I could not resist capturing the very same country lane I had previously photographed when it was shrouded in fog. Here it is with slushy remnants of aging snow under a wintry afternoon sky
Dozens of bald headed eagles gather in the treetops along Cowichan River. Far below their yellow eyes, their murderous beaks and grasping talons runs the river where a decomposing mass of salmon cadavers provides the last abundant feast. Slowly ice slivers will cover the water and soon the river will cleanse itself again.
A few steps from the river, a low elevation takes one to the the height of the eagle's eye: to the east spreads out shallow Cowichan Bay, bordered by flat marshland. Flocks of swans take up seasonal residence here.
To the west, a small church...
Long gone worshippers had built their centre of devotion here, rock by rock. Gothic windows no longer filter light through leaded glass, and heavy wooden doors have lit up fireplaces in the neighbourhood. The tiled roof still keeps most of the elements out, but the yawning cavities in the rocky walls invite them - and others - to enter unhindered....
...and leave destruction....or creation?
In the beginning there was the Word, and the word was Graffiti...
