soliloquies in the outdoors
‘twas perchance that we got to know of Chenap valley, which we did as our original plans went awry at the last moment… tucked in ‘twixt religious fervours, highways and hydropower more hedonistic that utilitarian, and the never-ending scrapes of JCB for last-mile connectivity, ‘tis purported to be a quieter alternative to Valley of Flowers, …
Shepherds, like cowboys, are a romanticized lot, maybe it stems from the fact that it remains one of the oldest subsistence activities of the civilized homo sapien, something that has stood the test of time and remain unscathed, come war or peace… it is quite baffling that an occupation so resilient has been looked down …
Photo essay on high-altitude wetlands
The farmer belongs to the romanticized sect of imagination, weaving his craft across the terra firma in symphonies attached firmly to the cycles of the sun, from days to seasons to generations… a lilting lore of never-ending toil, pain and suffering, of mute courage and resolve that seeks benediction from the land… agriculture is perhaps …
The rote on our cosmic insignificance is a couple of millennia old… religious discourses use it as a tool to ensure social order, for the philosopher ‘tis the bedrock of existential thought… the myriad lord almighty are an attempt to ascribe a finiteness to this infinite… it is a thought that is more overwhelming than …
Musings on geometrical patterns and their visual perceptions in mountain landscapes, especially the interplay of fractals and triangles…
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame. – W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart’s Desire We stray too far, in the simple act of subsistence that seems almost …
Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days, days in whose light everything seems equally divine, opening a thousand windows to show us God. – John Muir the leitmotif of any mountain, any protrusion that can make its surroundings feel insignificant, would unarguably be divinity… the sanctitude offered by the higher climes more often that not …
…she learned words that rolled from her tongue when no one was listening. Firns and striations. Cirques and moraines. Adulation. Sublimation. She fell asleep to their music, and she woke to it. Chatter marks, eskers, and drumlins. Truncated spurs. Corries and tarns. Kames. Eolian loess. Katabatic winds… – Deb Vanasse, Cold Spell Moraines are what …