Seven years ago today I began a wee experiment: this blog. My capricious tendencies have seen it through many incarnations. It has traveled across domains and has lived and died on multiple platforms and multiple servers. Historically I gave it a face lift almost as often as I posted. Yet through all of that, 84 months have passed since it came to life in 2003—and it’s still here.
Through this online journal I have met many fantastic people. It has gifted me with new friends and it has helped me find a community of like-minded individuals.
Blogging also has given me a chance to exercise my writing and my photography.
But why did I start? More importantly, why do I still do it today? Instead of trying to answer those questions anew, let me republish something I wrote last November, something that perhaps was meant more for this anniversary than it was the random writ it seemed to be at the time. Hereafter is The journal is the thing, only this time I will augment it with images of my favorite kind of creature: raptors.
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Should I waste that which spills from my soul? Should I dispose of haphazardly the many tellings which spring forth from cluttered and uncluttered thought alike? Such writs take shape with ease, gleaning from life’s treasures the simple and complex notions that wind their ways through labyrinths of ideas until finally taking shape in the guise of pedestrian words. Dare I forsake such a thing?
I am but a tool in the hands of creativity. A lithe bit of sandpaper destined to remove sharp edges from nature’s display. A rigid scythe meant to clear a path through grasslands too overgrown to be enjoyed by the masses. A sturdy bridge meant to convey observers across imagination’s mire. And a supple cloth to dry the sweat from a hard day’s work. These things am I… And more.
Green pastures stretch out before me like maidens lying in wait for gentleman callers. Hills rise like breasts from an earthen mother, and shores stretch like her lips around warm waters. Trees sway in the breeze like dapple braids of hair touched by loving hands. If indeed life is anything more than existing, it is a consummation, a marriage betwixt what is and what can be. I fear ever denying the embrace of this seductress.
In the tiniest of things I find inspiration; in the notation of them I find being.
I reap from fields sown of the universe’s seed. What comes from me, then, is the simplest interpretation of the greatest mysteries. To find magic in a single leaf hanging above my head while I travel paths ancient and new… To bend a twig and find upon it the hopes of a timeless soul wrapped in winter’s slumber… To stand by the riverside and hear sweet whispers from the commotion that hides beneath its still surface… Ah, to live in the now, in such a wondrous place, and to never wish to lift a pen so that I might complete the journey that I began… Blasphemy, it is. I would rather die.
Why toil with clumsy language? It remains clumsy only in the hands of those unlearned in its use, uneducated to its robust expression, and unfamiliar with its mystic secrets. Nay, the journal is the thing in which I conceal and through which I perform. Find within its borders the vellum of life, a papyrus upon which I paint in fine and broad strokes of words every bit of me, and every bit of the world where I reside.
Catharsis barely scratches the surface of why I blog; expression even less.
I find everywhere the riddles begging to be solved, the confidences left openly where none shall see them only to be discovered by those truly looking. By the rhythm of the sentence and the cadence of the photograph do I reveal such things as much to myself as to others.
For decades have I reveled in the joy of the journal. For almost a decade has that joy found new life in blogging. The universe opens her dress for me, welcomes me to her bosom, holds me close as I ponder the magnificence of her being.
Never could I give it up.
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 Turkey vulture (Cathartes aura)
 American kestrel (Falco sparverius); male
 Juvenile sharp-shinned hawk (Accipiter striatus)
 Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)
 Red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus); female
 Cooper’s hawk (Accipiter cooperii); female