Assessment

37474652896_f91d424679_o

36986212104_a5a8b6e7eb_o

37398168360_a558940482_o

23703522348_0c2f1991e7_o

23912392058_e35695cbbc_o

37675437296_f536b460f0_o

37725151046_1b2e9e3969_o

37707228796_1962b05a0a_o

37732386151_f5ac1f7a35_o

37711046262_b478a4e897_o

“Life is maybe like deep-sea fishing. We wake up in the morning, we cast our nets into the water, and, if we are lucky, at day’s end we will have netted one– maybe two– small fish. Occasionally we will net a seahorse or sometimes a shark– or a life preserver or an iceberg, or a monster. And in our dreams at night we assess our Catch of the Day– the treasures of this long, slow process of accumulation”

~ Douglas Coupland

Random stuff:

Autumn seems to be taking it’s time this year.  The color is arriving bit by bit, the weather fluctuates from crisp to summer-like.

I am taking my daily walks around town lately as opposed to our woodland trails. It’s hunting season and I’m not fond of the sound of gunshots.

I’ve always been attracted to the culture of small towns. Thinking I may set my focus on small scenes and vignettes of life downtown.

Staging and creating still life images has always been fun but lately I’m striving for authenticity. THIS POST by my friend Shawna inspired me.

Traveling a bit soon, to Washington DC, then on to North Carolina. My son, Andy is getting married next month. Very excited to welcome Lilian to our family.  So looking forward to having a daughter-in-law.

 

I’d like to thank Rural Magazine for inviting me to share in their Fall Issue.  Have a look if you’d like..

Mozart

gut feeling

36885858776_c25dfcfd66_o

“I walked in the freshly turned land and could sense my small scale relative to the land’s vastness, and tried to make a photograph from that gut feeling. I ask myself, and have for many years now, ‘can I photograph from the gut with the eye being less of a primary force?’

~ joel meyerowitz

 

I’ve been asking that same question.

SaveSave

Last chapter

35382320383_903828d5e1_o

20562080551_e9beb18906_o

35765914980_40932d7f06_o

36503006266_d0e0fb6244_o

36493498995_5e8fbe7371_o-2

DSC_5009

35680238403_8fb4a84812_o

36134071952_7b11d877b7_o

DSC_4656

 

Summer sings its long song, and all the notes are green.
But there’s a click, somewhere in the middle
of the month, as we reach the turning point, the apex,
a Ferris wheel, cars tipping and tilting over the top,
and we see September up ahead, school and schedules
returning. And there’s the first night you step outside
and hear the katydids arguing, six more weeks
to frost, and you know you can make it through to fall.
Dark now at eight, nights finally cooling off for sleep,
no more twisting in damp sheets, hearing mosquitoes’
thirsty whines. Lakes of chicory and Queen Anne’s lace
mirror the sky’s high cirrus. Evenings grow chilly,
time for old sweaters and sweatpants, lying in the hammock
squinting to read in the quick-coming dusk.
A few fireflies punctuate the night’s black text,
and the moonlight is so thick, you could swim in it
until you reach the other side.

~ Barbara Crooker