As I began writing my thought yesterday I assumed the blackened shoreline was as a result of an oil spill. After revisiting the beech and learning more it became clear oil was present, but to a lesser extent than coal. My being wrong led me to better consider and commit to how I will act with words and art.
Careless exploitation of natural resources leads to damage that undermines the potential for life.
When activity ceases to be profitable, abandonment often follows.
I walk along the cliff top with the call of seagull above and the great spread of shimmering sea to my left. I catch sight of the water's edge for the first time then scramble down.
The shallow breaking waves are black with tiny particles of coal. Veins of ink reach through the rock and sand of shore. There before me, ruined beauty, the spoils of mine. I sleep, wake at sunrise, then set off once again to photograph nature's distress.
Light bathes the teeming community of lush bright-green vegetation that clings full-spread to the side of a deep chasm. I am in awe. I say urgently 'come see this'. The light changes and the moment is lost.
At times I do not express myself clearly. My thought and intention may be plain from my personal perspective, but I fail to choose the right words and tone. When this happens misunderstanding often follows. Art can be the antidote that lessens the solitude of misinterpretation.