Wick Salt Cellars (Early Eveningtime)
There are seven old salt cellars down by Wick Harbour, dating from Wick’s years as a prominent herring town. Seven years ago gates were created for each of the cellars by artists, using drawings and sketches by Wick schoolchildren. Each night the cellars are lit up from inside.
All pictures taken during a warm and tranquil late November day and early evening, using a fisheye lens setting.
As I briefly touched upon in my previous post, I’ve not been perusing the internet too often of late; avoiding reading blogs, writing blogs, checking the news, tumblr, or my emails, and generally hermitifying myself.
Those of you who know me understand this is nothing new. I find such absence…
So, as you all know, I am currently out of work and have been for the last four months. This is due to a positive lifestyle decision of my own choosing: one which I do not regret in any way at all. In fact I opposite of regret it. To the power of infinity.
This does mean, though, that conventional fundage of the monetary variety is currently of shorter supply than usual and, with Christmas approaching, I just thought I’d post the following.
Everyone with whom I usually exchange gifts will still be getting a present, but the currency used to bring said presents into existence will be less fiscal and more time-and-creativity. I’ll still be sending Christmas cards because I already have them (somewhere) and because getting post is exciting. Besides, I’m not exactly at the stage whereby I need to busk for stamps.
In light of all this, if you haven’t already got me a present and were planning on doing so, please don’t feel you have to! This year and always I would love any of the following gift ideas at least as much as anything physical:
a) your favorite poem handwritten inside my Christmas card;
b) a recorded video message;
c) a recording of a comedy version of a song we’ve danced to together (or, more likely, screamed aloud in a drunken fashion in a bar);
d) anything using your more creative and inventive skills (and yes, everyone is creative);
e) a promise of meet-up dinner, DVD night, or fun-and-games next time it both works for us;
f) a donation of an undisclosed amount to a mental health charity of your choice, or a commitment to assisting a local voluntary mental health initiative.
In the best procedural fashion, I should highlight the fact that this list is not exhaustive.
I’ve already started planning some of the things I’m creating for some of you for Christmas and I’m having so much fun doing so. What it comes down to is this: I get so much from your love and friendship already that to receive anything extra will be an additional brandy-infused cherry on top of my Christmas Cake. And my figurative cherries are not size-dependent on the amount of money spent on them.
Christmassy love to all xxx
So, I’ve been doing some thinking today (in between catching up on approximately 43 different things) and I’ve decided that as well as having a title for my 32nd year (The Year of Creative Daring), I’m going to have some additional complimentary aims. I’ve chosen five, because 3+2=5 and that’s as good a reason as any and because I want five and anyway I don’t care because it’s my game.
1. Learn another language.
2. Self-publish a book as a solo author.
3. Record and make available an EP of original material.
4. Go to at least twelve places I haven’t been to before and take a photograph in each place of something there beginning with (respectively, in this order): J F M A M J J A S O N D.
5. Post less on facebook (though Twitter’s fine) starting NOW.
'There's someone at the door,' said gold candlestick:
'Let her in quick, let her in quick!'
'There is a small hand groping at the handle.
Why don’t you turn it?’ asked green candle.
'Don't go, don't go,' said the Hepplewhite chair,
'Lest you find a strange lady there.'
'Yes, stay where you are,' whispered the white wall:
'There is nobody there at all.'
'I know her little foot,' grey carpet said:
'Who but I should know her light tread?'
'She shall come in,' answered the open door,
'And not,' said the room, 'go out any more.'
- Humbert Wolfe
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods.
But there is no road through the woods.
- Rudyard Kipling