.

Messing with my space, just ignore him, he’ll go away. I hope.

*

Aaghhh! He won’t go away, I’ll have to perform now, bloody men.

Ok. Pose, this way and that. Stick my long tongue out at him, maybe he’ll get the message.

Aaghhh! He doesn’t get it. Just leave me alone, why don’t ya.

I know, I’ll show him my behind. He’s got to get that?

*

Not on your life. Might as well play along.

Better clean up, brush the dust off my back, the debris off my eyes. Brush those antennae shiny.

Better look my best, give him my best. Then he’ll go away and leave me alone to get on with my hunt for my long lost love.

Did I say that? Putting thoughts into my mind he is. Dangerous man.

*

Hey you! Gis a break why don’t ya.

What? Now he’s putting things in my way, trying to slow me down. I’ll show him.

Oops! That hurt, all the way from his eye to his foot.

Me wings aren’t straight yet. Under the leaves then.

Aaghhh! Here he is again, won’t he ever leave me alone? Aaaaghhh!

*

Ok, ok. I give up. I’ll just sit here ‘til you’re done.

Ho hum!

*

And what’s this? A little lake of honey?

Wow, cheers mate. Come again any time why don’t ya.

Hmmmm! Ol’ pal.

*

Do insects really have such personalities?

Is it possible? Could the planet survive it?

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Tumble in the Jungle

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I was in Mt Cotton scout camp today and the most extraordinary event occurred.

There is a small garden there where the Joey’s planted some flowers and shrubs. It is bordered by a few timbers and as is their way the ants use them as a highway through the debris that litters the ground.

Today while I was looking for what I might find in the way of creatures – structure and beauty to shoot I saw these two ants going at each other. They didn’t seem too serious but I suspect they were well matched and that’s the only reason one of them didn’t die in the fight.

They tumbled this way and that, mandible locked to mandible, up and down the natural landscape. For ages it seemed they battled it out, for what? Supremacy, what else?

Towards the end they had been fighting their way up and down a small twig and eventually one of them gave up and ran away. The other then ran back up the twig and all but shouted out in triumph.

I won! Yeahhh!

Well, maybe.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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