News, thoughts, finds – and the odd rant
The Gastown Grand Prix on a sunny evening, with cobblestones lighted by glaring late sun or cast in dark shade by tall buildings, was a fun playground to experiment with the photo challenges of the contrast of blinding light and deep shade, and intense speed.
The songbirds ushered in the Solstice, singing spun light from the northeastern horizon, pouring it into my neighbourhood, spilling a beam on the bench in my front yard.
Had someone tortured my child as the nuns and priests and bigots tortured the children depicted in the film, had bigots treated anyone in my circles as Saul was treated by many people, I'd have fought them all to the death. Had I known, I'd have acted. Which, of course, is the point of a movie like Indian Horse.
