Comforts of home.
The first snow fell this morning. It only lasted about half an hour, so I’m glad that I left my desk for a few minutes and took pictures of it out the windows. If there is one thing that this project has taught me, it’s that moments that impress themselves on your heart often don’t last forever. Light changes, people move, weather shifts, scenes recompose themselves. The moments where everything aligns, your eye sees and your heart responds, are fleeting. That is why having a camera nearby is so important. And why, as Koudelka said, a good photograph is such a miracle.
Rainy Sundays are my favorite.
One of the most rare and valuable things in life is a true friend.
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.
– Mary Oliver
If it weren’t for the leaves on the ground – and some still clinging to the trees – today would have tricked you into believing it was spring, not the end of autumn. The fog rolled in during the night and rain fell from a gloomy sky. I was surprised when I stepped outside at how warm it was.
I took a few pictures out of the car windows on our way into town for a very early-morning coffee. I’ve gotten to like a little bit of motion blur in my pictures (like the windshield wiper in this one) so I’ve been stopping down my lens in order to get slower shutter speeds. A gray day like today is perfect for that.
The end of autumn is a kind of poetic death.
Outside our house, there is a little tree that I had photographed many times as the leaves changed. I looked at it every day, wondering when the last leaf will finally let go. Today it did.
It has taken a long time for me to see that there is something strangely beautiful in what is decaying. I think because I’ve come to truly believe that life goes in cycles. Death is part of the continuation of life, enabling it, not ending it, and therefore it is nothing to fear.
I didn’t go outside to see the super moon. I had put it in my calendar and made plans to bundle up and photograph it, all excited after reading headlines about how the moon being this close to the earth hadn’t happened for 60-some years and wouldn’t again until 2034.
Then I found out that the “super moon” was actually only about 0.05% bigger in the sky than any other full moon this time of year which is practically indistinguishable.
Funny how some things can get so hyped up and out of proportion.
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
– Sarah Williams