Today would have been my Dad’s 99th birthday celebration. Instead his obituary appeared in the Sunday paper. We visited Lakewood where his and his wife’s ashes are. This letting go of the stories and the place that formed my early years (1950-1970) has been a gift; a doorway opens into a new freedom and adventure. Lines by the Mexican poet Octovio Paz.
Close your eyes and open them
There is nobody not even yourself
Whatever is not stone is light
Obituary for Robert “Bob” Holloway
Brother Bruce beside the local library where I spent many summer days. A delightful walk I made many times with my late sister.
At Lakewood Cemetery today.
My Dad planned ahead ….
September :: the month the world began.
Colville River, Chewelah Washington, above the Columbia River.Jones Beach on the lower Kettle River, Washington, before it reaches the Columbia River.Lake Merritt estuary, Oakland, California.
Tomales Point, Point Reyes Seashore, the Pacific Ocean.
River Bend on the Clark Fork of the Columbia
Do I live my life or that of my fathers, or mothers, or society ? Finding my voice, that is the work before me.
Extended exposure 120 format pinhole images beside Lake Pend Oreille
“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness
Travel images of a Holloway along his most favorite of hollow-ways. My first journeys without end or beginning happened here, explorations without time, along the abandoned tracks of an old trolley, starting in the late-1950s.