In our opinion, Woolf is totally at her best here, as she engages with her ongoing themes of memory, family, and fiction.
To the Lightbouse takes on some elements of Woolf’s own life: she felt stifled by her father in much the same way that Mr.
Now, with membership falling and Prophet herself increasingly out of the picture due to a "neurological disorder," it appears that this group is trying to re-invent itself--changing it's image from one of panic-mongering doomsayers to a church of "Divine Love." As Joe Szimhart traces the origins and history of this cult from its roots in the depression-era "I AM" movement to its present troubles, it is ironic to think that this Satanic deception may be abandoning its bomb-shelters just as the big one really is about to hit (look for SCP coverage of the Y2K "time bomb" in the months to come). And wouldn't it be just like the master deceiver to use a group like the CUT to massively discredit the whole notion of societal collapse just as such an event roles down the pike . . . Ed.]
It never ceases to surprise me how many people are interested in my Irish Lighthouse Series postcards. I am really glad, because they have taken up a considerable part of my life and are something I am truly proud of. Thank you for making me so happy
I took the above shot of Castletownbere as we came back to land at the helicopter pad. A dull enough day, got much worse than this after we landed.
my soul inundated and my heart refreshed by innocence and candor, as a little rain refreshes the little flower too much burned by the sun, too much dried by the wind....
He was determined, however, not to return to the extravagances of his life before prison, and he hoped that the country would help him keep his resolve." ~Arthur Ransome, Oscar Wilde: A Critical Study, 1912
In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things.
Got a phone call from a production team making a programme about storms at lighthouses for the Discovery Channel. They wanted to ask which lighthouse I would recommend on the Irish coast that would look good during a storm. It was a toss up between Roancarrig and Cromwell Point on Valentia Island. I looked up the weather forcast for the weekend and noted there was a big storm on the way, so I decided to head over to Cromwell Point for some wave action. However leaving Killarney on the Cahirciveen Road soon proved far too dangerous for the likes of me. Branches were being blown down, one narrowly missed my car, so half-way to Killorglin I reluctantly turned the car round and headed back home. I crossed over the Beara Peninsula on the Caha Pass tunnel road and drove down the southern shore of the peninsula. My reward was the picture below of Roancarrig getting a pounding in Bantry Bay. Looks a bit like a mighty submarine about to submerge!
She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers...
Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed.
Just to the north of Roancarrig lighthouse is this small island famous for its wreck. Weather beaten by constant storms there is not much left of the wreck.
This and all shots seen here were taken thru the window of the helicopter. Canon EOS 5D mk2 with EF 28m. I had the 24-105L with me, but it was so much easier to use the 28m inside the confines of the helicopter. Being a shorter lens means there is less likelihood of camera shake as well.
Here seen taking off for a flight to Skellig Michael. A stunningly beautiful machine both inside and out. It came into service in December 2008 and replaces the Bolkow from which I did so many of my aerial shots. On this occasion I flew up the bay to Roancarrig, one of the pictures can be seen below. My thanks to Peter Hodges for flying me.
The foot that is familiar with the grass belongs usually to a man of lighter heart than he whose soles seldom wander from the pavement; and the best is a run, as often as we can contrive it, amid the sweets of new and lovely scenery, where nature sits, fresh from the hand of the Creator, almost chiding us for our delay.