Tired Eyes? Take a rest on color green.

 Tired Eyes? Take a rest on color green.  

Seeing stars, blinking lights, teary eyes?

Take a break, rest your eyes on green -

rainforest, sceneries among the trees -

in the natural world, or on screen. 

Dr Abe V Rotor

Semi-mural size painting of a greenery serves as a "window" in a computer 

room by the author. Living with Nature, San Vicente, Ilocos Sur, 2022

 

Group the scenes, collage them like a jigsaw puzzle

 to break monotony.  

Now you are in a dense rainforest in an armchair travelogue.

Bon voyage!

Author's Note: You can enlarge these images and mount them beside your computer. Rest your eyes on them now and then. It's a "window" to the natural world, your link with Nature, and a release from tension. 

 

May 31 2022 is World No Tobacco Day. I reeked tobacco. People avoided me, but how did I know, if I couldn’t even smell myself?

    May 31 2022 is World No Tobacco Day

From cigarette to pipe smoking – then I stopped.

 A personal saga

I reeked tobacco. People avoided me, but how did I know, if I couldn’t even smell myself?

Dr Abe V Rotor

I 

I graduated to pipe tobacco smoking. When you have tasted Half-and-Half or Captain Black, believe me Marlboro and Philip Morris taste flat. That’s how one gets addicted to more and stronger nicotine. And having a pipe on a Monday, and a dozen more to fit each day or occasion, and dress code, makes you stand out of the crowd, so to speak. Wow! Sikat! And you feel a special person. For in the seventies, up to now, pipe smoking people have either the British or American accent. I even tried Australian but settled poorly with Ilocano, my native tongue. Now compare pipe tobacco with pinadis (hand rolled cigar) tobacco, exaggeratedly foot-long. I almost forgot my origin.

So you see smoking is air, it is high society, it is macho, it is advertising something you do not really have, or have to. I wore coat and tie once in a while with Sherlock Holmes’ “S” pipe, or wore khaki jacket and denim pants and had MacArthur’s corn cob pipe. I also had pipes with the bowl covered with genuine leather from camel, kangaroo and anaconda, and made people believe I have gone all over the world including the Amazon. Which actually I hadn’t except a stopover once in Europe which introduced me to the idea of shifting to pipe smoking.

And I had a friend, Sel, who shared the same idea. So after finishing our doctorate, we started scouting for the best pipe in town. Definitely it should be briar wood because it’s the only wood that does not burn, and its nesting weight on the palm of the hand is assuring. I suspect that it’s being a briar is not the species but the age of the wood, perhaps as old as the Redwood or the Bristle Cone, estimated two to three thousand years old. Imagine holding a piece of time as early as BC. And history! Just like what the great English poet William Blake said, “Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.” You hold too, time and space. Pipe smoking leads you to hallucination.

I tell you what the substance is – the filler tobacco - that rouses the olfactory more than grandma's pie? It must come from a combination of selected tobacco varieties, cured with the best liqueur, and hermetically sealed to greet the user as fresh as it was blended. In Europe a blend is highly personalized, like wine. This is top secret of connoisseurs. For us here, I for one settled for two brands, American and European pipe tobacco in can, then the only available ones. Believe me the difference between the two is indistinguishable. It’s still Nicotiana tabacum, the same tobacco of Fidel Ramos, Deng Hsiao Ping, Fidel Castro, et al.

More about the art of pipe smoking. I lit my pipe with a special lighter whose flame goes downward into the bowl, and witnessed in the process of huff-and puff a Krakatau in the making. I peered into the glowing crater. Then I would savor the maiden smoke as fresh as morning air, blowing it in a series of “O’s” which takes skill to perfect it. You don’t inhale, unlike cigarette. The smoke runs through the oral to the nasal cavity and out through the nostril, gently fuming a cloud of smoke that surrounds the face, with your eyes half close in dreamy relaxation. It was really thrilling, exhilarating. What on a Sunday morning with brewed black coffee and newspaper and elevated feet?. Ah, and ahs….

Some high-chin and easy-chair years passed. I was in my middle thirties, still a bachelor. I wondered if pipe smoking attracted women of my liking. Or did I drive them to safe distance? On the mirror I didn’t change, not a bit American or European. Not even with sparse moustache which I jokingly tell my barber it is insured like that of Clark Gable. My lips were a little deformed now, and being right handed the pipe tended to settle rightward, with some teeth bearing the weight giving up. My lips lost their natural curve and color, and my teeth permanently stained no toothpaste would dare clean it in advertisement. My fingers could be mistaken for pellagra. If only they had the Midas touch!

I reeked tobacco. People avoided me, but how did I know, if I couldn’t even smell myself? It’s true. Smokers are immune to the smell of tobacco, and it is stale odor – breath, sweat, clothes, books, bed, and the like - so whom would they trust to tell them so? And my skin became dull and dry, and episodes of feeling down became frequent – so with refilling and caressing my pipe. In short I was already addicted to the nicotine and the pipe is now only secondary to it.

Nicotine is a poison, a very strong one. The extract of one stick of cigarette when directly injected into the blood stream will immediately kill the person. So why don’t we die with packs and packs of cigarette or can after can of mixed tobacco?

Doctors tell us that it’s not the nicotine per se that kills, it’s tar its carrier and medium of a dozen other poisonous substances. The tar deposits into the alveoli, the countless air sacs in the lungs, constricts blood vessels, and stains teeth and clothes. The alkaloids pile up in the kidneys and liver, and restrict natural elimination of other toxins. Elevated heart and pulse rate is our body’s coping mechanism, but like a car running uphill it loses steam fast and soon and conks out. Eyesight blurs, sense of taste deadens, so with sensation to touch, pain and pleasure. Alertness slows down, sex urge decreases and staying power shortens.

And it is not the tobacco plant itself that's the enemy; it is how it is grown. The plant picks up the arsenic dusted or sprayed, the lead and mercury in contaminated soil, so with cadmium from batteries today. Systemic pesticides that kill insects, nematodes and mites ensconced in the plant body, unreached by ordinary spraying, persist as residue of high dosage.

By the way, there’s something in the tobacco that changed biology on the concept of what realy makes athing living?. It is the tobacco mosaic virus, Marmor tabaci. The rod shaped virus infects tobacco on the field just by rubbing or mere touch of a diseased to healthy plants. And it infects as well all members of the tobacco family - Solanaceae , to which Irish potato, pepper, eggplant, tomato belong. The virus remains domant in as long as twenty years in the cigarette or filler. And when you touch any of the host plants, it resurrects into virulence. Luckily, scientists assures us the virus has no effect on humans.

But with millions all over the world dying from smoking and its many complications, I believe the virus has mutated - even if biologically it is not considered a true organism. Mutation is still governed by error in DNA replication. And the virus basically has the DNA structure like all other things considered as living.

Really there’s nothing good about smoking, contrary to advertisements. I wonder how one can go a mile for a Camel when he is already exhausted at the start. Didn’t the cowboy in Marlboro retire too soon? Salem doesn’t make a beautiful landscape. Fortune isn’t something one expects. Fighter did not make us in our time as brave as Buccaneer.

Take the economic side. Our DOH says the government spends every year some P235 billion a year to treat illnesses caused or related to smoking like heart diseases, stroke, emphysema and lung cancer. And what does the government get in return from the tobacco industry? Only P23 billion, a measly 10 percent of the cost. PDI’s editorial The Puff that Kills, June 1, 2011, reported smoking kills 10 Filipinos every hour, or 243 a day. That’s 87,600 a year – and that’s a conservative estimate. Here is a case of an “old” goose laying the golden eggs, not worth it.

One day I was diagnosed of ulcer in the mouth, a wound that doesn’t heal. If you can’t eat, imagine the rapid decline in body weight and the various ailments you fall to. My clothes became oversized. I likened myself to a POW in a concentration camp in WWII.

“If you don’t stop smoking, you will die,” my doctor warned. “And soon!” he admonished.

Period. My pipes became museum pieces. A beautiful girl came. We got married, and have three children. We are now living happily.

Smoking changed my life – when I stopped it completely. ~

Where have all the spirits of the former St Paul museum gone?.

 Where have all the spirits of the former St Paul museum gone?. 

Spirits to me are guiding signals that sometimes take the form of humans. They carry messages that lead us to the theme of our art such as in these particular cases. The denominator is goodness – they help us seek goodness, and goodness leads us to truth – truth that is built by strong faith other than reason.

Dr Abe V Rotor

Faculty-In-Charge 
1994- 2010

Former St Paul University QC Museum

 

World War II Memorial at SPUQC. 

"Man is tempered by war and mellowed by the peace that follows it. " - avr

At a corner inside the former St Paul University Museum in Quezon City, where once 

stood an altar many years ago when the Japanese invaders converted the campus into a concentration camp, a small group of visitors bowed in deep thoughts and prayers. This marked the beginning of the museum as a pilgrimage site.

It was turning back the hands of time into the Second World War. Now there is peace. There was hatred, but that too, has given way to forgiveness. Despair, and now hope, pride into humility. These contrasting scenarios provide very valuable lessons of man. For man is tempered by war and mellowed by the peace that follows it. All these took place for half a century or so.

The museum stands as a witness of the history that shaped the school. The events are the lifeblood of the museum - its walls originally the immaculate walls once stained with blood speak of peace, its pillars the original pillars that withstood the atrocities of war and the tests of the elements and time attest to endurance and posterity.

The museum is not only a repository of history; it is the abode of history. It is like Fort Santiago or the Paco Cemetery. Or the great Pyramids of Egypt, the City of the Dead of the Aztecs, Jerusalem and Rome. These museums have one thing in common: they are part of history. They are living relics that chronicle past events, stirring nationalism while promoting brotherhood. They strengthen universal values and rekindle the spirit. They bring the relationship of man with his Creator closer and harmonious.

Since its opening in late 1994, many pilgrims, old and young, parents and students, city and rural folk, have brought significance to the museum. Other than being an educational institution, it has somehow earned respect for pilgrimage.

St. Paul School in Ruins WW II (8 ft x 8 ft, A

V Rotor) Can you see the image of a devil arising from the ruins? 

The building is a early American architecture bearing the basic designs of Greco-Roman style – high ceiling, prominent, bare and square pillars, solid walls with small grilled windows. The entrance is unassuming, yet there is an aura of dignity that engulfs one on opening the door. For a panoramic view meets the eye, with virtually all four corners optically converging. The scene is accentuated by the massive murals depicting some chapters of the life of St. Paul, and widened by the transparency of the glass cabinets allowing the eye to roam freely.

All these no doubt contribute to the pilgrimage atmosphere. But what is revealing is the gathered information of the place coming from no less than the sisters, many of them in their seniors and living at the nearby Vigil House then. Some of the informants have already died, but the memory of the place lives. .

The senior sisters recall the place as a prayer house. “There was an altar which was located  towards the left corner of the room adjacent to the backdoor.” And they would point out the place in the museum. The backdoor leads to the basement, which was used as clinic during the Japanese occupation. The wounded and the sick were led to the prayer house and to spend time meditating, praying, or just to let time pass by. On several occasions the dead were brought for the wake.

Imagine that for a period of four years, SPUQ then a novitiate and a school for elementary and high school, was made into a garrison and concentration camp, the same way the Japanese did to UST during the same period. And also to De La Salle University in Pasay. We do not know how many died but many Filipino, American and Japanese soldiers died. There were residents, foreigners, women and children who also died.

My students would ask me whenever I tell them the story if there are ghosts on the campus – or spirits of the dead. “Have you seen or felt their presence?” I would counter. And the conversation lengthens, creating a world of the supernatural in the process.

Anyone would believe in spirits that may make their presence felt in one way too many, depending on who is telling the story and who are listening. I, for one, sensed their presence on a number of occasions. The question with believing in the supernatural though is that the mind cannot decipher reality from imagination. But it is this aspect from which we build our stories and beliefs. Take this experience as an example.

In 1994 I was painting Saul on Damascus Road into the night alone. The museum was dead silent. What a conducive time to paint! Then suddenly the arm of Saul “moved” an inch or two downward. My brush missed the outline. I made the necessary correction but this time the arm had moved upward and now I have two errors to correct. I told myself I was too tired, and left the museum for home. That night I dreamed of Saul holding a red robe, which he was to use to "clothe the dying Christ." (which in reality did not happen). Early that morning I went to the museum and continued painting the arm. I fixed Saul’s right hand and put on the red robe on it. Where did the idea of the red robe come? Was it a dream or a message I got? What made his arm move? Or was it a way of getting a message across? 

Saul on Damascus Road (8ft x 8ft, AVR)

I remember at one time in the early part of the painting I received visitors while I was painting the sky on makeshift scaffolding. Causally they would come and take a look at my work. Sometimes they would ask me a question or two and I would obligingly give an answer without breaking my concentration. One evening a kind sister visited the museum. She stood for sometime looking at what I was doing on the scaffolding. Anyone at the top could not see well the person below. And not know when she came and had gone. What I remember was her large hat, but that crossed my mind only days later. Who was she? Where did she come from at 9 in the evening?

At one time I was painting Paradise After Rome. This time I did it at home at our front yard. It took me till dusk. A silhouette figure kept passing at the corner of my eye. I would have dismissed it but it came twice, thrice, not saying a word and not pausing. But there is semblance of the figure I was painting with the silhouette – a bearded man, tall and heavily built, clothed in flowing robes. The big difference though is that the man I was painting was about to be beheaded while the silhouette was roaming free, with an air of dignity and command.

The following day I changed the man on my painting. Yes, death, I realized is resurrection. So I painted Paul, the resurrected, on the day of his execution when Rome was being razed by Nero’s torch.

Death of St. Paul and the Burning of Rome (10ft x 4ft, AVR)

Spirits to me are guiding signals that sometimes take the form of humans. They carry messages that lead us to the theme of our art such as in these particular cases. The denominator is goodness – they help us seek goodness, and goodness leads us to truth – truth that is built by strong faith other than reason.

Can we decipher messages the same way we receive communications in daily life? I say no, not always. For the message with deep meaning are not readily evident. One has to labor in order to understand it, and capture the essence of that message.

For example on the painting, The School in Ruins, (above) which I entitled in an accompanying verse, Grow and Bloom, Grow and Bloom, an outline of a young devil cast a shadow on the burnt building. This was discovered while I was working on the dying smoke emanating from the fresh ruins. Someone almost shouted at me, Stop, stop! and then he explained. He was seeing a devil in outstretched hand hovering over the ruins. I preserved the outline. Anyone who visited the museum must have experienced the same thing the discoverer made twelve years ago. Yes, the war, the killing, the burning, the looting are works of the devil. His imprint makes us aware not to submit ourselves to evil, but rather fight it at all cost.

A pilgrim took notice of Saul talking with Christ on Damascus road. Did Christ really appear to him? But look again at the painting. That is why those who come to the museum stay longer than to visit. They pray. They wish.

Students facing the trials of defending their thesis come to the museum. They come from UST, Pamantasan ng Maynila and other schools. Students seeking entry in medicine proper, reviewers in bar and board exams – they come and wish. There are those who came back, others have not. Well, in the story of the ten lepers, not all came back to thank. There are many ways to thank, of course, such as doing good for others.

Oh, Centennial, Oh Centennial (8ft x 8 ft, AVR)

The community takes pride in having a museum accredited by the National Commission for the Culture and the Arts (NCCA), and the museum curator sits in one of the Commission’s sub-committees. The SPUQ Museum is also a member of the Association of Museums in the Philippines. Because of these, the school has the opportunity to take part in various national programs in health, environment, historical events, food and nutrition, and community development, to name the major events. In return, the museum is recognized for its effort. It is one of the very few school museums given such distinction.

Face of Christ in the Woods (AVR)

Our own students, faculty and the whole community recognize that here in a not far, far land is a little Smithsonian, a little Gethsemane, a little Lourdes, and a little Sistine. And the same Goodness we find there is also found here – here at the SPUQ Museum. ~

Author’s Note: Prominent pilgrims to the SPCQ Museum include high government officials, leaders in the business, university professors, journalists, personalities in the entertainment world, Filipino balikbayan and their families. The Mother Superior of SPC visited the museum on her visit to the Philippines. Officials from the United Nations, ASEAN and EU on their mission to the Philippines included in their itinerary a visit to the museum. The identities of many of them are kept to give due respect to their person and privacy. The museum celebrated its 15th year in 2010 - its last year as conceived and made fifteen years ago (1995 to 2010). ~

Don't be a Victim of Heart Disease, the Number One Killer

Don't be a Victim of Heart Disease, the Number One Killer

Dr Abe V Rotor

I have known people - a number of them relatives,

co-workers and former classmates - who died of heart disease.

If you have positive family history, you are a potential candidate to heart attack and its complications. Like Damocles Sword, you know the rules to live a long and happy life. There are ten factors you should be able to manage.

First, Don't smoke. Just don't.

Second, Exercise. Be active physically. Get out of your comfort zone.

Third, Reduce cholesterol level. Take less of meat and more fruits and vegetables.

Fourth, Never indulge in drinking. Healthy heart angiogram (National Geographic)

Fifth, Live on healthy diet. Watch out your glucose level.

Sixth, Maintain normal blood pressure always.

Seventh, Don't be overweight. Reduce.

Eighth, Have regular medical checkup.

Ninth, Set a goal for your career and family.

Tenth, Have a positive outlook in life always. Reach out for life's meaning.


Why don't you download this article, print and pin it as a daily reminder?

Nymphaea and Casuarina - Memories of WW II in Mural

 Nymphaea and Casuarina

Memories of WW II in Mural 

 Dr Abe V Rotor

Evacuation from Burning St Paul Novitiate Building WW II, 
hanging wall mural (4' x 12') By Leo Carlo Rotor 

Trees and lilies, how lovely they stand and by name,

    Majestic, rising to the sky, kissed by the cloud,

From the deep at the break of dawn to meet the sun,

    Unfolds life's drama from the ephemeral shroud.

And I, what beauty makes my presence and time,

    On the fast lane, when views are but passing blur,

When morning is late and the clouds just pass by,

    Missing God's muses in their finest hour?

Seasons come and go with the lilies and the trees,

    Blind I've been searching a niche from my lair,

Behind curtains, under neon lights, on high rise,

    And wishing I were among the creatures fair. ~

Agoho tree (Casuarina equisitifolia) and Waterlily (Nymphaea nouchali).

Book written by Dr Abe V Rotor

Cover page Nymphaea

Part 2: Nature in Photography and Poetry. Who can tell a beast from a baby?

Part 2: Nature in Photography and Poetry

Who can tell a beast from a baby?

Dr Abe V Rotor

Living with Nature School on Blog

Who can tell a beast from a baby?

all babies though are in a bind;

and like our own it needs TLC,

orphaned from its own kind.

Whiling away before a wooden frame;

sungka played wild and tame,

turns friend to fiend; to loot and burn;

all's fair in this ethnic game.

Tame, though its gene is wild;

sans its own kind in the wild,

human its master and king,

and every guest its friend -

but in a little while, one by one

until the species is gone, and lo!

the hero in the last hour,

would he himself follow.

Extinct beasts come alive in our midst,

challenging faith and tradition;

seeing is believing yet how nil these are

to the realm of understanding,

a God before and now, near and far,

makes man's awe and thanksgiving.

Desert ship, the camel tame and dumb,

why of all places you have come?

is it a new wasteland that you found

from forest and pasture land?

Nothing beats the native chicken's taste,

and for the convalescing patient;

the karurayan all in immaculate white,

to the herbolario, an angel sent.

A baby elephant with sultry eyes

feeling the touch of a lovely lass;

for a mother's love is also weaned,

as childhood soon will pass.

Stars of the sea were once

stars in heaven that fell

to bring joy in the deep blue

which was thought as hell

LESSON on former Paaralang Bayan.sa Himpapawid (School on Air) 

with Ms Melly C Tenorio 738 KHz AM 8 to 9 evening class, Monday to Friday.

Part 1: Nature in Photography and Poetry. There's a monkey on my back,

(Part 1 in 8 Scenes)

Nature in Photography and Poetry 

There's a monkey on my back,

Dr Abe V Rotor

Living with Nature School on Blog

There's a monkey on my back,

whether asleep or awake,

I lead the evolutionary track

for my Creator's sake.

It must be Pavlov's conditioned learning,

they come at the time of feeding,

and we, delighted of their friendliness

believe we are kind and loving.

In each leaf a fountain

stored from cloud and dew;

I won't thirst on my travel

even days without rain.

Beauty begets beauty,

but only for a time;

sooner of later fades,

with its scent divine.

What tells you this owl this hour of day?

" I can't join you at night," the owl seems to say,

"with my hunting adventures around the bay,

and you on the computer night and day."

You are made of jelly, third state of matter:

colloid pulsing in the computer.

But I would rather make you a prism

in search of an unknown realm.

Let him be among the sand pipers and crustaceans;

to grow up unlike us away from sea and sun;

I wonder how we survived not having as much fun,

in modern caves, concrete jungle, always on the run.

LESSON on former Paaralang Bayan.sa Himpapawid (School on Air) 

with Ms Melly C Tenorio 738 KHz AM 8 to 9 evening class, Monday to Friday. ~

Corals - Nature's Architectural and Engineering Wonder

Corals - Nature's Architectural and Engineering Wonder

Corals keep our islands and coast lines from being swallowed by the sea.

Dr Abe V Rotor

 

 

Coed holds a skeleton of staghorn coral at the former SPUQC Museum; children selling corals; corals in natural formation (coral reef)

With the unabated destruction of our coral reef it is not common to see undisturbed coral fields. Corals are animals in colonies belonging to Phylum Coelenterata, which is often associated with Cnidaria, of the Class Anthozoa.

Coral reefs make the forest of the sea, the counterpart of our terrestrial forest. With their association with microscopic algae and seaweeds, they constitute the abode of fishes and countless kinds of marine life, without which our seas would not be as productive as they are today.

However, the destruction of coral reefs through illegal fishing like muro-ami and dynamite fishing, as well as the conversion of shores into resorts and fishponds have greatly reduced fish catch and the diversity of marine species.

Today our laws prohibit coral gathering, more so in exporting them. Coral reefs conservation is a priority program of many countries. Without corals our islands would fall back to the depth of the sea and our continents would be greatly reduced through cutbank erosion.

Thus, corals are nature’s architectural and engineering wonder for they serve as riprap and barrier against the restless sea, while making the underwater world a truly beautiful scape that is beyond compare with any kind.

Let's all give a hand to the conservation of corals. Let's join the campaign. No to the following:

1. Dynamite fishing, muro-ami and paaling, and bottom trawl fishing.
2. Reclamation of coral reef areas.
3. Conversion of shorelines to resorts and fishponds
4. Pollution of rivers and seas.
5. Settlements on coral reefs and seashores.
6. Goods and commodities made of corals.
7. Coral decors and jewelry
8. Deforestation - it causes erosion and siltation, forms mudflats over coral reefs.
9. Collection of shells, rocks, and the like, within coral zone
10. Quarrying of coral deposits.

Let's remember that corals are virtually a non-renewable natural resource because they grow very, very slow. It takes fifty years to grow to the size of a man's head. We have but very little time to witness and be part of a noble task of keeping our islands and continents from being swallowed down into the depth of the sea. Our foothold is but skin deep to the enormous sea. ~

Coral reefs, paintings by AVRotor ~

Indigenous Art - Living with Nature

Indigenous Art - Living with Nature

On display at the Living with Nature Place, 

author's residence, San Vicente, Ilocos Sur

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.”― Rachel Carson

Dr Abe V Rotor

Mounted anthers of endangered Philippine Deer (Rusa marianna) 

above a relief painting and a wooden carving. Below, a collection 

of indigenous nature art.

A Collection of artifacts - earthen jars, wood carvings, natural objects 

resembling different figures. Below, indigenous wood carving from Palawan.

"Art is standing with one hand extended into the universe and one hand extended into the world, and letting ourselves be a conduit for passing energy." - Albert Einstein

Waterfalls Under My Feet

                      Waterfalls Under My Feet 

"... when discovered they are made into a trade!
I wish waterfalls are seen only from above." 

Dr Abe V Rotor 

This waterfall, huge and imposing below,

where does it begin, where does it end?

minuscule from the air, the size of my shoe,

beyond sight afar, shrouded at the bend.

But I hear it hissing clear, tumbling down,

its rock walls shudder, the trees quiver,

flowing down the gully in leap and bound,

meanders and merrily pours into a river.

I've long wondered how a waterfall is made

Isn't by Nature alone, the presence of God?

yet when discovered is made into a trade!

I wish waterfalls are seen only from above. 

             

These are two of a series of waterfalls on the slope of the mountain along the cable car route. Scanty rainfall at this time of the year (approaching autumn) explains the low water supply of the falls and their tributaries. Vegetation of the watershed is likewise poor, since many trees are deciduous (shedding of leaves) and dormant in preparation for the coming cool and windy months.

 

 

A cable car connects the main island of Hong Kong to Ngong Ping, Lantau Island, where the Big Buddha, a large bronze statue sits at the top near Po Lin Monastery. It symbolizes the harmonious relationship between man and nature, people and faith. It is from the cable car that these photos were taken through its glass floor. Upper photos were taken at the summit showing the silhouette of Buddha, and the adjoining peaks, while the lower photos showing the harbor and newly opened settlement are views half-way the car’s descent. The pair of shoes belongs to Markus two and one-half years old accompanied by his sister Mackie, their daddy and mommy, and grandparents.~

Nature Skeleton Trophies

Nature Skeleton Trophies

Dr Abe V Rotor

In Taiwan I visited a tree nursery, and a tree cemetery 

where the trees in the past are revered and remembered;

in Israel I visited a sacred park, each hero a living tree;

in Sinai I saw remnants of forests dismembered.

Driftwood with attached oyster shells recovered from an 

estuary makes a "perfect" trophy of Nature's skeleton, 

a reminder of man's indifference, greed and folly.

What comes out of a broken jar scares the guilty, 

In a world unknown, yet known to those in piety,

 standing at the crossroad of reality and fantasy.

"A harvest of trophies, not of victory, but of defeat." avr

 

"What good is a high rise, spiked and chained,

its grandeur is but a cross in the shy?" avr