A Photographic Point Of View

'Tis cash that ends my life of lies,
And helps me see before my eyes
The life that is reality –
The person who I long to be.

I went some distance down that trail,
And faked “all's well” and “hearty” – “hale”,
While underneath it wasn't such –
Disintegrated – so much dust.

I long for this at last to end;
I wish that I could comprehend
The depth, and height, and breadth of all –
That I could live within this wall.

I am not where I was before –
Thank God for that, but there is more –
I long to be what God had planned
When he set me within this land.

I think it started long ago,
I got all twisted up I know,
When I was taken from my home,
From land of Bush to soil of loam.

The horizontal got messed up;
Stability that did disrupt;
“Third Culture Kid” they call it now –
From home of moose to pastured cow.

Sir Patrick Geddes saw one way
To look at place, and work, today –
For work emerges from the land,
Defines the work which comes to hand.

I had not seen how much it’s “place”
That's set the framework in my case,
Laid out the task which I'm to do
Defined its context, said its rule.

Had I grown up with fisher-folk,
With mining types, or lumber blokes,
I would have had my work defined
By place, like them, here in my mind.

But no, it was the bush and mom
Which made my land of childhood fun,
Where we returned each summertime
And re-affirmed my grounded mind.

When taken from that land of snow
To prairie life which now I know,
Knew my return I would not see
So built some bush where I could be.

But Geddes said, “Look to your place,
For out from it, in every case,
You'll find the need of land you're in –
Respond to that, and life you'll win.

“That's why it's called a “Work-Place ”, Stu
“Work ” comes from “Place ” – it has to do
With challenges which rise from place
In which we work, which we must face.”

The father of my childhood friend
Said, “From my tractor I'd descend,
Scoop up a handful of the land,
Its fragrance sweet within my hand.

That is for me like bush-land soil,
Its fragrance sweet like when a boy;
Pat Geddes said, “Find where you fit,
Address the work which comes from it.

“For people work, and place, connect,
There's life where those three intersect –
You are a person, find the place,
Address that work, that challenge face.”

But if I cannot go there now
(In exile I now live somehow),
How can I live authentically?
Respond to what in that I see?

Perhaps it's not the woods as such –
That's part of me, but not that much;
Look at my yard – it’s not all woods
The other's there, as well it should.

An “Island ”, like I built at mom's,
A sweet retreat where water runs;
The Birch above with evergreens,
The Creeper red in autumn scenes.

That is my place of sweet retreat,
A place where I can find a seat;
A quiet place which feeds my soul,
And helps me live my life as a whole.

But I come back – “descend” I see
From mountaintop, and live as me;
That place stays in my memory,
Affirms my authenticity.

But I don't live there, never did –
My mom and dad just visited
To help some others find their way;
There they returned for holiday.

When Geddes work I read with care,
There was an insight I heard there –
Felt photographic point of view
Which opened up perspective new.

This I can do – show through my pix
How folks, and work, and place all mix –
Philosophy I under-stand,
Authentic life within this land.

Pick up the torch which Geddes dropped
When life was done, and heart had stopped;
Few others picked it up from him,
But what he saw is where I've been.

And as outsider I can see
The life that is, and what can be
Affirmed – the life I find around –
Folk, place, and work, in daily round.

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