7-Day Nature Photo, day two

My lovely blogging friend Amy has challenged me to join the 7-Day Nature Photo Challenge, begun by Ulli, and it’s right up my street.
The two branches of the river Teign rise on Dartmoor and meet at Chagford, flowing southeast to Teignmouth where it joins the English Channel. It’s a very pretty river, and at castle Drogo it runs through a steep valley. I took this photo down in that valley, half way from Drogo to Fingle Bridge, a beautiful spot.

fingle bridge

A well as posting nature photo each day for a week, I have to challenge a friend to join in. Today I’m choosing Meg, who’s spending a year in Warsaw, and enjoying a northern hemisphere spring. She has a very good eye and I loved her calligraphy branches today. No worries if you ‘re too busy Meg!

Half Light

Through a glass darkly.

This photo was taken on a sunny day, in a woodland glade, in a sculpture garden. It was actually a large frame with dark and distorting reflective glass, in blue shades.

Jabberwocky landSo, can you conjure up the Jabberwocky? I can, cackle, cackle, but just in case, here’s the poem, perhaps it will help.

Jabberwocky

By Lewis Carroll 1832–1898 Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
Why does the text resonate with me, Krista wants to know? Well obviously that’s because I’m crazy.