Flying picture. I'm traveling tomorrow. Another one from Vancouver (BC) harbor. For those of you from elsewhere, the 'BC is necessary as there is a Vancouver, Washington. I can never understand why Americans find it necessary to recycle names. Naming things is such fun, why not take the opportunity to make up a new one?  Anyway, nowadays, everything has an IP Address, even airplanes.

A local recommendation, if you ever have occasion to travel round the Puget Sound, ferries and float planes are definitely the way to go.

Nice picture, by the way, bright plane, dark ship, what's more, dark band on ship, person on deck apparently indifferent to oncoming airplane (pity they weren't talking on a cell phone).

Perhaps it's Canadian air, or Canadian water, or just Canadians (three probable subjects of the Dominion reflected in this picture). I have taken many pictures of reflections over the years but never quite like this. There was something about the surface of the water, or the quality of the air, that gives it a startling clarity and yet you can see the water is by no means still. I just love the odd shifted geometry of the thing.

In case you were wondering, this was not a fluke, the reflection actually looked like that. I have several more images taken at the same time with the same quality to them.

As a little tribute to the Canadians and their Olympic campaign, here is a Canada goose, actually photographed in Canada. What's more a gravity defying goose. Perhaps a goose guru, posing on a carefully chosen goose rock.

On the subject of Canada's (gold medal) triumph at the Olympics, the real winner was the United States of Europe with 46 golds and 140 overall (versus USA 9 and 37, Canada 14 and 26). I use this statistic to annoy my America born kids every time the Olympics come around. I can hear the whining already "Oh but they had more people there!" Maybe each of the states should send a team. I can just see it now, "And here we have the Florida Winter Olympics Team!" (If that doesn't elicit a few comments I don't know what will).

What we miss is probably more interesting than what we see. Rather like trees falling in forests, it's hard to tell if it matters. It's been on my mind for the last few days. Listening to a choral performance on Tuesday, it struck me that the most beautiful voice is probably lost in a choir somewhere, which lead to a whole series of similar assertions: The most beautiful lily is in a field of flowers, a tree in a landscape, a pebble on a beach, an image in  a motion picture, an experience in a day, a life in a galaxy. You get the idea. Along the same lines this is a picture of reflections on water, Saint Edward's Park, lake Washington.

What could be more visually delightful than something made visible by shadow? What you are looking at is a piece of shade cloth, looking west towards the lowering sun. There is a branch behind it with some leaves on it. The leaves cast their shadow on the cloth. Where the shadow falls, the overpowering light of the sun is dimmed and you can see through the cloth to the what is on the other side. Because you, the cloth, the leaves and the sun don't quite line up, you see both the image of the shadow and the disjointed images of the leaves beyond, made visible by their own shadow. Wonderful, just wonderful!

Here is Roger, a multi-dimensional, assymetric cat. He measures his dimensions in terms of his desires, go outside now, come inside now, where's my dinner? I say assymetric not simply because of his appearance, also because he is astonished, at times, that dinner is not in his bowl and yet he will sit at the window staring at me until I come and open the door, not in the least astonished that I might not notice him for a while (so you see, not all dimensions of desire are alike). I am considering devoting an entire week to Roger and his many dimensions.

Some other determinants - Is it raining? Are there raccoons under the deck? Is Morwenna home? Am I sitting in the middle of the dining room table? He never looks behind him, never strives for the impossible (except for entertainment). He is the initial value and the increment, the sequence that knows no end (a little nod to Christopher Smart and Jeofry).

This was taken at the chapel of St. Ignatius, on the campus of Seattle University. A beautiful building and well worth a visit if you happen to be in the area.

The chapel was the setting for one of the most memorable musical events I have ever attended, It took the form of a service at which Andrew Carwood was the cantor. He is now the director of music at St. Paul's in London, the first non-organist to be appointed to the post since the 12th century. You only have to hear him sing to understand why.