Heraclitus Said

March 5th, 2014 Posted at Writing

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot — “Little Gidding”

(the last of his Four Quartets)

Listening for Ravens by Leslie Bamford

Heraclitus said: “It is impossible to step into the same river twice.”  Maybe T.S. Eliot knew the quote.  I shall add my observation to this consideration.  You can never walk the same mountain trail twice either.  You can only re-discover it, if your heart and your feet are drawn back there – each climb a new effort, each rock a new wonder to discover, the babbling mountain stream talking a new language every time.

It has been nine years since my feet left the relatively level ground of Waterloo County and ascended the Green Mountain trails in Vermont.  Much water has passed under my metaphorical bridge in that time –  I feel as though the entire river that Heraclitus speaks of has washed through my being in those years, and changed me, like water polishes rocks as it passes over them.  I should be smooth as a pebble now, serene as an agate, but I am not.  There are still sharp parts of my psyche, sections of me that are jagged and splintered.  More polishing is required.  Perhaps ten days in the mountains will address my inner turmoil in a way that I cannot predict, but can only experience through exploration, both inner and outer. Read more… »


Boating, the Dream

March 5th, 2014 Posted at Boating - The Dream

There is a debate going on in our culture. It is about dreaming. Some say that dreaming is a waste of time. People often say: “You’re just a dreamer” and they don’t mean it as a compliment. Many say that we should face reality, accept what is and make the best of it.

Others say that human beings are dreamers at heart. That we can’t help it, that dreaming is hard-wired into us. That dreaming is productive. That dreaming leads to planning, and planning leads to action, and action leads to new adventure, change and growth.

I believe it is healthy to dream.


The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. Carl Jung

This website is the fruit of my necessary play-time. Who has time to play? We all do, if we just remember that creativity is food for the soul. As a writer and photographer, finally retired after 43 years in 9-5 jobs, wife to a wacky guy named Bob, stepmom, sister, aunt, creative writing teacher and caretaker of a young dog, I must also create to be happy. Even if it’s a few minutes a day. This includes puttering in my garden, cooking new recipes, playing tennis, walking the dog, writing tanka poetry or playing the piano. Enjoy these essays, short stories and photographs. They are a glimpse into my life. Let them inspire you to create whatever inspires your soul. Comments appreciated. To read the stories, click on writing, select a story, then click on “More” for the full text. For more about me, click on “About Leslie.”

Death by Vacation

May 25th, 2012 Posted at Writing

“I found the perfect vacation,” says Bob, waving the travel section of the paper. “With scuba diving included.”

“I don’t know how to scuba dive.” I speak slowly and deliberately because of my husband’s uncanny ability to tune me out when I am talking to him.

“You could take a course this spring at the pool,” he says. “They teach you to use a snorkel and overcome your animal fear of breathing underwater.” Read more… »


Birds, continued

May 25th, 2010 Posted at Birds and waterfowl


Birds and waterfowl

May 24th, 2010 Posted at Birds and waterfowl


Confessions of a Female Mariner

May 3rd, 2010 Posted at Writing

I squint, typing against the glare of the sun sparkling off the water. Bob reads a book opposite me, his wavy hair almost white in the brightness.  I have never used Bob’s laptop on the boat, though he offers me free access to it. As I look at the screen, I feel the visceral stirrings of a complex. Use the laptop if you must, but don’t write that woman stuff on it, says a stern voice in my head. I continue typing. My breath gets shallow, my legs squirm under the cockpit table. I think of practical things I could be doing, accomplishments that would be tangible and praiseworthy. The dinghy needs a good wash. Bob would be pleased. But I continue typing, putting one word after another – bird by bird, as Anne Lamott would say – all the while thinking that it isn’t just a complex that kept me from writing on board these three years that we have owned Whalesong, our thirty-four foot sloop.  It’s logistics, too. For example, it has taken me half an hour to type the first paragraph of this essay, not because I am slow of wit or fingers, nor am I, at this moment, plagued by writer’s block. If you think practical things get in the way of writing at home, try it on a sailboat. Read more… »


Land of Cows and Serenity

May 3rd, 2010 Posted at Writing

The first part of any mountain climb is always torture.  Your thighs ache, your heart thumps, your lungs heave. That ten pounds you gained feels like thirty. You gaze up at the towering cliff and the trail snaking with treacherous roots, and know you’ll never drag your sorry butt to the top.   Read more… »

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