What's It All About, eh?

Cape Breton evokes deep memories and strong emotions for me as well as a deep appreciation for the beauty of my adopted island. My hopes are that you too might find the photos evocative - maybe a view you've not enjoyed before, or an 'Oh I've been there', or if from away that you may be encouraged to visit this fair isle so that you might come to love and breathe Cape Breton as I do. One word about place names that I use - some are completely local usage while others are from maps of Cape Breton that I've purchased over the years. I frequently post travel and other photos that are of interest to me - and hopefully you.

On the right hand side bar find my take on Single Malt whiskey - from how to best enjoy this noble drink to reviews (in a most non-professional manner) of ones that I have tried and liked - or not. Also musings, mine and others, on life in general.

Photographs are roughly 98%+ my own and copy-righted. For the occasional photo that is borrowed, credit is given where possible - recently I have started posting unusual net photographs that seem unique. Feel free to borrow any of my photos for non-commercial use, otherwise contact me. Starting late in 2013 I have tried to be consistent in identifying my photographs using ©smck on all out of camera photos I personally captured - (I often do minor computer changes such as 'crop' or 'shadow' etc but usually nothing major), and using
©norvellhimself on all photos that I have played around with in case it might not be obvious. Lately I have dropped the ©smck and have watermarked them with the blog name.

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DECEMBER TWENTY-FIRST (being that shortest day of year)

 

DECEMBER TWENTY-FIRST

(being that shortest day of year)


Today, the sun rolls on the tops

Of the elms and soonest drops

Into the pinewood at the west.

The hens are scarcely off the nest

To scratch for hot corns in the straw

Before the umber shadows draw

Across the henhouse, and they must

Fly to roost in clouds of dust.

The cows eyes grow their biggest early

The ferns of frost renew their curly

Fronds the soonest on the pane,

The little mice creep to the grain.

While little ponds are hardly thawed

Before their surfaces are flawed

With new needles of green cold.

Farmhouse windows turn to gold

At barely half-past three o’clock.

The briefer sun, the longer talk

By fireside , where sweet the bloom

Of popcorn flowers scents the room, 

And the roasting herring’s smoke

Mingles with the smell of oak.

In the sunlight of old wood

Homely furniture looks so good,

A star shines in each scoured pan,

And it feels good to be a man.


Robert B. Tristram Coffin

 

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