No End in SIght

A view upriver, South Natick
charcoal pencil
Dec. 12, 2012

Life goes on eh? We make lists and grids and spreadsheets. We invent wheels and weaving looms and computers. We build a rich record of memories and facts and attach them to numerical representations of the rotating Earth. The seasons flow past, each unique yet somehow all blurring together too.

There is no such thing as the End of the World. There is no Doomsday. There will be no Apocalypse. These are representations of our minds which cavort and graze in a pasture bound by our requirements for Finitude. Time does not really exist. And so, all we must do is be gentle and care for one another as if there was no Tomorrow.
Bonne journée!

Out of Control

The Pleasant Street Bridge and the island below the dam
Nov. 4, 2011

At some point, in days gone by, someone determined that an island below the dam was a good thing. I think this is true because at the upstream end of the island, just a few meters from the cascade, there are large granite boulders acting like the bow of a ship. These protect the vulnerable side of the island from being eroded by the powerful onrushing currents. And so, we have an island.

It is quite small. The only large animals I've seen there are fishermen and the occasional tribe of muddy-sneakered children who will be itching their poison ivy the day after their explorations. The Great Blue heron (who I haven't seen in weeks and don't expect back until 2012) hunts from the pool formed by the rocks. There are flocks of sparrows that infest the tangle of branches and families of ducks have rested in the lee of the island and dabbled in the July and August shallows that form in low-water. I did see a Black Crowned Night Heron once up in the trees there one summer.

Humans have this knowledge, or a set of assumptions that we are responsible for changing the environment. We are polluting the earth and have been for centuries. Now, more than ever before we live with the existential assumption that we are not quite in control of the arc of the Earth's environmental health. Every freak October blizzard or torrid April day is another argument that reinforces theories of climate change due to human activity. I accept these facts and the theories that proceed from them. Always have. Yet, another part of me, the messy cantankerous part that wants to fidget and daydream is drawn to thinking about the trash and the changes I see. I do pick up litter. But some I do not and here's why: that abandoned styrofoam cup is now the home of a slug or a family of millipedes perhaps. The cranky part of me steadfastly asserts that among many things I am not in control of are the emotions and motivations of other life forms. I may feel guilty and angry about that litter but the slug and the millipedes see it is an acceptable place to fulfill part of their genetic imperative to survive.

Some people made an island and my imagination finds rest and inspiration there. From the island, a heron once surveyed the scene and calculated it's next expenditure of precious energy. A riot of sparrow-friendly weedy non-native plants grows there. Humans will need to make many more islands in order to prolong our time of assumed dominion of the Earth. There's something present between the assumption of our power to affect things and our unsettling knowledge that we are placed within something much bigger that we can't ever fully see.

Are we ever outside of Nature: No.
Are we deluded? I think we are… by biological and ecological reality. Is this an argument in favor of a deity? Oh! No! I won't go there!!

La Demi-Saison

Willow Tree and birds
colored pencil
© 2011 Rob Dunlavey

Here we are: It's September. La rentrée. Hurricane Season. Not quite summer but not yet Autumn. Still Baseball Season but not October and the post-season. Anything can happen; I'm a Red Sox fan, believe me, I know!

Days of rain and general busyness kept me from the river for a few days and I was feeling anxious and wondered if I was losing my enthusiasm for drawing at the dam. Perhaps I too was in my own demi-saison. A petit "writer's block" even perhaps?

This line of thought could go in many potent or pessimistic directions; all without clear conclusions. Instead, I'll tell you about this willow tree: it's in decline. I was down here a few weeks ago and heard a loud "crack!" as a branch as large as the one pictured here let go and fell only to get snagged in the tree. Last winter, another larger limb broke. The tree sheds twigs all the time. So, this willow is in decline. It's in that demi-saison filled with letting go and sacrifice. Yielding to termites, ants and gravity. But the birds love it. A few missing branches make for better flight approaches and exits. It's the local hangout. I even saw a gray squirrel investigating the hole where that branch broke off. There could be something tasty in there or maybe it will make a snug winter home.

Life burrows into the corners of these in-between seasons of life. It's all preparation and letting go. Anticipation and acceptance. As the weather clarifies its intentions, there will be more room on the coat racks. For now I'll try to enjoy the variety. Salut!

---

en fançais (par Google)

Ici, nous sommes: C'est Septembre. La rentrée. Saison des ouragans. Pas tout à fait l'étémais pas encore l'automne. Saison de baseball, mais pas encore Octobre et la post-saison. Tout peut arriver, je suis un fan des Red Sox, croyez-moi, je sais!

Jours de pluie et busyness générale m'a empêché de la rivière pendant quelques jours et je me sentais anxieuse et je me demandais si je devais perdre mon enthousiasme pour le dessin à la digue. Peut-être moi aussi j'ai été dans ma propre demi-saison. Un petit "bloc de l'écrivain», même peut-être?

Cette ligne de pensée pourrait aller dans plusieurs directions puissants ou pessimiste, le tout sans tirer des conclusions claires. Au lieu de cela, je vais vous parler de ce saule: il est en déclin. J'ai été ici-bas il ya quelques semaines et entendu un fort «crack!" comme une branche aussi importante que celui représenté ici lâcher prise et est tombé seulement pour obtenir accroché dans l'arbre. L'hiver dernier, une autre grande jambe cassé. L'arbre perd brindilles tout le temps. Donc, ce saule est en déclin. C'est dans cette demi-saisonremplie de lâcher prise et de sacrifice. Cédant aux termites, les fourmis et la gravité. Mais les oiseaux adorent. Un peu de branches manquants font pour des approches de vol de mieux et de sorties. C'est le repaire locale. J'ai même vu un écureuil gris enquête du trou où cette branche s'est cassée. Il pourrait y avoir quelque chose de savoureux là ou peut-être cela fera une maison d'hiver douillet.

Vie des terriers dans les coins de ces entre-deux saisons de la vie. C'est toute la préparation et de laisser-aller. Anticipation et l'acceptation. Comme le temps clarifie ses intentions, il n'y aura plus de place sur le porte-manteaux. Pour l'instant je vais essayer deprofiter de la variété. Salut!