52 Week Photo Challenge: November Edition

The Mirror of the Sky, Bisou and the Moon, Purple Haze, Here is Now, Dancing with Fire

Images of life

№ 40. Mirror image. Get reflective.

In places like these, the boundary between me and “all that is” slithers into the recesses of my mind.

My soul explodes into the expansive vacuum of “other,” and I swim with the fish, dappled with the same sun-warmed sparks that reach in, like fingers, to clutch at the last remnants of warm tide pools before they recede to the sea.

My fingers trail over that mirror, where the clouds drift through the boundaries between water and air, earth and heaven, then and now, and I wonder at the simplicity of it all.

I long to glide over the cloud-slicked waters amongst the volcanic remnants, and to be content with just that, all that can be encompassed in that moment, and to be free of the worries of modernity, if only in my memories, when my eyes flutter closed and I’m floating free into the mirror of the sky.

№ 41. In My Life. Like The Beatles, or not.

Sometimes in life we have a companion, one who likes to bathe in the moonlight with us, one who listens to the sounds of the night from the safety of your embrace, one who heart fills with purrs as you stroke their soft fur. This is my Bisou. He does like to listen the Beatles too. He has always been a very musical creature.

№ 46. Purple Haze. Like Hendrix, or not.

Well, actually more like Prince — and Paisley Park.

“Purple rain, purple rain, I only want to see you bathing in the purple rain.” -Prince

Moved to tears by memories of moments in my life when this song, and others by Prince, were current top-of-the-chart hits, and other, later, times, like when I was running through the misty rain in Portland, I meandered through the hub of Prince’s genius last month.

How many artists did he touch? How many souls did he move with lyrics like:

“Dream, if you can, a courtyard An ocean of violets in bloom Animals strike curious poses They feel the heat The heat between me and you.

This is what it sounds like When doves cry When doves cry (doves cry, doves cry) When doves cry (doves cry, doves cry).”

№ 47. This Must Be the Place. Like Talking Heads, or not.

To wander is to begin the search to find yourself. To listen is to hear the tales of the ancestors. Wisdom is the blending of the two.

Who placed this “Talking Head” here? And who has adorned him with coral and leis and hunks of volcanic rock? He resides very near one of the sites of ancient Hawaiian pictographs, a story in stone of voyages on the sea and of a simpler life in another age.

№ 48. In The Heat of The Night. Interpret that as you will.

It’s a delicate dance — a moment of danger, a moment of relief — when you play with fire.

But I suppose this is symbolic of life.

If you never chance the risk of being burned, you never step out of your comfort zone.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

Thank you to Rodrigo S-C for starting the 52-week photo challenge on Full Frame:

December’s challenge, if you choose to join in:

49. Under the Weather. Interpret that as you will.

50. Home Alone. Like the movie, or not.

51. Double Exposure. Don’t think twice, it’s all right.

52. Self Portrait. Shoot yourself. Avoid the foot.

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Photos and story ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.