Same sculpture, same night... oh, what a difference a few degrees of orientation can make.
This one is made from reeds, bird feathers and a few thorns... nothing more. It was incredibly fragile. This could only have been made on a breathless evening.
The original idea was to frame the July full Moon with a delicate archway... but the sunset was astonishing too. I kept wading thru the water from one side to the other to document the amazing changes in the light. Later, the moon did arrive, but she had to sail clear of a lot of low clouds at first, so by the time she appeared she was well up and barely within the gateway.
NOT a good time to have left the tripod in the car nearly a mile away.
This is the view looking westward. Nothing has changed but the viewpoint...and in that, everything changes.
There is a lesson here. Nature always has something to teach us.
In Japan a Torii is used to mark the gateway between sacred space and ordinary space. It has the double meaning of framing a scene but also being an intrinsic part of the scene. It marks a place of transition... where one had to be cleansed and purified before entering the sacred. I am fascinated with gateways and places of transition. Having been ushered into one of the biggest transitions in one's life - the loss of a parent, this seemed a fitting sculpture to dedicate to this Full moon, the Grace Moon as I've heard it called recently. So, as the glorious fire of the setting sun faded into the West, the place of letting go and introspection, soon the Moon would make her grand entrance thru the Eastern Way... stay tuned for the final photo in the trilogy.