View allAll Photos Tagged PinusLeucodermis,
pinus leucodermis
Pinus heldreichii subsp. leucodermis
Parco del Pollino (Basilicata/Calabria)
Many thanks dear friends for your views, faves and supportive comments. These are always very much appreciated.
you can see the new works in
All Rights Reserved Worldwide In Perpetuity.
- No Unauthorized Use. Absolutely no permission is granted in any form, fashion or way, digital or otherwiseb, to use my images on blogs, personal or professional websites or any other media form without my direct written permission.
This includes Pinterest, FaceBook,Tumblr, Reddit or other websites where one's images are circulated without the photographer's knowledge or permission.
If you recognize yourself in a photo of this gallery, you certainly weren't what I was photographing, if you don't want it to be published let me know and the photo, perhaps, will be removed.
P. Paccagnella. [ph.p.ph.©] TdS Pd Italy
There’s a tree walking around in the rain,
it rushes past us in the pouring grey.
It has an errand. It gathers life
out of the rain like a blackbird in an orchard.
When the rain stops so does the tree.
There it is, quiet on clear nights
waiting as we do for the moment
when the snowflakes blossom in space.
Tomas Tranströmer
_________________
Many trees, all over Pollino National Park, seem to whisper ancient resinous words to the sensitive visitor. Some of them really remind park keeper, fiery standing alone to evaluate the dangerousness of who's entering their reign made of silence, lightnings and low-bowing clouds.
This one is a secular Pinus Leucodermis, placed on Serra di Crispo, approx altitude 2000 meters high.
Touching one of these giant creatures makes you feel like a stream of power flowing from the trunk into body.
...I have so many things to tell about the tree that gave me this wooden gift...
Yet I need time. Those emotions are still too burning to take a grammatical form.
At once, after this joyously sunny opening, the tone darkens:
A sudden chill, from a great distance, meets me.
The moment blackens
and remains like an axe-cut in a tree-trunk.
Tomas Tranströmer, finally recognized as Nobel Prize for Literature
A giant leucodermis pine seems to offer a fatherly protection to his young son.
It's not easy to describe the sense of power that nature transmits on the highness of Pollino National Park.
These trees grow only 3-5 centimeters per year; you can imagine how old can be even that little promise.
The latest robolo (Pinus Heldreichii) tree sitting proud over the valia calda (warm valley) and observing the times beyond and before
Per capire questa fotografia occorre un breve racconto.
Questo è il grido pietrificato del monumentale pino loricato della Grande Porta del Pollino, simbolo stesso del Parco, Virgilio arboreo che introduceva il visitatore alle meraviglie della corona di cime di cui era guardiano prima che mano ignota lo desse alle fiamme.
Era un albero fiero, bellissimo, possente, un guerriero delle vette che da secoli combatteva, vincendola, ogni battaglia con gli elementi. Un enorme ramo, il più basso, giaceva spezzato e bruciato dal fulmine, sbiancato dai decenni ma ancora saldamente aggrappato al tronco.
Un pomeriggio di novembre mi addormentai sotto questo albero al calore del sole dell'estate di San Martino. Fu un sonno breve e ristoratore, cullato dalla voce cupa del vento tra gli aghi corti e fitti, un suono che in nessun altro bosco né foresta ho mai ascoltato, ancestrale, profondo.
Ricevetti qualcosa dall'albero in quella occasione, ma lo seppi soltanto molti anni dopo, quando tornai a visitarne i resti.
Maggio, pioggia.
I Piani di Pollino sembrano il campo di lotta dove alberi e meteorologia si sfidano. La nebbia è lenta, il paesaggio cambia continuamente.
Come altre volte vivo la sensazione, oggi acuminata, che il Genius Loci mi stia osservando. C'è, mi segue, giudica. E' guardingo. Dopo quel che è accaduto, ha ragioni da vendere.
La nebbia lo rivela come l'aprirsi di un sipario sulla cattiveria umana. La vista dell'albero sfigurato dall'assassino mi paralizza. Rabbia, incredulità e odio.
Pioviggina, lo sento, ma non qui. Sembra che una tenda invisibile sia stata aperta per darmi modo di scattare fotografie.
Contorcendosi tra le fiamme, l'albero si è accasciato al suolo come una creatura preistorica, consegnando all'eternità il suo grido ammutolito.
Sono confuso, scatto foto alla rinfusa tra le lacrime, sento aumentare il fruscio della pioggia, non vorrei separarmi dall'albero ma devo, lo abbraccio forte per dargli l'addio, dicendogli addio.
Torno sui miei passi, singhiozzando. Non mi volto, troppo dolore.
Ogni volta che la malinconia mi avvolge, è come quel giorno la nebbia con l'albero. E questa fotografia prende corpo sulla parete vuota della mente.
Ogni volta sento ricambiato quell'ultimo abbraccio, e avverto vicino lo spirito guida arboreo.
What's the possibility to leave the city lights, find yourself amidst such a scene and not be amazed.
I'd say the odds would be ...
... 20 - 20 ...
Happy new year.
A lonely Pine tree counts the ages against the backdrop of Tymphe mountain range.
Shot as the brenizer Method denotes, however on a narrow aperture for clarity of the background (some 25km away)
La voce dei millenni trascorsi
(creste abitate da alberi colossali,
aghi che il vento sfiora e fa vibrare,
come un solenne archetto
le corde di un violino inquietante...)
Mi sento come un ospite
inatteso, una presenza sgradita
nella dimora del fulmine.
Le ore diventano intangibili
scalfitture sulle pareti del tempo.
Resto immobile, trattengo
impaurito l'ossigeno.
Gli occhi del regno
si dispongono in cerchio -
fissandomi, cercando risposte.
Away in the forest all darksome and deep,
The wolves went a-hunting when men were asleep;
And the cunning old wolves were so patient and wise,
As they taught the young cubs how to see with their eyes,
How to smell with their noses and hear with their ears,
And what a wolf hunts for and what a wolf fears.
Nancy M. Hayes
Il tempo non è che un anfiteatro
di vette dai ripidi fianchi,
la grande porta che apriremo
quando il sentiero finendo ci lascerà stanchi.
Come un'onda si placa il burrone,
la sua cresta spuma pietrificata.
Si è disteso fino a scomparire,
un brivido
lungo l'erbosa schiena.
L'immenso altopiano mi accoglie,
palpebra ingiallita che aprendosi
rivela l'iride morenica
di un mondo agli albòri del tempo,
dove gli alberi la forma ed il suono
appresero dai fulmini, dal brontolìo del tuono.
(da la mancanza)
Παρέα με τα αγαπημένα μου Ρόμπολα, στη ραχοκοκαλιά της Βασιλίτσας (προς κορυφή Γομάρρα). Στο βάθος η Λάκκα Αώου και η Τύμφη.
Olimpo del Sud
Battuti da martelli di bufera
e tormente sull'incudine del sole
i pini loricati la terra
duramente conquistata possiedono,
penetrandovi radici lunghe secoli.
Nel tempio delle vette
sulle creste del Pollino
una furibonda sinfonia
gelido il vento intona percuotendo
la foresta: tastiera d'organo
le cui canne sono tronchi
vertiginosi e bruniti,
guardiani possenti,
custodi gelosi di arcani spartiti.
____________
Olympus of the South
Hit by the hammers of the storm
and blizzards on the sun's anvil
the leucodermis pines the earth
harshly conqueres possess
penetrating roots as long as centuries.
In the temple of peaks
upon the combs of Pollino
a furious symphony
the chilling wind tunes beating
the forest: organ's keyboard
whose pipes are trunks
dizzy and burnished,
powerful guardians,
jealous keepers of arcane scores.
(from my book il formicaio - the ant-hill)
Serra di Crispo, Pollino National Park. Her reign.
Serra di Crispo, Pollino National Park.
Every word could be useless, except one: poetry.
Kodak Ektar 25 film.
(Explored)
Imagine a sun-exposed place.
It's warm during winter, air-conditioned
all along the fresh and long summer.
Soil is perfectly drained,
the perfect embrace for their future roots.
Neither dry nor moist: seed cradle.
Winds are not too strong,
lightning storms are not too much severe.
One after another the trees grow,
gently competing for the sun.
Just a few seconds in the universal-time scale
and the family seems to be grown.
Armonic, balanced, zenfully peaceful.
But it does not compel me. It lies.
Life, like love, is not harmony and balance;
nor peace.
The dried frame
of loss
lies always
there. Invisible to the most
it frames even the apparently motionless
lives, coldly reminding us
that everything is destined to reach its
end.
Mission: to be where I am.
Even in that ridiculous, deadly serious
role - I am the place
where creation is working itself out.
Tomas Tranströmer
(Happy Birthday, Cate).
The Earth counts time in billions of years. It took more than 4 billions of years for it to make trees. In the chain of species, trees are a pinnacle. A perfect, living sculpture.
Trees defy gravity. They're the only natural element in perpetual movement toward the sky. They grow unhurried toward the sun that nourishes their foliage.
_________
Serra di Crispo (Gods' Garden), Pollino National Park. August 1990.
Still clear, after all these years, the sensation given by the four pines in the background: guardians calmly moving toward me, suggesting to be careful.
Leucodermis Pines at Serra delle Ciàvole. Pollino National Park.
These are the trees whose voice I can hear, echoing in my memory, every single day of my life.
Today I lived something that probably could never be described. Emotions are so personal, and mine, getting back here after 15 years, have been overwhelming, and way deep.
When I woke up at five what I saw out of the refuge windows was not so good. Wind blew strong, rain was falling, and all the mountains were hidden under a dense layer of fog. But I could not give up this way. Not today. Their voice was strong.
I packed all my things, and after one hour of driving I was ready to start my nine hours hike.
Blue areas high up above were telling me it's ok, you can; but rain came immediately after, and the beechwood was dark and cold. Somehow lovely, protective.
I lost my way one time (here the paths are not well signed); I lost my way two times (gosh...). I decided to go back.
After some minute a hiker appeared. I asked if the path I was walking was right, and it was; so I went back again, in company. Help from above?
On the higher planes we divided. My plans were different; but he told me a secret: the place where the second most big and ancient pine of the park (800 years old) goes on with his life.
I started from there, while rain became violent, and wind reinforced. But I felt a proudness that has guided me well.
Many more anecdotes will come. I am happy, and filled with joy of life.
Happily I had a sight
Of my dearest dear last night;
Make her this day smile on me,
And I'll roses give to thee!
Robert Herrick
It's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. I don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind. I wish I believed that consciousness continues after disembodiment or death, not forever, but for a long while. Three score years and ten is such a stingy ration of time, when there is so much time around.
Brian W. Aldiss
In this world of ours,
We eat only to cast out,
Sleep only to wake,
And what comes after all that
Is simply to die at last.
Matsuo Basho
I have always been here
I have always looked out from behind the eyes
It feels like more than a lifetime
Feels like more than a lifetime
Sometimes I get tired of the waiting
Sometimes I get tired of being in here
Is this the way it has always been?
Could it ever have been different?
Do you ever get tired of the waiting?
Do you ever get tired of being in there?
Don't worry, nobody lives forever,
A secular Leucodermis Pine, still growing up and facing the elements on the edge of its plateau. A mix of the bonsai styles Moyogi and Shakan.
Serra delle Ciavole, Pollino National Park.
This piece of wood was found and picked on Serra delle Ciàvole, Pollino National Park, 20 years ago.
I love it like a jewel.
last spring with luverne in the field for wild wonders of europe
read more: www.wild-wonders.com/blog/?p=6241
Me: hold me, I'm scared...
Tree spirit: please don't, my pain is enough
Me: why, Love, why? I don't understand
Tree spirit: we became one that november day. You fell asleep under my branches, and in that while I cast my spell on you. Your soul is transparent just as my summer night skies, and since then I am your spirit guide
Me: please, hold me. My bones are chilling, my soul is aching
Tree spirit: don't cry for me, I am eternal now
Me: I just can't stop. It feels like a river of roaring pain streaming out of me, a painful love
Tree spirit: you didn't lose me, see? I'm still here, for you. And you're here for me
Me: I've never felt like that, sorry. Silent all these years, and now that we meet again I can't keep myself from being weepy, and sad
Tree spirit: look around. Can you see?
Me: rain, you mean?
Tree spirit: if rain is a metaphor for pain, mine is a painless place
Me: a canopy of Love?
Tree spirit: an invisible dome of caring and protection, that I weaved and I'll weave for you only. A room with a view, if you like
Me: I can see way too much for my human senses, it's unbearable
Tree spirit: I kept these visions for you, no one else could see these things without suddenly falling into madness
Me: why me? My heart is exploding. This movie is a raging tempest of feelings
Tree spirit: only those near death can look at this. No one else but you
Me: will I bloom like these flowing ominous dreams, Love?
Tree spirit: it's up to you. You've got to know no one else could
Me: it's too much even for me. You're submerging me like a stone thrown in your ocean middle
Tree spirit: stop crying, touch me, I have something more
(electricity - an endless wave of emotion flows from the dead trunk through my forceless arms, tied in a warm hug - I become s/he, s/he becomes me)
Me: oh...is it real?
Tree spirit: yes, Lu. Don't be scared. I'll be your faithful guide til we join forever again
(snow, lightnings, fierce winter winds, hot summer air, wolves at night looking for food, evil hearts with axes and gasoline, the end and the beginning)
Tree spirit: wind is blowing stronger, Lu. It's ripping the canopy
Me: I don't want to go, I don't want to stop crying, I don't want to leave you again
Tree spirit: you're not leaving me, I'm not leaving you. Time and space are only concepts, and you've seen what life is as a whole. Your decisions will be mine, my eternity will be yours. Now you know. It's time to react.
Me: I've seen too much, too much. I don't know if I can.
Tree spirit: forget what you learnt. Remember today. Now, you're eternal.
(canopy ripped up like a page - atmosphere raging - fog running, cold water falling - mountain gods swallowing landscape like pills of Earth - whistling wind and crumbling mind - tears, endlessly flowing)
Me, screaming and crying: goodbye!
Spirit tree:
(visions ending, voices fading; the tree disappearing rapidly amidst a million running horses made of mist; a new awareness acquired...)