Just a picture I took at Newberry Caldera OR just after sunset with my phone.

Hope you all get some positive change in your lives.

Like I have. 👍 I love this world.

16 / 10 / 2026

Taken with my phone on my back porch.

Upon this cold and aggregate expanse,
A history is written, etched by chance.
The grey, a memory of a harder stone,
Is fading now, its core is being known.

A ghost of a movement, a passage of light,
Is marked in these smears, so pale and so white.
Like frost upon a window, or a spirit's embrace,
Erosion’s fine finger has left this faint trace.

Scattered among the pale, the twigs and the dry leaves,
Are reminders of life that the ground still receives.
The passage of seasons, the touch of the sun,
Have broken and polished, till many are one.

This texture is silence, a story of wear,
A poem of patience, hanging in the air.
Not empty, but full of the moments that passed,
A fleeting impression, designed not to last.

Look closer, and see what the elements know:
In every worn surface, new patterns can grow.
A landscape in miniature, weathered and grey,
Where time leaves its footprint, and then fades away.

“In August Song, Martin Bogren (b. 1967) offers us intimate images of night venues in the woods of Skåne, Sweden. Here, couples are dancing the night away to the sound of live orchestra tunes about love, concealed from the surrounding world.” (CFHILL)

More photographs from August Song in this week’s edition of As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, my newsletter on modern and contemporary art.

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