How I love your hunches David, yet more so at 6am when my own hunches for the day ahead are less brightly coloured.
I sit here with my cup of still steaming stimulant, alone (because that first cup is always best savoured in silence) imagining the sounds of ferry foghorns which are so distant in my memory they barely emerge, marvelling at details of texture and beauty, "Glamour shot: “Yes, yes, look up and just a little bit more to your right. Perfect!” then wondering why here, we do not have such an item of clothing as fleece lined trousers and I arrive at your last extraordinary photograph, and know that my day, no matter how hard, will be distracted entirely by plans and dreams of construction - a Troll for my tiny patch of woodland! A Troll for the owls and woodpeckers...
Thank you for your words and your eyes my friend... may your day be blessed as mine has been 🙏🏼
Dearest Susie, I count on you to understand when it takes a day or a few to reply to one of your delightfully generous notes. Treasure. Emissaries of imagination and comradarie. I hold them dearer than the pauses in reply might somehow imply. Used to be, it might take weeks for a note to arrive and a response to be crafted, posted and delivered. We were more patient then. Nowadays, with this wondrous ability to reach clear around the world in moments, to tap on the shoulder of a friend with a hello or thank you, there is a temptation to feel 'dutiful' and 'hurried' in our responses. But I wonder if it might keep us from letting the tea steep a bit, or the flavors marry, or stirred up sediment in the waters, settle. In the hours since you wrote, I have been smiling ...more than once, at the picture of you and your owls and woodpeckers all soaking in a bit of troll energy there on your hillside. It is a wonderful image. Sending gratitude, my friend.
Fear not my friend, understanding of tardiness is inbuilt, part of the system... as is understanding 'Emissaries of imagination and comradarie.' Precious treasures such as these are hard come by, much less kept.
May your Sunday be tinted with at least a handful of magic.
How wonderful is this! These photos are so alive. Incredible. You expect the peckerwood queen could hop out of the screen any moment. Then the Troll! OMG you've got a local Troll to visit (Josh, my husband, wants to build one on our land, so we've been trolling the Trolls for a while – in the original friendly sense of trolling) And the writing of course is exquisite. Thank you 💙🙏 🪶
Veronika, yours are the first words of the morning for these grateful eyes, which feels like a gift. I am most grateful, and send hearty encouragements to Josh.
This is my ‘out loud’ conversation with myself as I was reading, ( no, no one else in the room with me listening in) .
“ He did not, oh my gosh he did, of course he did!”
I have seen photographs of those giant wooden beauties. And I have a Pileated friend in my yard, sculpting what’s left of an ancient Pine, an artist-in-residence . I just knew you were going to get the ‘shot’ and there it was!
Truthfully, I thought you would have spoken Pileated and sweet talked her into posing on a shoulder or hand.
I can only imagine what a photograph might look like if taken from behind you.
P.S. fleece lined jeans, a luxury, no winter should be without.
I adore this "Working class diva" in her portraits! I've been staring, looking right up close, admiring that scarlet crown, all those exquisite triangle feathers leading upward to it with hints of yellow; the bright red-orange-ringed eye, the dash of brighter yellow-orange on that amazing beak---and then the complex details of layered feathers--- wow, those fan feathers!---totes an artist's dream. (Ohhhh, the troll!)
You have such a generous way of sharing being present in the moment, my friend, and imagining you making these portraits on your knees without a care is just the bestest...
Who, but an artist, full of curiosity about patterns and textures would study these portraits so carefully, appreciating all of the subtle and not-so-subtle wonders... Not often we get to take our time noticing all the details with some beings, Pileated's among them. Not too 'fearful' shy, but rather 'elusive' shy. This was, I think, as close as I've been able to 'hang' with one, ever, and she did not seem at all in a hurry to be anyplace else.
Who, but you, would share a stroll with a man sized troll?
"Peckerwood Queen' brings to mind long lost legends of East Chicago lore. Peckerhead Kate and Horseface Mary, together ran a bar and brothel, in the hayday of steel making, lower Lake Michigan, or so I've been told. The story is fast fading, but you've brought it to light, thank you.
There were people within earshot, total strangers, when I first read your comment. "Peckerhead Kate and Horseface Mary's bar and brothel..." I believe I may have yelped.
They now think me daft, I'm almost certain.
Dayummm, Joe, you are a master at steering the ships you encounter either towards or away from the rocks, depending. I am continually delighted by your piloting prowess. I thank ya' kindly, good sir. 🙏
A lovely story. I like the photo of the woodpecker beneath the wooden troll. I frequently see the pileated woodpecker in my forest, or find the large holes they make at the bases of trees. This denizen enriches the woodland community.
You have such a calm presence it seems, that the birds let you fill space along side them. It is an honor.
With your hunches and prose, and of course your images, I find myself existing somewhere in between you and the Queen. It's a very nice place to be.
How I love your hunches David, yet more so at 6am when my own hunches for the day ahead are less brightly coloured.
I sit here with my cup of still steaming stimulant, alone (because that first cup is always best savoured in silence) imagining the sounds of ferry foghorns which are so distant in my memory they barely emerge, marvelling at details of texture and beauty, "Glamour shot: “Yes, yes, look up and just a little bit more to your right. Perfect!” then wondering why here, we do not have such an item of clothing as fleece lined trousers and I arrive at your last extraordinary photograph, and know that my day, no matter how hard, will be distracted entirely by plans and dreams of construction - a Troll for my tiny patch of woodland! A Troll for the owls and woodpeckers...
Thank you for your words and your eyes my friend... may your day be blessed as mine has been 🙏🏼
Dearest Susie, I count on you to understand when it takes a day or a few to reply to one of your delightfully generous notes. Treasure. Emissaries of imagination and comradarie. I hold them dearer than the pauses in reply might somehow imply. Used to be, it might take weeks for a note to arrive and a response to be crafted, posted and delivered. We were more patient then. Nowadays, with this wondrous ability to reach clear around the world in moments, to tap on the shoulder of a friend with a hello or thank you, there is a temptation to feel 'dutiful' and 'hurried' in our responses. But I wonder if it might keep us from letting the tea steep a bit, or the flavors marry, or stirred up sediment in the waters, settle. In the hours since you wrote, I have been smiling ...more than once, at the picture of you and your owls and woodpeckers all soaking in a bit of troll energy there on your hillside. It is a wonderful image. Sending gratitude, my friend.
Fear not my friend, understanding of tardiness is inbuilt, part of the system... as is understanding 'Emissaries of imagination and comradarie.' Precious treasures such as these are hard come by, much less kept.
May your Sunday be tinted with at least a handful of magic.
How wonderful is this! These photos are so alive. Incredible. You expect the peckerwood queen could hop out of the screen any moment. Then the Troll! OMG you've got a local Troll to visit (Josh, my husband, wants to build one on our land, so we've been trolling the Trolls for a while – in the original friendly sense of trolling) And the writing of course is exquisite. Thank you 💙🙏 🪶
Veronika, yours are the first words of the morning for these grateful eyes, which feels like a gift. I am most grateful, and send hearty encouragements to Josh.
This is my ‘out loud’ conversation with myself as I was reading, ( no, no one else in the room with me listening in) .
“ He did not, oh my gosh he did, of course he did!”
I have seen photographs of those giant wooden beauties. And I have a Pileated friend in my yard, sculpting what’s left of an ancient Pine, an artist-in-residence . I just knew you were going to get the ‘shot’ and there it was!
Truthfully, I thought you would have spoken Pileated and sweet talked her into posing on a shoulder or hand.
I can only imagine what a photograph might look like if taken from behind you.
P.S. fleece lined jeans, a luxury, no winter should be without.
🙏 chocolate, I hope.
Nothing less!
What a magnificence you are, Lor. Your notes are candy for the soul.
I thank you, smiling!
“Why is that strange man kneeling there in the mud near that troll, talking softly and aiming his camera near the ground?”
Because he’s David Perry.
Try him on. Your life will explode into technicolor wonder.
I really don't deserve you...
I adore this "Working class diva" in her portraits! I've been staring, looking right up close, admiring that scarlet crown, all those exquisite triangle feathers leading upward to it with hints of yellow; the bright red-orange-ringed eye, the dash of brighter yellow-orange on that amazing beak---and then the complex details of layered feathers--- wow, those fan feathers!---totes an artist's dream. (Ohhhh, the troll!)
You have such a generous way of sharing being present in the moment, my friend, and imagining you making these portraits on your knees without a care is just the bestest...
Who, but an artist, full of curiosity about patterns and textures would study these portraits so carefully, appreciating all of the subtle and not-so-subtle wonders... Not often we get to take our time noticing all the details with some beings, Pileated's among them. Not too 'fearful' shy, but rather 'elusive' shy. This was, I think, as close as I've been able to 'hang' with one, ever, and she did not seem at all in a hurry to be anyplace else.
Thank you for your kind note. 🙏
wonderful, thanks for sharing
🙏 Thank you, Kay.
Who, but you, would share a stroll with a man sized troll?
"Peckerwood Queen' brings to mind long lost legends of East Chicago lore. Peckerhead Kate and Horseface Mary, together ran a bar and brothel, in the hayday of steel making, lower Lake Michigan, or so I've been told. The story is fast fading, but you've brought it to light, thank you.
There were people within earshot, total strangers, when I first read your comment. "Peckerhead Kate and Horseface Mary's bar and brothel..." I believe I may have yelped.
They now think me daft, I'm almost certain.
Dayummm, Joe, you are a master at steering the ships you encounter either towards or away from the rocks, depending. I am continually delighted by your piloting prowess. I thank ya' kindly, good sir. 🙏
“Her adoring weirdo supplicant” ♥️
🙏😂
🙏😌
New life go: Be an adoring weirdo supplicant as often as possible!
For you, a Star Trek V salute and an appreciative wink, my friend. Live long and prosper.
She is magnificent. As is the troll!
🙏😌
She really is lovely! Brightens up the day!! Thank you!
🙏 Thank you, Julia.
Beautiful! Thank you so much for this. We love this troll, and that picture is GLORIOUS.
🙏 Thank you, Suzanne.
Thank you 🙏 ☺️
A lovely story. I like the photo of the woodpecker beneath the wooden troll. I frequently see the pileated woodpecker in my forest, or find the large holes they make at the bases of trees. This denizen enriches the woodland community.
🙏 Thank you, Voron.
Woodpecker with Troll - what a shot.
🙏 🙏 Thank you, Logan.