RDS: "With familiarity the profound becomes mundane. With passion the mundane becomes profound."...... Saul Bellow :" A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep." ......MORE PHOTOS @ saunterings.com
PHOTO-ESSAYS, POEMS---PAST AND PRESENT. Nature’s beauty found in grand views and minor details.
- ▼ 2011 (14)
- ► 2010 (17)
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The snow melt and winter exposure left some interesting patterns on an old sheet of plywood propped against the greenhouse wall.
The image is a close-up view!
Early spring a small freshet guides the spring run-off around the house. In melting months the freeze- thaw slows or stops the flow.
At close-up, the frozen freshet seems an imagined glacier knocking vast forests in its wake!!!
Near the house on my property is a lovely brook and small gorge that is quite isolated from reality.
A nice escape not far away.
Last fall the brook was so very tranquil and idyllic, so peaceful and calm. But a very heavy down-pour this spring log-jammed and left a mess.
Each year it is amazing how dramatically it changes. The amount of stone and tree trunks and branches
that move through is mind-boggling.
Every few years a log-jam forms and the volume of material dammed up stuns.
This year unfortunately the nicest part of the stream bed was silted in.
Looking up-stream is a mess, but down-stream is still bucolic.
The images are from the same rock seat only in opposite directions. The difference is dramatic.
A few years ago the log-jam formed where the stream is the nicest now!!
The only constant I guess is change.
This is the Upper Falls area of
Letchworth State Park walking to towards the the falls. A train of containers is going over the RR bridge.
In mid June the evenings are long and shadows creep slowly across the scene.
The gorge walls cast their shadow on the falls but one side of the river banks still glows with evening sun.
I’m writing this on a beautiful July morning when all is as should be with a good ball-point pen that effortlessly glides the paper: not as lovely as a fountain pen, but who has any handy anymore.
I’ve noticed the last few decades that younger writers, when they take pen in hand struggle with said instrument as if each word written must be choked out of it. It is quite painful to watch. Pity the poor pen, pity the poor fingers choking the life out of words. Are thoughts and words such a struggle that pain itself must be endured to release, free, their meaning, their beauty.
I have tried to coax thoughts from a keyboard but not much of value flows. As my handwriting deteriorates, and since thoughts must be transferred to bits and bytes, soon my choice will be no more. Now I scribble with pen on paper then slowly, hunting and pecking, letter by letter, enter written thoughts into a computer. The job done twice.
Words and thoughts wander here to seems,
Hand written cursive twists and oxbows,
Floating along meandering streams,
Giving testament, life, to dreaming flows.
Warm the morning sun, golden hues, back-lit leaves and dew glistened evergreen needles. Yet in the shadow of the woods, down the gentle hillside slope, the cool of night still drifts. Out of the still dark woods shadow, a doe and new fawn wanders, wanders to my lawn swing as quietly in daydream I sit. They pause, about twelve feet away, she senses a presence, she stares, head bobs as she assesses. I bob my head in return, still she senses no fear just uncertainty. Her fawn is still unaware. I lift my coffee cup to sip, she has none and decides it’s time to retreat. A leap turn and a few quick bounds and they are gone.
An idyllic moment in my Eden! Not quite. Cruelty of the real world is too evident, for on her backside dozens of flies in several patches annoy her so. Constantly, but to no avail, her backside twitches trying to rid the flies. As she bounds away a swarm of the flies, about twice as many as I had seen from only one side, follows ready to alight as soon as she stops. There were no sores or any injury and she seemed quite healthy, barely annoyed.
Life sucks at times and on all levels. One can only wonder WHY! Be annoyed and die!!
Damn another mosquito buzzes me.
Two days later:
Warm rain refreshed the earth last eve. This morning’s dawn, gray from mid-night’s fog, awoke surrounding all with good earth smells, alive smells, as only an early summer shower can. Life’s exuberance perfumes the air. Life is at this year’s zenith, new born with fresh leaves and insects and birds and beasts. All is good!
Sunday, July 10, 2011
For many years I’ve driven over the bridge via Rte 96 near the village of Trumansburg, NY that crosses Taughannock Creek. From the bridge is glimpsed a lovely, small waterfalls, just glimpsed because there are always places to go!! But I always look to see what I may see, I never miss the glimpse.
Occasionally if the journey is short I’ll stop to take a photograph knowing “a picture-perfect” image may be found. But each time I’m never satisfied, until one morning late spring on a June day this year. In the early morning light all came together, me with camera and spring and morning light and time to stop and look!
Walking across the bridge, to the left, the creek flows away, a shallow stream wandering with no haste, to the great gorge and falls of Taughannock. On the other side of the bridge, looking upstream, a small, quiet cascade forms and this morning is seen in picture-perfect light. The sun is slightly dimmed by morning haze formed overnight above Cayuga Lake, yet overhead, deep blue sky. Perfect!! The shadows cast aren’t as dark, the sun lit brights are not as “hot”. The blue sky glows the water bright.
Traffic roars over the bridge, pounding expansion joints to deafening extremes. But every once in a while a quiet as breaks occur in traffic flow, then, for a brief moment all is good. Soon the light changes as higher goes the sun. the magic glow is gone. The scene becomes daytime pedestrian.
I again cross the road and gaze at the stream below, watch the water flow, this time from my right as I walk. I take another picture and head on my way. After I look at my pictures at home I notice the “handedness” of view. The point-of-view is quite different. One has a left-to-right diagonal view, the other just the opposite. Yet, as I took the photos I was standing straight, looking directly down stream. The initial point-of-view was retained.
After getting back to the car, I continued down stream. From a pastoral, quiet calm, the creek soon plunges down a narrow chute and within a few feet opens into a deep gorge, gouged out of relatively soft shale rock. And soon another plunge, Taughannock Falls, gouging out an even deeper gorge as the creek races to Cayuga Lake.