Tag Archives: dusk

Lighthouse Beneath a Fiery Sky

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter

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July 3, 2016 · 10:33 am

Lake Michigan Before Night at Cave Point

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a photograph by Sonja Bingen

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Louvre at Dusk

a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son

Louvre at Dusk November 15, 2008

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Visitation

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

They were both
hanging by threads,
trying to hold together,
exhausted,
talking to people:
Lost yet another child–

But those threads
will widen,
grow strong
when they decide to live
again,
for the living–

like the herd of deer at dusk
we saw
when we drove
back across the white frozen fields

in a clearing,
on the side of a steep hill,
clinging to threads
in a trampled field
surrounded by deep winter snows.

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Spring Dusk

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter

early spring dusk

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The Healing Journey

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

At dusk I found myself hurrying through the glacial forest.
The air was warm and humid, but the clay dust cool on my feet.
I was climbing the high trail to the foot bridge
that crossed the black granite waters.
The daylight was fading.
The moss-covered boulders looked like giants strewn
by some ancient glacier eons ago.
As the cold air rose around my legs,
multi-colored shells of snails criss-crossed the large tree trunks.
Water trickled down everywhere–through the moss carpet
thick with the red mushroom.

I had come here before, hoping to resolve a riddle,
but now I had a disease within my body and needed help.
Finally I reached the bridge, black and strong,
made with spaces between the floor planks wide enough
to see the great height at which I was.
The black river below looked like a black granite ribbon
glistening in the dim light.
Across the bridge I could see a clearing through the trees.
In the clearing was a large crowd of people.
Their faces were as warm as their hands.

Nightingale whispered:

These are people that have helped you
in some way throughout your life.

As I went back across the bridge
the moon was beginning to shine on the water,
but within me

I felt as if the sun was beginning to rise.

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The Last One

a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis

The Last One

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Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis