While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes

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The photographs were taken at Vaakkoi on May 29th.

(Posting title is from the poem Sonnet 107: Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul by William Shakespeare.)

Return to the reservation

Swamp

The photograph was taken on March 2nd at Vaakkoi.

(Posting title is from the poem A Half-Life of Cardio-Pulmonary Function by Eric Gansworth.)

Swelling their eyes shut

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The photographs were taken on March 2nd at Vaakkoi.

(Posting title is from the poem The Sign in My Father’s Hands by Martín Espada.)

About basics never changing

Snow 1

Snow 2

The photographs were taken on March 2nd at Vaakkoi.

(Posting title is from the poem Sign for My Father, Who Stressed the Bunt by David Bottoms.)

I am always looking

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The photographs were taken by lake Saaren-Musta in Vaakkoi on September 29th.

(Posting title is from the poem Love Song by David Tomas Martinez.)

Evokes so sweet a torment

Wet 1

Wet 2

Wet 3

The photographs were taken on July 10th at Vaakkoi.

(Posting title is from the poem I would not paint — a picture by Emily Dickinson.)

Unsorted: all errors, useless without a way to see it

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The photographs were taken in Vaakkoi on July 1st.

(Posting title is from the poem Digital Archive by Jennifer Kwon Dobbs.)

I’d like to see it that way

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The photographs were taken in Vaakkoi on May 12th. You may wonder how it is possible that in one photograph there are lingonberries and in another blueberry flowers.

(Posting title is from the poem I’d Like to See It by Norman Fischer.)

I would like to describe a light

Lake 1

Lake 2

The photographs were taken in Vaakkoi on May 12th.

(Posting title is from the poem I Would Like to Describe by Zbigniew Herbert.)

Northward by cracked compass

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The photographs were taken at Vaakkoi on March 24th.

This morning I walked for two hours, exploring the swamps and forests at Tremanskärr. It has been over five months since I last walked there, and I had forgotten some things about the landscape. During the night the temperature dropped below freezing, and snow carried a person walking in most places. One had to be careful, though, because there were deep pockets of water in some places below the snow.

(Posting title is from the poem At last, to be identified! by Rebecca Hazelton.)

My body is powdery white and round

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Snow 2

The photographs were taken in Vaakkoi on December 6th.

There was 16 hours of sunshine at Helsinki-Vantaa airport in December, 2017, and there were several places in Finland where the sun was always hidden behind clouds in daytime. A dark month indeed.

(Posting title is from the poem Floating Sweet Dumpling by Ho Xuan Huong.)

Don’t worry about the environment

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Snow 2

Snow 3

The photographs were taken in Vaakkoi on December 6th.

I got over 12 hours of exercise this week. I should take a rest day, but on the other hand the weather seems to be excellent for commuting by bicycle, at least until Thursday.

(Posting title is from the poem Sweet Virginia by Michael Robbins.)

How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn!

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Snow 2

The photographs were taken in Vaakkoi on December 6th.

In six day I have got 11 hours of exercise, half of it riding the bicycle and half walking. The length of day is 45 minutes longer than it was at the shortest, which feels good, even though it is still quite dark in the morning.

(Posting title is from the poem Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes by Charlotte Smith.)

Is it a philosopher’s honeymoon, one finds

Lake

The photograph was taken in Vaakkoi on October 18th, at lake Saaren-Musta.

In three days I have got 7 1/2 hours of exercise. This morning there was black ice on the road, and I wondered why the studded winter tires are so silent, until I realized: "It's the ice, stupid!"

(Posting title is from the poem The Man on the Dump by Wallace Stevens.)

Shining with light, their flight enviably free

Leaves

The photograph was taken at Vaakkoi on October 18th.

Today I got 2 1/2 hours of exercise, the same as yesterday. The length of day is now 7 h 33 min, and getting shorter rather fast.

(Posting title is from the poem The Town Dump by Howard Nemerov.)

Strained by treetops

Trees

The photograph was taken at Vaakkoi on August 19th.

This week has been wet. Luckily today I didn't get soaked while commuting by bicycle.

(Posting title is from the poem The Storm Is Over by Jason Guriel.)

A swaying clarity which blindly echoes

Lake 1

Lake 2

Lake 3

The photographs were taken by lake Saaren-Musta at Vaakkoi on August 19th.

What can one say about the craziness that is rampant in the world? There was a news item about a Finn serving in British Army who was arrested for neo-Nazi activity. Where do these people come from? Are all Finns potential terrorists?

(Posting title is from the poem Storm Windows by Howard Nemerov.)

Against the cracks of weeds and webs

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The photographs were taken at Vaakkoi on August 19th.

This morning I used the bicycle light first time this autumn. It was raining heavily, and I wanted to be seen. There were some cyclists wearing black clothing riding a black bicycle. I wonder how they will survive the dark season.

(Posting title is from the poem Webs and Weeds by Colleen J. McElroy.)

They just can't be serious

Mushroom 1

Mushroom 2

Mushroom 3

Mushroom 4

The photographs were taken on August 19th at Vaakkoi.

Today was a somewhat sunny day, but the rest of the week promises a lot of rain. Leaves are falling off trees. Thus the roads will be slippery when riding the bicycle, and one needs to be careful when braking.

(Posting title is from the poem If my Enemy is a Clown, a Natural Born Clown by Ishmael Reed.)

In close-ups now, you can see it in every face

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The photographs were taken on April 29th at Vaakkoi.

This morning I walked for almost three hours. I started from Siikajärvi in Nuuksio, going across swamps and hills, not always following paths. I saw a pair of Gavia stellata, at their nesting lake.

Once in a while I think about the mass distraction that is happening in the world. The Orange One is more dangerous than I understood earlier, and also much more stupid.

(Posting title is from the poem The Mill-Race by Anne Winters.)