Licht Years

where are you going, where have you been?

Category Archives: moments

praise

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Praise the light of late November,
the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.
Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;
though they are clothed in night, they do not
despair. Praise what little there’s left:
the small boats of milkweed pods, husks, hulls,
shells, the architecture of trees. Praise the meadow
of dried weeds: yarrow, goldenrod, chicory,
the remains of summer. Praise the blue sky
that hasn’t cracked yet. Praise the sun slipping down
behind the beechnuts, praise the quilt of leaves
that covers the grass: Scarlet Oak, Sweet Gum,
Sugar Maple. Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy
fallen world; it’s all we have, and it’s never enough.

~ Barbara Crooker
Praise Song

So where did autumn go?  It seems to be slipping quietly by this year.  There was a beautiful wedding..but then there was a funeral.  The sweet and the bitter.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am striving for authenticity in my images. This first photo was taken after nights of horrible insomnia..those circular thoughts going around and around in my head. Pushing myself out the door for some long walks in the woods seemed to help (I finally found some trails where hunting is not allowed), exploring and gathering what’s left of autumn, “our crazy fallen world”

There are projects left to finish, a few new ones in the works and a busy holiday season ahead.  One day at a time, as they say.

Grateful to have the whole family home soon.  I love when the house is full.  Will be busy feeding lots of hungry mouths…should sleep well this week.

Wishing all who celebrate, a very Happy Thanksgiving.

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Assessment

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“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

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“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.

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Last chapter

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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

silent communication

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“We walked always in beauty, it seemed to me. We walked and looked about, or stood and looked. Sometimes, less often, we would sit down. We did not often speak. The place spoke for us and was a kind of speech. We spoke to each other in the things we saw.”
~ Wendell Berry

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