An oak leaf with a rather insectile-looking shadow. Just a respite from all that’s been going on.
A Leaf
nature photography
Beginning Early in Life
My love of nature and animals began when I was very, very young. I give some of the credit to my Dad, who was the gardener in the family, and who was always so kind and considerate to all creatures, including the bumblebees and wasps that occasionally got in the house.
People were often surprised that I knew the names of so many flowers and plants at such an early age. Generally, it was because my Dad had planted them somewhere around the house or in the yard, and I followed him with endless questions. At other times, it was because our family visited places like the Bronx Botanical Gardens, or the Bronx Zoo (now the Bronx Zoological Park). I consider myself very lucky to have had my innate love of animals and nature nurtured as I did.
For many of us, it’s not really all that far to walk someplace to appreciate the beauty of nature. Being in nature is so healing, so restorative, to mind and spirit. I am reminding myself – and you, too, if you’d like a reminder – to take a little time among the trees, flowers, and greening earth.
The day goes quickly and we can miss the chance. Life goes quickly, and we can miss the chance.
Photo credit of me: William Spohn (my Dad)
A Very Short Walk
For those of us who are self-employed and work from home, self-quarantining is not a new concept; we’ve been doing it for a while. What’s different, of course, is that with recent restrictions, we don’t have the freedom we did to just leave and meet friends, eat out, attend some sort of gathering. It feels like I’m sitting on my butt even more than usual.
I decided to take a short walk to stretch my legs and get a change of scenery. It was the perfect time to see lots of daffodils.
Some just ready to bloom … they looked like they were napping, soon to be awakened by more sun and an inner clock known only to them.
Here we see another flower, a bit of purple somewhat hidden in the leaf litter … myrtle. This tells me the deer are happy with their current forage and are not yet roaming the streets looking for this, a favorite snack.
I also spotted at a distance, looking real for a brief moment, a quasi-hidden cat, bearing what I believe is a Welcome sign. Thank you – it could have been a plain cat, but instead it was a neighborly greeting.
It’s easy to pass by this forgotten old garage, its faded, peeling paint, rusty hinges on a door. But the daffodils brighten it so, and had me look twice. Funny how sometimes the most worn and ignored of things can still have a beauty of their own.
Why a second view? Because the daffodils are not the only form of life emerging. Look under the concrete slab to find beautiful ivy leaves winding their way to the sun.
It was a short walk, and in times like these, even a short walk is balm for the spirit.
In the few days since, I now see forsythia beginning to bloom and that shy greening of the privet hedge and lawns. Just a blush, just enough.
A Momentary Thaw
Lately it’s been a bit of a challenge to settle down to write a post. Whether due to lack of time or lack of brain, I have been remiss. But yesterday, I couldn’t help but be inspired.
When I went out to get my mail, my friend across the street was coming out as well. We stopped and chatted for a while in the road, both amazed at the sunny, balmy 56˚ weather. But alas, there was work on my desk and I needed to go back in, balmy or not. At my computer, I looked out the window at the sun streaming onto my back porch. Certainly going a mere 15′ from my Mac wouldn’t really be absconding from work, would it?
I looked down, over the porch railing, and saw an array of amazing textures and light. Just last week, it had been -1˚ in the morning, and these warm temps were resulting in a momentary thaw and so many abstract visions. I grabbed my camera and took some photos because … well, I needed to.
Melting ice was beginning to stream into the yard, and there were a few bright berries left on the bushes.
The twisted base of one of the hydrangeas defied a sense of scale; I could be looking down into a canyon …
or watching a snowy river rush by.
The intricate patterns of nature are stunning even in their most dormant stages. Sometimes even more so.
And then I really needed to get back to work.
The Cloud on the River
The Delaware River in her many moods extends a never-ending invitation to be photographed. Just three houses away, I’m able to easily see whatever weather-inspired beauty is happening on the river on any given day.
One of my favorite views is after rain or snow, when the fog in the area has cleared, and a cloud all her own has settled on the river.
I’d already started my work, but when I looked outside, I couldn’t resist, so slipped out with my camera down to the edge of the road.
There’s just such a moodiness at this time of year to how that cloud sits low, and the wintery colors are as rich in their own way as the green vibrancy of spring. If I were able, I could happily just pull up a chair and sit for hours.
This very old concrete structure had something to do with the railroad tracks and the trains that once ran here, I imagine. Oddly enough, I’ve never inspected it more closely, and today that ground was a field of mud beneath the leaf litter.
An ancient twisting tree of the sort that inhabits mysteries and horror stories. One of the joys of the winter months is in appreciating the skeletal silhouettes of so many different types of trees.
Rising from the misty shrouds is a ghostly white hotel on the far river bank in Pennsylvania, appearing to be much closer than it actually is.
On drier days, I can go over the tracks and much closer to the river’s edge, but the muddy ground was soaked, and on the bluff overlooking the river at this point, undoubtedly quite slippery. So I just counted myself lucky to live near such beauty, and returned, inspired, to my work
Still A Dreamer 