Day 35 – Coyote

Coyote

Sweet Coyote

Don’t ask, don’t tell,
Sweet coyote, desert owl.
Cactus eyes, sand-dune skin
The warmth throughout, the heat within.

-Sarah Spang

I decided that I had invested enough time at the wildlife refuge yesterday to skate a little today. And there were so many good pictures that I hated to not share them. This coyote is marred by the bit of out of focus weed in front of his/her face but given that I had only a split second to get the shot before coyote moved I think it turned out pretty well. I was convinced that I had not held the camera steady enough but the eyes are sharp and that’s what counts.

Day 34 – Snow Geese

SnowGeese

Snow Geese

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! 
What a task
to ask 
of anything, or anyone, 
yet it is ours, 
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours. 
One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was 
a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see, 
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun 
so they were, in part at least, golden. I 
held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us 
as with a match, 
which is lit, and bright, 
but does not hurt
in the common way, 
but delightfully, 
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt. 
The geese
flew on, 
I have never seen them again. 
Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won’t.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them, 
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

-Mary Oliver

I’ ve been trying for months to find the time and right weather conditions for a trip over the mountain to the Klamath Basin Wildlife Refuges. My calendar and the weather forecast finally aligned today so I said “I don’t care what else I have on my to do list. I’m going.” And I’m glad I did. I came home with over 300 images though I suppose most of them will have to go to the recycle bin. Those critters just refuse to sit still. But I was pleased to see some snow geese at Tule Lake and though I did see a few bald eagles and even got their portraits this image spoke to me most about the joy seeing the birds lift off in a flock as one. I thought about using Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese, which is my all time favorite but I thought “No, everyone has heard that one.” So when my google search turned up another Mary Oliver poem about snow geese, I was delighted, as I am delighted to share it with you.

Birch Trees

Birchesw

Eating Together

In the steamer is the trout   
seasoned with slivers of ginger, 
two sprigs of green onion, and sesame oil.   
We shall eat it with rice for lunch,   
brothers, sister, my mother who will    
taste the sweetest meat of the head,   
holding it between her fingers   
deftly, the way my father did   
weeks ago. Then he lay down   
to sleep like a snow-covered road   
winding through pines older than him,   
without any travelers, and lonely for no one.
-Li-Young Lee
So, today it was more important to visit my Mom than do photography. It was also more important to work on my photo book from New England. So I have selected a photo from the day I was working on. We traveled to Crawford Notch, of the premiere leaf peeping areas of New Hampshire. As you can see the leaves were not quite ready for peeping but there were a few reds showing through. I also had a hard time finding a poem today so when I found this companion poem to the one from yesterday I thought, “Well, why not, he’s a good poet.”

Day 32 – Still Life with Pears

Pearsw

Eating Alone

I’ve pulled the last of the year’s young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.

Once, years back, I walked beside my father
among the windfall pears. I can’t recall
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice.

It was my father I saw this morning
waving to me from the trees. I almost
called to him, until I came close enough
to see the shovel, leaning where I had
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade.

White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.

-Li-Young Lee

I had these pears in a bowl on my counter and thought they looked very photogenic. So I took them up to the tiny studio and made a few images. Then into the computer for some lighting effects and textures.

Day 31 – Study in Red

StudyinRedw

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

-William Carlos Williams

I feel like I have been neglecting my digital artistry and didn’t feel too inspired to do straight photography today. So, I found this image while working with photos from Portland, Maine that cried out to be even redder and grungier than it was. The poem is not a perfect fit but I think it is better than my image and let’s just say we are celebrating one of the awesome colors of autumn today.

Day 30 – Fall Sunflower

FallSunflowerw

The Beautiful Changes

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides   
The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies 
On water; it glides 
So from the walker, it turns 
Dry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you   
Valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes. 
The beautiful changes as a forest is changed   
By a chameleon’s tuning his skin to it;   
As a mantis, arranged 
On a green leaf, grows 
Into it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves   
Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows. 
Your hands hold roses always in a way that says   
They are not only yours; the beautiful changes   
In such kind ways,   
Wishing ever to sunder 
Things and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose   
For a moment all that it touches back to wonder.

 

-Richard Wilbur

 

I stopped by the rose garden today, knowing that they also had sunflowers. I was looking for the beauty in the faded stalks and found a lot. This photo in particular tells the story with the shapes and colors of the sepals which are only enhanced by the bokah and the slight pop of purple from one of the roses which are still happily blooming away. And I didn’t even see the fine filaments of the spider web until I got it out of the camera. I so love it when the camera shows me something I did not see with my eye.  And I think Mr. Wilbur’s poem captures the same message I was going for. The beautiful changes as it ages but it still remains beautiful in a new way.

Day 29 – Maple Leaf

Maple_Leaf2w

Autumn Movement

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.

-Carl Sandburg

I have officially reached the point in the project where I just want to quit. I have better things to do, I’m still trying to get caught up from my vacation, there are too many demands on my time, etc. etc. Today I almost spaced it out my resistance was so high. But don’t worry, I’ll get over it. Many places I still want to go and photograph. I just have to carve out some time in my schedule. Maybe next week. This image by the way is from the archives of New England. I did the processing today and that counts. Just can’t get into the habit of doing it every day.

Day 28 – Barn

Barn2w

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon 
shine through chinks in the barn, moving   
up the bales as the sun moves down. 
Let the cricket take up chafing   
as a woman takes up her needles   
and her yarn. Let evening come. 
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned   
in long grass. Let the stars appear 
and the moon disclose her silver horn. 
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.   
Let the wind die down. Let the shed   
go black inside. Let evening come. 
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop   
in the oats, to air in the lung   
let evening come. 
Let it come, as it will, and don’t   
be afraid. God does not leave us   
comfortless, so let evening come. 

 

-Jane Kenyon

 

Normally, I go out and collect photos and then try to find a poem to fit the one I choose. This afternoon I had the poem in mind and thought of the barn down the street. I wasn’t too happy with the sky so I blended in one also taken this evening but from a different angle.  Then a few textures and now it kind a fits what I had envisioned though still not quite as poignant and image as Jane creates with her words.

Day 27 – Still Life with Pumpkins

Still_Life_wpumkins2w

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.

-Robert Frost

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.

Day 26 – Blackberry Leaves

Blackberry Leaf

August

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is.  In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

Mary Oliver

Today’s camera walk turned up these beautiful gold and russet blackberry leaves. I am beginning to despair of finding enough autumn poems to get me through the 100 days without boring myself to tears. So, I made an executive decision that the poems do not have to be about autumn. And after all don’t golden blackberry leaves in October evoke the joy of picking and eating ripe blackberries in August?