Coastline and Cape Islanders carved in time.

Carved in time.

Shorelines dart in and out, meandering through inlets, long and narrow along the eastern seaboard. Forgotten times of ancient mariners whose tales could be heard far and wide in days gone bye. The salt air mist drifts through like perfumed seas and sea breezes anoint our brows as glances seaward bring tales of old.

How often do we think of those that have carved their lives from these rugged ways? Fisherman’s wives perched upon widow’s watch awaiting the return of the cape islanders as they appear in the bay after the day’s catch. Their hulls, a reflected light that shines through window bright, coming home or not…I’ll wait and wait and wait.

This place drenched in heritage with a nautical history as its playground. I have returned to respect her depths, to learn her ways, to fall in love again; till sand do us part.



Summer tidings in the sand, how at times like artists we carve out of what was once a clean sheet, our signature, as if to take ownership to what was once an empty page. Letters in the sand, our names become instant gratification, an autograph left for Neptune’s diary to become part of the millions collected from all of the sandy beaches of the world, daily.


My wife, Joy, sent me this picture of Chelsea, while enjoying one of those Nova Scotia family beach days, somehow she new this photo would have a profound affect on my day. Chelsea not unlike most five year olds often becomes frustrated, you know I didn’t get my own way so… and as Joy told it, “ This day for whatever reason simply she was just out of sorts and couldn’t figure it out for herself. Her only outlet was to turn and immediately strut off to the ocean’s edge and began to carve out her name in the sand. The larger the better as if to make a statement for those who were watching her and upstaging anyone around.” Continue reading


Two if by Sea

Two if by Sea

Ever looked out to sea at night, caught a moment of glittering lights and started to wonder if what you saw was real or if by chance it was your imagination. When I photographed this enchanted nightscape of the lake, the evening was quite still, the fog was slowly drifting in and the color was so intensely ultramarine, I somehow knew then I had to suspend it for a later canvas.  Little did I know that the secrets of the night would only then be revealed through the eyes of the camera, behold two small lights glittering like stars in line with each other, like some far away constellation suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Click, captured, contented. Continued… Continue reading

Red Sails

Sailor's delight

Red sky at night, Sailor’s delight, Red sky at morning, Sailor’s warning. Practical origins for this English nursery rhyme are based on weather predictions and how a red sky at night would indicate fair weather on the following day. In England the words refer to a shepherd who would say that a red sky in the morning was suggesting inclement weather to follow. In America the words relate to a sailor. It should be remembered that there were no weather forecasts, as such, in days gone by and one had to make one’s own weather predictions. Those with the most knowledge and experience, such as Sailors and Shepherds, whose lives were dependant on the weather and were fully conversant with changing weather patterns indicated by a “Red Sky at night”. Continue reading


Indentations of moments lived

Lifting the light that lurks beyond the mist to breezes that bring the anticipation of life’s dreams, to feel that wet spray upon ones brow and share the warmth of the new born sun just upon the neck. Angel’s breath, a whisper or two, we have shared the view for it is within this footprint we dare to live in worlds connected, our feet immersed on shifting sands, our hearts share visions yet to be seen. The fine chalk line dotted the blue board’s horizon as sailing ships of old, dance like musical notes, playing our tunes, listen again the memories of old, enchant us as songs of the past flirt with the morning light. Freedom applauds, as the wings of light perch on the edge of the shore, resting awhile, to fly once more, to see beyond these tides, that space which once again will be there another time.

Golden Moment

Golden River

Long shadows appeared as the late copper sun illuminated the horizon. The lake, crystallized with its golden mask glowing, layered with a blanket of snow. Walking felt like footsteps on broken glass, the air so fresh and crisp… a far cry from the city. Sleeping becomes easy with all this freshness, the sunset glowing red slowly sinking behind the tree line. I wonder what tomorrow will bring, will I see the zebra stripes across the drifts, watch the breeze shake off the laden branches of snow or feel the warmth of the sun upon my rosy cheeks. I will experience only that which nature wants to tease my palette once again; it is as if I was meant to capture her gallery of winter’s treasures, timeless masterpieces to be shared.

Letters in the sand

Sands Text

Letters in the sand, letters of significance, letters of love… the chase, the union, the memories. How over time we have ignored the essence of the simplest of gestures, the whispers of encouragement, the wonders of co-existence. Unequaled by knowing what is right and most of the time delivering the opposite. How hurt simulates the blanket in which we judge others and ourselves. Have we truly forgotten how to love or is it that we have forgotten how to listen. Silence can betray us to, for it is without thought one can waste precious time enveloped in selfishness and adorning ones love with hope. You may feel betrayed by a love that turned to lust, a dream that didn’t bloom, or a life that became dormant but without trust the foundation could not be strong in which to form the bond.

Letters of the heart, letters of change, letters like this…. the desire, the apology, the need to understand. How often have letters been unnoticed, rejected or even destroyed, a justification of one’s disappointment with life, a rage or even jealousy. Yet the memories are often stronger and linger as taunting thoughts looking for a reason to come home, to be comforted or loved. We all get here for one reason or another, some small and some out of proportion. Have we then given thought to why, and how many times have we ignored the effect on others. Is it easier to procrastinate what’s real, for the pain is far greater than expected or do we find paths that reunite happiness and kindle the love only to have our dreams put on hold.