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North Dakota Fields of Gold | by JamesWatkins
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North Dakota Fields of Gold

Better Large-A re-cut of a previous picture that needed to be brought up to date. Driving through the US, I could stop and take pictures everyday, summer, winter, spring, and fall. Personally, I try to take pictures that represent a particular area. The northern Midwestern states bloom in the summer with the wheat fields! 0030

 

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

 

Every Season Has Its Own Glory (JHWatkins)

 

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

 

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Stagnant and stale.

 

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

 

I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Free on the framework

Of perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

 

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

 

There are the voices lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling conveyance,

Crippled emotion commotion prevails.

 

Beacons in quiet of last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Perfect and pure

Though wasted and slandered.

Washed by confession

In smoldering awe.

 

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections of stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

 

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

 

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Come drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

 

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of the burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that never will fall.

 

James Watkins 09-01-08

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Taken on August 10, 2008