untitled

If I ever get a duck, I shall name it Arthur

kissed by ice

I saw a robbin today. As remarkable as it sounds. and me, without a camera. he, perched upon a snow laden branch white powder falling gently all around.
Red breast proudly hidden, grey-brown feathers to match a mate. Like I, they for all the world's beauty found sublime in seven inches fallen and still more.
White, white and layers of grey. dark lines and sketched foot prints patterns to hide beneath still more. Snow snow and sky. falling, falling, blankets.

2010, a revisit

how can one quantify life? the number of cheeseburgers eaten? how many friends you have? the ease of living?

I always subscribed to the idea that we are built of our experiences. Our souls are shaped by the experiences of life. As Lisa Simpson once told Bart, "nobody is born with a soul [it must be] earn[ed] through suffering and thought and love."


Looking back over the past year is an enormous endeavor. On the first, I entered 2011 much as I entered the world: sick, naked, confused and uncomfortable. Since then, my home was filled memoriums from the past. Reminiscing over shared experiences has brought our Ghosts - souls- closer together. Sharing the new events in our lives and creating even newer ones.

To stretch the growth analogy further, much as life most likely originated on the rock shores of the primordial sea. This year starts in the tumultuous turmoil of uncertain, war, economic and political strife. Yet, even now society evolves legs, lungs, eyes. Maybe it will develop means to communicate and work together with it's dissenting parts.

By title, you expected some sorta list of greatest and worst moments. At the very least a fictionalization of 2010 to reminisce about in 2011.Well, you thought wrong. Actually, I was going to. But I'm way to lazy for that... so enjoy this picture instead

Also, if you haven't already, you should vote down below (it's on the side bar). I'll update on Sunday based on the responses.
-love and peace, Marcus Miranti

2011

Welp. a new year is upon us. ...I guess

A day in the life of Marcus: Fotography is Phun

Where in, I discover the joy photoing

Potted Pepper in B/W

The original snap shot

Painted in Colours

I play around with the other tools for a little

 S'potted

 is my favorite

Backlogs

Dec 15th 2010

This is the season when people gather in the streets their gossip turns to holiday cheer between puffs of smoke or icy breath. Snow falls lazily and steady. Hinuet, as the native peoples of the north like to say, drifting, settles white over dingy cityscape. Winter has come. And with it, the hurley-burley of anticipation. Schools prepare for break as students prepare for examinations. Mothers and Fathers search shelves and kiosks for gifts. Children, red-nosed cold troumping through the school grounds; a flurry of activity - snowballs flung and flinging. Soon, the calendars will flip forward to a new year and people will forget the merriment of the season. With gifts gotten and snow fallen Winter will continue cold and bittersweet. Eventually Spring will come slowly like a great tilting weight. All the while utterances in frozen breath dangle - puffy clouds of curses on the cold and snow and wind. Sooner still Winter's chiding forgot as Summer is made out of Spring. Unbearable heat and noise and the price of petrol these days! Can you believe it's going to rain? The kids will play in the hot, weedy air blistful. Those of us, charged with age, squirm and sweat in the languishing days of August. Suddenly the wind refreshes too much; it harks of chill. Stalks of corn grow amber in the setting sun.

Where does the time go? Looking back can we see the deeds of Winter last? No great impact do the seasons have to us remembered - none not righted by work of men. Then, do the seasons' passing impress upon us at all? What works of grandeur did Summer leave last Fall?

There is a tree nearby. See it now: a tall, burly thing. Its trunk is ashen - almost dark not quite brown. Its branches are fingers stabbing open palms at gray cloud and sky - all its leafs long since fallen. In the snow it hides before your eyes - colored muted night. Unremarkable thing. Be still and watch close now: from simple seed to tree and sapling inbetween; Tiny leafs prod up through Spring's soft mud. A weed at first then a yearling. Now it is shooting high a great bouffant of verdant green - cool shadows in Summer sun. Foliage colored brightly orange and yellow-brown paint the winds of Autumn. Now, grown and weathered, steeped in snow this tree still creeps its longing branches out and higher. Or perhaps it slumbers hinuet all around.

whoa.
What a week!

Here in Iowa, we saw our first (however ungratuitous) snow of the season - a dusting of powder-white dandruff gathering in swirls. Grey sky and biting cold.