More of my trees

I had to run into Jo Ann Fabrics last night to buy some supplies for a photo project that I was working on for my new web site, which meant I found myself in the K-Mart Plaza once again and near the strip of trees that I love so much. This time I had my camera with me and I lost myself for about an hour taking photos in the parking lot in the dark.
Unfortunately, I did not have a tripod or anything to lean against, but I shot away with a freedom of someone who had nothing to lose. I loved the strange nighttime colors cast in ochre and sepia tones. I knew that even if the shots were blurry and unfocused that I could use them as backgrounds for my collages, so there was nothing I could do wrong.
At one point, I looked up in the sky and caught this neat shot of the yellow berries against the glowing moon and midnight blue sky. Motion blur actually makes the berries look doubly thick  and I love the interplay of yellow and blue.
I know several people passing by were looking at me funny, not sure what this crazy lady was doing with her camera pointed at these dark trees on a dark night in a dark parking lot, but I hardly noticed them. I was caught up on my own lovely island and I am thankful that the camera allowed me to capture a little bit of the magic and bring it home with me.

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Peekaboo

Writing Prompt: Seeing

The day I picked up a camera the world became a more interesting place. Tonight, I walked out of a bookstore and looked down at the grate on the ground. Three small yellow leaves created a path almost like footprints along its path. I took out my iphone, since my camera sat in my car, and snapped the above photo. The result is less organic than what I saw, more abstract, but I love the result. It seems this fall has been in a mix of gold and gray to me and I love how this photo captures both.

A thin strip of trees stands in the middle of the K-Mart parking plaza. I have taken pictures of the branches and the berries and birds singing in those trees. At night the street lights shine on them and through them casting a golden glow. I noticed it as I came out of one of the stores and walked toward my car. Again, I whipped out my i-phone and as I approached the scene, I realized one of the trees created a perfect frame for the others. Since I started creating my collages I am particularly drawn to pictures like this that can serve as a background for a story. This picture, however, also works well on its own. It draws me into a secret, magical world that stands right there out in the open -- like a parellel universe living alongside this one, that one can only see if one's eyes are open.

Writing prompt: When have you seen things differently?

World of Childhood

Pictures from childhood speak to us, providing magical portals into a primordial world, a world before memory. Before the digital age, such pictures were collected in photo albums, carefully pressed behind plastic sheets or glued to pages with pointed corners. I remember flipping through the pages at the first bald-headed, then short-haired, brown-eyed girl first on her daddy's shoulders and then in patent leather shoes and woolen cape as she headed off to kindergarten. I did not remember this person per se, but she was me and someone loved this little girl enough to collect the pictures and carefully place them in the book. I stared at them as if staring would turn a key in a lock and I would know this girl. And, even though I know that will not happen, I am drawn to the mystique and magic of the past, a world I live in and do not recall.

So, last weekend I became one of those collectors of photos, gatekeeper to the world of childhood when I met with my sister-in-law to capture autumn shots of my niece, Ellie. Gretchin wanted to recreate one of those childhood photos of herself that her mother has and so we dressed Ellie in fall clothing to keep the chill at bay and placed her in front of the remaining foliage in a Radio Flyer wagon.

I used a UV filter smeared with vaseline to create the hazy halo and I love how it provides that otherworldy feeling. Someday Ellie will look back and study these -- perhaps they will still be on line or stored in some digital file or printed out and tucked away, but whatever the means of storage, she will browse through these images to learn who she was and who the people were who loved her. And, if we are around, we will look back fondly on this day and tell her about the world she came from and the child she was and for a moment we will all linger together in this unreachable, miraculous world.

Too Many Photos, Too Little Time

Ugh, only a few short months have passed and once again I've managed to fill my computer with so many images that I can't do anything until I take them off. Getting the message that my start-up disk is full and Bridge in Photoshop won't even generate any thumbnails because it is so full. So, no new pics tonight.

Also, it's midnight. I just got home and I have to be up and at 'em to  head to the Pug Parade in just a few short hours. So, my apologies but you'll have to wait for me to resolve my computer problems before any new and exciting posts. Fortunately, I should have some interesting pics of the Pug Parade when I return as well as some great shots of my niece Ellie that I took today. So stay tuned and enjoy the weekend.

Writing Prompt: Flight

You do not live in the northeast long without witnessing the seasonal migration of Canadian geese away from our cold climes; their journey a harbinger of winter's rapid arrival. Late last Sunday afternoon, I felt less witness and more participant as the rush and roar of them seized something primal in me, sweeping me up in their journey. My sister-in-law and I were out shooting photos, when we felt a gush of wind and an assault of noise. SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! I barely had time to lift my camera to the sky and snap this photo before they passed by.

What must it be like to heed such a call, to know when it is time to move and when to return? Often I have thought I could take flight if I only knew the direction, if I had inside me such an unwavering beacon. And, in that moment part of me lifted and soared to the possibility. And, part of me stood anchored to home and hearth, to the familiar. And, I'm not sure one path is preferable. We always dream of the flight, but there can be steel in the staying, seeing a path through. The geese? Perhaps they know the best of both. They come and they go, choosing here and there. And, I can look up and go with them and I can plant my feet and discover in both air and ground the totality of who I am.

Writing prompt: When have you stayed? When have you gone? And, how did you know it was time to do either?

Fairy Photoshoot: Pug Point of View

She's at it again and even though I know what she's up to and it seems kind of strange, I feel my body tense in excitement. I start to wiggle and wag my tail in spite of myself. Oh, oh, I am excited. We are going outside. I like going outside. So much to smell. Maybe she'll give me food. Oh, oh, she has something in her hand. Oh, oh, maybe she is going to give it to the other one. I better butt her out of the way.

"Let me in, Let me in."

No food. I paw at my girl. She is slow sometimes. She probably forgot the food. Again!
"Um, hey? Remember me?" Where's the snacks?"

Oh no, she's putting one of those silly outfits on me. She seems to want me to do something. What? I tilt my head perplexed. I am thinking really hard. If I do it right, maybe she'll give me food. She's putting that box she calls a camera in my face again. I hear a click.

"Good dog," she says. "Nice picture." She adjusts the thing on my back. She says they're wings. Dogs don't have wings! I try to bite them. Instead, I turn and bite the "wings" on the other one. She doesn't like that. She growls. We spin in circles. My girl keeps laughing and snapping that box at us. She doesn't give us food. Finally we stop spinning. We rest our heads in our paws. The other one looks as disappointed as me. We think the girl forgot the snacks again. Sigh. We shut our eyes and enjoy the sun.

She calls us "beautiful." We each open one eye and wag our tails. She is our girl. She is forgiven, but I wish she'd forget the wings and remember the food next time.

Alien World

Tonight I saw my almost 9-month-old niece Ellie. She is the daughter of my brother, Mark, and his wife, Gretchin. We were meeting at the AT & T store to upgrade our I-phones and she arrived in a purple coat and purple hat that her mother had just crocheted for her.

She stared out at me from among the largest set of eyes I have ever seen. I wish I could tell you the color, but they may not have made up their mind yet. They are still baby eyes and not yet set, but are wide and deep, holding pools of foreign knowledge.

It is easy to look at a child this young and think that like Brad Pitt in Benjamin Button perhaps we age backwards, losing wisdom as we go. As with my pugs, I can't be sure of what goes on beneath the surface, what this child is thinking or trying to say. Mostly she watches and observes, like maybe if she applies enough effort she will be able to record enough details to remember later what she now knows for sure.

I have never met a child, no matter how innocent they appear, that looks like a blank slate. They most certainly have their own way of thinking and communicating. Who tells them what's funny? And, yet they laugh. Who tells them what's frightening? And, yet they cry. We are as foolish to try to explain their thoughts and actions with our emotions than we are to apply them to a dog. Children this young are still their own creatures. If, like a camcorder, they record our actions to learn, than I think we may be overwriting a previous program.

Do children lose a little bit of who they are every day, becoming in chameleon-like fashion more like us? Is our subconscious world of dreams and emotions and our penchant for imagination simply the remains of a world where we all once lived? One we leave, step-by-step, behind us as we learn to talk and walk and mirror our adults?

In many ways it is harder to discern my niece's thoughts than it is my dogs because the mirror is too close. Her likeness makes me jump to too many conclusions. I think I can anticipate her needs, but then she looks and stares and nestles her face into her mother's chest and lifts her head and looks at me from behind impossibly long lashes. I deduce she is playing shy, but is she? She looks too sly, but I do not know. Like Alfie's paw brush of Waffle's face, Ellie is talking in ways I may not understand. But, I love to watch and wonder and stare into those swirling orbs while the portal is still open - before the color sets and this alien world is lost to me.

Writing Prompt: The Fingerprints of God

The apocryphal Gospel of Thomas includes a passage that reads: "Split the wood and I am there; pick up the stone and you will find me there."

I understand these words, for it is in ordinary moments that I find God. I watch my pugs at their dance: a commonplace conversation to them, the mysterious, the profound to me. I am on the outside as they talk, privy to something beyond my understanding.Alfie grabs a toy or a rose petal in her mouth and Waffles comes for it. Alfie bows her head to the right, lifts her left paw and gently brushes Waffles' face. Waffles approaches and filches the bone or the toy or the flower from Alfie's mouth. Sometimes Alfie relinquishes it as if this is the expected outcome, sometimes she engages in playful banter. They speak. I bear witness.Sometimes it is just animals talking, sometimes in their conversation I see the fingerprints of God.Writing prompt: Where do you find the profound?

Smelling the Roses

On these soggy, autumn afternoons she drifts to the back stoop, you on her heels. You almost trip her as you rush the door. What are we doing you ask? What exciting thing is ahead?

She basks in autumn's dance between slate and rust, gray and gold, not moving from the steps. Sun breaks through like a spotlight, illuminating forgotten corners of the yard. You wander off to investigate, discovering mushy piles of fallen leaves and other smelly things. You savor their wet, earthiness. Nothing could be better. Your girl is nearby.

You check on her often, sometimes with a glance. Sometimes running back. She fusses with an object on the steps. You race to her. A container, holding pastel petals. You sniff. Are they good to eat?

They might be. These soggy, autumn afternoons with her are drenched in possibility. Life smells of food and fun. You bury your nose in velvet. Heaven!