dawn does’t crack in the low country of Georgia. Much like everything else here, it just kind of eases into it. No reason to hurry, it’s just too hot. We saw trees that were dead for decades that didn’t know it yet, so they just kept gripping the beach while wind and sand polished them into amazing abstract sculptures. Some of the most powerful and richest people in the world came to Jekyll Island for a while, but they’re dead and gone now. It was never their home. These trees though, they belong here.
Coming into work I cross over the Schuylkill River every morning, just about halfway to the office. I’m usually a little foggy myself, but I always enjoy my glimpse of the river as I cross over. “How are the fish biting today? Is the water up? Wish I was putting in the kayak for a paddle.” These kinds of thoughts run through my head, but then I’m past it, and on up the hill to work.
This morning though, as it sometimes is in the spring, it was otherworldly crossing over the bridge. The colors had all drained away and it was nearly impossible to tell where the river left off and the sky began. I stopped to just look at it for a while, and saw this shot in my head before I even took it.
It seemed like an interesting metaphor for many mornings. You kind of emerge from the fog of sleep, to be faced with all these tangled issues that twirl and branch and seem insurmountable, but the fog dissolves and slowly the way, somewhere in between, usually appears.
Its funny how on the way home, I usually get a sunset off the water, the river once again reflecting the day. Sometimes you’ve just got to keep rolling on, whether you can see what’s coming or not.
Bent, but not broken. A little bowed down, getting snowy on top, but ready to bounce back.
Its just for a season.
A shot for the Weekly Photo Challenge
Been a while since I posted anything. Came across this photo as I was housekeeping my hard drive. From my trip out to Friday Harbor on the San Juan Islands last year. Took this from the Washington State Ferry out of Anacortes. I saw this fishing trawler just heading into the sparkling sunlight breaking through the mist. The light out in those islands is amazing, you just feel better in it. I thought this translated to B&W really well. It’s all about the light.
My brother has a cafe out there so if you ever get the chance stop by Mike’s Cafe and Wine Bar in Friday Harbor (and tell him how much you like his logo- shameless plug).
All photos ©2014 Scott Sharadin
(Just ask, I’d probably let you use them)
Here’s my answer to today’s theme assignment of solitude. It was found down at the farm park by the river. This is where I’ll stop and fish sometimes, or launch my kayak, or sometimes just sit at lunch to get away from the computer a bit. The river moves slow here just above the dam, and this time of year I usually have it all to myself. All the jet skis and water skiers and most of the fishing boats are gone. The light dances slowly on the water, which seems almost copper-colored in the fall. The geese go honking by, and if I’m really quiet and lucky, an eagle or osprey will glide past hunting for fish. I’ll occasionally hear the bobcat up at the small nature center growl, which is pretty cool. Mostly it’s just quiet, which really has a sound all it’s own doesn’t it?
Here we go. Today starts my photo-a day challenge on wordpress.com, and the assignment was “home”. I’ve driven past this house for years on my way to and from work, and I’ve watched its slow deterioration as time and nature reclaim it. I’ve often wondered whose it was, and what their lives were like. Was it a home filled with grimness, or laughter? With selfishness and uncaring, or love and kindness? I hope it was the latter. Now though its just a decrepit shell with a no trespassing sign on the shed. Just waiting on a fresh start.
I recently lost a good friend from our church whose name was Jerry Batts. As I stood there at the viewing, it struck me what a shell our bodies are. Its part of of who we are, to be sure, but such a small part. Jerry’s body wasn’t always his friend, but oh the life in him! He was filled with joy and humor and love, and a contagious faith in the Lord. It lit up that “home” he lived in for 55 years. I’ll really miss him. But I’ll see him again in a new home, with a fresh start.
Shot this on my iPhone.
Ever wonder where that phrase came from? Supposedly it came out of the dance halls when young men paid to dance with the girls for a dime. Sometimes the ladies lingered a bit too long on the floor with certain guys, so the manager would yell “Hey Edna, get offa dat dime!”.
If not true, I like it anyway, much like the way my older brother Mike remembers things from our childhood. If not true, they sound sort of plausible and are usually pretty entertaining.
Anyway, I’m trying to kick myself in the butt and start actually taking photos, rather than wishing I were. So I’ve accepted the WordPress photo-a-day in November blog challenge, and consequently needed a blog to put the photos on.
The blog challenge starts next week, so for this week here’s one to “get offa dat dime!” (Now does anybody know what getting off the shnide means?)
This photo is from a recent bike ride on the D&L rail trail in the Lehigh River Gorge.
©2014 Scott Sharadin