More Room to Grow ~ by Ulrich Schaffer

Available for purchase at Tranquil Light

Wildflower Waterfall by Roxy Whalley – Click on image to visit the gallery




Just give me room~

more room to grow

when everyone else is closing in on me,

and the world seems like a cage.


Just give me room~

more room to grow

when the world around me

asks me to remain unchanged.


Just give me room~

more room to grow

released from the image

you have of me


Just give me room~

more room to grow

towards the likeness

that lies buried in me.


By Ulrich Schaffer

Art is for Sharing

I sometimes get asked why I feel the need to share my writings, photography and adventure stories on my various blogs. Some people believe those of us who share this kind of work are doing it purely to get attention, credit, or to boost our ego. This is not always true, there are many reasons for sharing; If I get a comment like, “Thank you, those words were just what I needed to hear today, perfect timing,” I know the Universe was at work in some way, and those words helped someone… and that is enough.

I’ve recently been going through some old journals, and here is something I wrote about 10-years ago, and I thought I’d share it:


Click on image to visit web page

For an artist to paint or write, and not share the beauty of their work with others,

almost makes the work pointless.

It is the sharing,

and the delight in seeing someone smile,

or dream,

or laugh,

or cry,

or learn,

that makes it worth while.

An artist does not always paint for himself,

Sometimes she writes for others.


Roxy Whalley – 2005

After the Final No

After the final no

there comes a yes.

And on that yes

the future world depends.

No was the night

Yes is the present sun.


By Wallace Stevens ~ The Well Dressed Man With a Beard


The Whole Poem:

After the final no there comes a yes
And on that yes the future world depends.
No was the night. Yes is this present sun.
If the rejected things, the things denied,
Slid over the western cataract, yet one,
One only, one thing that was firm, even
No greater than a cricket’s horn, no more
Than a thought to be rehearsed all day, a speech
Of the self that must sustain itself on speech,
One thing remaining, infallible, would be
Enough. Ah! douce campagna of that thing!
Ah! douce campagna, honey in the heart,
Green in the body, out of a petty phrase,
Out of a thing believed, a thing affirmed:
The form on the pillow humming while one sleeps,
The aureole above the humming house…

It can never be satisfied, the mind, never.

The Right Road

nothing is sure, everything is possible

If we knew we were on the right road, having to leave it would mean endless despair.

But we are on a road that only leads to a second one, and then to a third one and so forth.

And the real highway will not be sighted for a long, long time, perhaps never.

So we drift in doubt.

But also in an unbelievable, beautiful diversity.

Thus the accomplishment of hope remains an always unexpected miracle.

But in compensation, the miracle remains forever possible.


By Franz Kafka

Natural Bridges

May 13, 2009 ~ By Roxy Whalley ~ Natural Bridges National Monument in Utah.

Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah


Natural Bridges

Arches carved by water.

A stone bridge that spans a time that is hard for humans to comprehend.

How long did it take the water to work its way through these sandstone walls,

to find a tiny crack and splash and lap its way in,

slowly carving, slowly eroding,

slowly washing away one grain of sand… then another.

A pause of days, or months, before rain, or a flash flood brought more water, which would carry away another handful of sand.

For thousands of years, the water slowly worked its way through the solid rock, and in time changed the course of the river.


We humans can build a bridge in days or weeks.

Can we comprehend the eons, the numerous human generations that it took nature to build these bridges.

As I stand beneath the span of stone, it’s solid mass cutting a red ribbon through a blue sky above, I realize that even if we had the time to build a bridge like this, our human efforts would not produce anything nearly so beautiful and spectacular as the Mother of our planet did.

Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah

In Praise of Water

the bears and Yeats would know _ Roethke

I have gone to the river many times,

to the slow waters that curl among their stones

With absolute certainty, to the small voices,

That emerge from the granite’s fissures, whispers

Of the deep pool below the falls, ripples

That pulsate outward, like the blind

Feeling their way through the dark, the first word

Beginning to form, the primal word

Beneath all languages, the utterance of snow,

The silence lurking in the cedars,

The unseen map of the otter’s journey.


Was it a bear that I saw one night

Sliding downhill on a cardboard sled

Toward the county dump? He too belongs

To those older waters, to the bog

Teeming with scents at the base of the mind,

The ice on which one ventures out


Cautiously, one step at a time,

to those lonely rivers that wonder through cornfields

Like drunks, seeking a passage to the sea,

To the bones that litter the prairies of the Dakotas

Where the wind moans, causing the ghosts

Of Sioux ponies to lift their heads.


I know I love best the small

Brooks that come down from alpine meadows

After Winter’s low ebb, wildflowers in bloom

Beside their banks, headwaters of the Colorado

And the Missouri, the trout in them iridescent

As lost jewels. I can sit here for hours

without a thought, watching the water pass by.

A part of me goes out with it.

It might as well be my soul is water.


Already it has gone many miles!

Flowing on into the orchards of the lowlands

Whose pale blossoms drift on the current

Like those that once filled the funeral barge

Of an unknown king.


By Jay Griswold