Foggy road On this road called life, what’s ahead is not always clear and the past is irretrievable. What remains is what W. Somerset Maugham called “the everlasting present.”
Riverwalk, Dundee, Illinois, early fall
Trees and Fog: It’s known more for its ability to make objects obscure, but I like the way that fog covers up so much of the clutter between objects in a scene. Distracting backgrounds disappear in the mist, giving the lens and the eye a chance to take in a single element at a time.
Ghost barn: A fog-shrouded morning last weekend meant an opportunity to make some pictures in the area around my home. This barn sits just a couple of miles from my suburban Chicago home, bordered by homes and development to the south and east and about a mile of open space to the north and west.
Sometimes you have to go with things the way they are. This double rainbow showed up as my wife and I headed out for some shopping after a storm passed by last weekend. I grabbed my camera, but living in a suburban Chicago subdivision as we do, the view is limited to whatever space is open above the surrounding houses and trees. So, trying to artfully arrange my maple tree and the neighbor’s house while balancing the arc of the rainbow, I quickly snapped this photo.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
I found this trio of birch trees standing guard over the Fox River in West Dundee, Illinois last weekend and was taken by the texture of the bark on the trees. I learned in school that birch bark was used by native Americans for use in making canoes, shelters and for medicines.
I’ve mentioned that I cross post many of the photos here at Points of Light on Flickr. You can post photos on your own photo page, but you can also post them to themed groups. One group is called Rocks and Water. The subject matter of the photos in this group should be obvious. A discussion group post associated with Rocks and Water wondered what is was that group members found fascinating about the subject and suggested that, after all, humans are made up of nothing more than rocks and water. Hmmm … gotta think about that one some more.
The leftover pieces of having lived my life
Maybe it’s the inevitable shift from summer to autumn during the month of September. Maybe it’s the fact that I have a birthday in September. Maybe it’s the fact that today is my birthday and I get to mark the completion of one more trip around the sun.
A number of people took advantage of the break in the wet weather we’ve been having to take in some outdoor activity last Saturday morning. This gentleman paddled his way up the Fox River through Dundee, Illinois. I caught this picture as he passed beneath a pedestrian walkway spanning the river. The reflection of the low sun off the low bridge sent a shimmer of gold across the water – a hint, perhaps, of the autumn colors to come?
We’ve turned the corner into September and the palette of colors has begun its change from the pure blues and greens of summer to include hints of brown, gold and rust.
I wonder when it was exactly that people came up with the concept that they could own a part of the earth, then shut off access to all others and that it would be recognized by the community at large to be OK. And that the community would even go so far as to appoint bodies of mostly unknown folks that could go and do likewise in the name of the people.
It's been a while since we've seen this guy around these parts. Allow me to introduce you.
A trio of gerbera daisies wait their turn to replace the head guy in the flower bed. Nature is all about succession planning and continuation of the species. Nature also seems to do a better job than most businesses.
This is a black and white reprocess of a photo from a previous series about the end of the day. All is quiet as the sun slips below the horizon and the shadow of night descends on the earth.
I’ve lived long enough to have a number of “Where were you when?” moments in my life. On November 22, 1963 I was sent home along with the rest of my classmates from afternoon Kindergarten, not understanding the reason why. All that weekend, the adults in my life talked in hushed tones. I remember our black-and-white TV turned on most of the time, following the events following John F. Kennedy’s assassination. No one bothered to explain to me what was going on.
The barn is an American icon, much like the town hall and the skyscraper. Here on the edge of the northwestern suburbs of Chicago, the metroplex continues its slow but steady surge into outlying farmlands and consuming fields that provided sustenance for a region and the livelihood for a family.
Storm clouds gathered in strength and intensity while I was out photographing last weekend. This is a restored schoolhouse vintage 1880. The approaching twilght and storm lent an eerie light to the scene, almost like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
I snapped this photo from my back door as storm clouds approached. I was taken by the similarities between the top of the tree and the top of the clouds. Each represents a limit, but each of the limits can be exceeded.
This is a variation of yesterday's morning glory photo. What started out as a handful of seeds now is a series of 15-foot long vines that cover one side of my backyard deck.
My wife planted some morning glory seeds earlier this spring in some indoor containers. We transplanted the young plants to our deck where they are currently doing just fine and where I took a few shots of some of the blooms in the early morning sun.
Hoping to get some sunset pictures last evening, I set out in search of open fields and farmland. Approaching storm clouds on the horizon quickly blotted out any chance of a sunset photo. So I switched to capturing the atmosphere of an approaching storm.
The damp night air unloaded its moisture in the predawn stillness, covering everything in droplets of dew and hanging heavily in a shroud of fog. Each drop of water becomes its own lens to reflect its surroundings, millions of eyes capture and redirect the light.
The sunflowers in my backyard seem to be looking glum today. Maybe because it is now September and the summer is drawing to a close. My wife says it will be an early autumn here in Illinois. She's usually right about such things. Already it seems the pace and energy of the summer is giving way to the drowsiness of the approaching autumn.A traveler through this life collects photographs of and shares words about the points of light discovered along the way.
My photo gallery on Flickr
Want to take better pictures? Read some of the secrets behind my photos at Ready, Aim,Click.
