“Rainbows: The gift from heaven to us all.”
― Anthony T. Hincks
Well I did feel like I’d been given a gift when I looked out my office window on what promised to be a dreary gray day with not much to recommend it photographically. So, I grabbed the camera and ran outside getting just a couple of shots before it faded away. I can also tell you that there are many many bad poems about rainbows on the internet and no good ones that I could find.
Theme in Yellow
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Well, I sat down this morning to pick out some poems for my poetry group. When I went upstairs put them into the computer for printing I realized I had lost power. I wasn’t too worried about it until two hours later when I still had no power and it was about time to go and I realized that if I wanted to go anywhere I was going to have to override the garage door opener and wrestle with the garage door. That’s when I gave up and decided to go play in the tiny studio instead, it being too windy to photograph outside. Of course, the power came on 15 minutes after I should have left. Grrr. But anyway, here is one of the poems I had picked out for the theme of Letting Go.
Not a remarkable wind.
So when the bistro’s patio umbrella
blew suddenly free and pitched
into the middle of the road,
it put a stop to the afternoon.
Something white and amazing
was blocking the way.
A waiter in a clean apron
appeared, not quite
certain, shielding his eyes, wary
of our rumbling engines.
He knelt in the hot road,
making two figures in white, one
leaning over the sprawled,
broken shape of the other,
and now so carefully gathered in.
– Mike Whte
I took a walk over to the Talent Harvest Festival but didn’t find anything too earth shaking. On the way home I encountered this sidewalk umbrella dancing in the wind with the trees. Not white, not yet in the road but still in harmony with the poem. I am now 1/4 of the way into the 100 days project and starting to wonder what I have done to myself. I felt a little silly going out to photograph when I still have hundreds of images to sift through from New England. But then, if I hadn’t gone out, I would not have encountered the pink striped umbrella.
It is another travel day today so I decided to grab an image from yesterday mainly because I wanted to use this poem. We learned all about making stone walls at the Stone Trust yesterday so it seemed fitting. This image was taken in the beautiful village of Grafton where we have been staying.
The sky before the night.
The leaves in the fall.
The rhythmically bouncing basketball
The poet’s nightmare.
The fire’s glare
The bottle of prescription pills
The pumpkins on our porch, still.
According to Fitbit I walked over six miles today. The only spot of orange in my travels was this supercharged classic car which I stumbled across at a high end car show on Boston Common. I was disappointed to find only green leaves on the trees. It didn’t even feel like autumn today. In fact I was wishing I had brought some shorts. Truth be told this was far and away my favorite photograph from the days wandering. I’m sure things will be more autumnal once we get out of the city.
Today’s destination was the grower’s market which, as always, offered up a colorful array of compelling subjects. But the box of apples spoke to me most of fall so they got the nod for picture of the day. And Robert Frost’s poem was a perfect fit. You can almost see him nodding off as he is writing. And feel the ladder’s rungs on your feet. And I was reminded of when I worked at the library when I was in college and we had a period when we would recall all the books checked out by faculty… and I would dream of books, carts and carts of books. Just as Frost would dream of apples after a day of picking.
Not even field mice can hide
from the smell of autumn grapes
that bind with air molecules
for the sweetest fragrance
that could never be replicated
by the best candle.
It’s no wonder that trout
throw themselves above the stream
that runs through the vineyard
to get a taste of the concord
That’s why the windows stay open
until the first frost bites the fields
and takes with it the purple air.
– Don Brenner
Well, the vision I had for today’s image was about like this but without the netting. Maybe I will find a vineyard without netting before the grapes are all harvested. Maybe not. I ran it through a simplify program to modify it a little. And I still like it. It’s just not quite as organic as I would have liked.
I also tried working with another image that ended up turning into a full blown digital art piece so here is a bonus for you to look at today.