Tag Archives: pond photo

Lakes, Rivers, Oceans, Ponds, Oh MY!


I love to be near the ocean, a lake, a river or a pond. I enjoy the natural beauty that illuminates before me, and I find myself in awe when thinking about what is before my eyes.


One day while walking the perimeter of a lake, I saw a man in a kayak. It got me wondering, and when I went home, I did some research. Here is a post of mine (reflective of that research) from June 23, 2014, regarding Jews and Kayaking.

Pelican White Egret

Water Scenics and Jewish Reflection is a post of mine regarding the Venice Canals in Venice, CA, and the ocean in Santa Monica.


The next time you are wandering near a lake, stream, river, the ocean or a pond, take a moment to reflect on the loveliness before you.



Filed under Lorri's Blog, Photography

Horse of Course

horse and pond

I’ve often said there’s nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.
-Ronald Reagan


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Sunday Scenes – December 2, 2012

from the backyard

I enjoy ponds, no matter where I wander, a pond always brings a smile to my face. The seasons change, summer turns to autumn, the trees drop their leaves.


The outdoor cold of winter might not be quite at a freezing level (not cold enough for a pond to freeze over), and yet, a pond leaves me with a sense of warmth in the crisp chill of the morning, as I walk.

Zen Moment

Spring returns, and with it the lush greenness illuminates the landscape. Lily pads delicately float within a Zen setting, and a bridge hovers over them, as the glide in slow motion. I enjoy visiting this place of sanctuary, enjoy the moments of quietude.

As I browsed poetry sites, I found Poetry Chaikhana, and came upon this lovely poem entitled The Ponds, by Mary Oliver. You can read more about her, here.

Every year
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe

their lapped light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them —

the muskrats swimming
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch

only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?

I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided —
and that one wears an orange blight —
and this one is a glossy cheek

half nibbled away —
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled —
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —
that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.


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