Seal Cove Fish Ladder

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
__________


The sunset has, apparently, escaped from the bottle and ended up here by the fish ladder. It's a good thing, too, because the day was otherwise so gray and plain, as you can see from the extra. Now that it's summer I not only have more time for taking photos, but more time for experimenting with photo editing. But then I ask myself, is it cheating? Then again, isn't all photography artifice? I find that contemplating Yeats is interesting, but ultimately does not help. In the end I like what I created and that is enough.


__________

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.


from Sailing to Byzantium, by William Butler Yeats