Alone

The tree in the picture stands alone atop a ridge. It has plenty of nourishment from the Earth that its roots have dug into deeply. It soaks up moisture when the rains set in. Carbon dioxide and sunlight stoke the fires of photosynthesis. Wind caresses its limbs and birds alight on its branches. It communes with the Earth. The tree stands tall over the surrounding glades and farmland because that was where its seed fell decades ago.

When I was taking this picture, a woman pulled her car over and stopped beside me. She let me know how photogenic the tree was. She informed me that many people have parked their cars and taken this picture. I thanked her for her insights and she drove off. I wondered what the tree would have thought about its fame. I pondered if the tree might stand prouder, or pose more heroically, if it could see the beautiful sky surrounding it. Or possibly it might appear humble, remembering its tiny part in the circle of life.

Then I thought I was being silly. It’s a tree.

But I am not a tree, and I have no idea how it feels to be a tree, or if it “feels” to be a tree. I rolled these thoughts in my head and it soon became clear. I was just as much a part of the tree’s view as it was of mine. Maybe it was laughing at me trying to rationalize its existence, and in turn my own. Or possibly it was just thankful it had no consciousness to question life or being. I was plagued with thoughts about the tree when I looked at its picture. “Must be lonely sitting there, unable to move, just waiting...waiting...waiting”

These thoughts we trifle with as human beings can be a great asset or our most obvious downfall. This tree lives, just as we live. Sometimes we all need to find our aloneness and just remember we are alive. Life passes every second, it's up to each of us to live life in every breath.

Nikon D800, Nikkor 28-300mm f/3.5-5.6 @92mm f/9 ISO 100 5 Image HDR

Fog

It lingers. That’s what it does. It waits, hiding in the crevices and valleys, snaking through the fissures and low points along the Earth. April is usually a good month for fog in the Northeast. The chilly nights keep moisture close to the ground and it vaporizes and rises when it is heated. This is how the Sun “burns off” the fog. The romantic side of the experience could be likened to the faint perfume of a beautiful woman that has already left the room, or even more abstractly the melody from a song you heard yesterday that drifts in the recesses of your mind. Both are as ephemeral as the uncapturable fog. I like to refer to it as a cloud that has lost the will to fly.

​Nikon D800 Nikkor 28-300mm f/3.5-5.6 @ 52mm f/18 ISO 100 1/20 sec

#TravelTuesday Niagara Falls

My wife and I traveled to Niagara Falls a few years ago in the unexpected month of January. I visited the falls with my family back in the late 70’s. It was (in an overused word in describing the falls) awesome. I don’t remember exactly what time of year I went with my family, but my father worked in the Philadelphia school system so I’m thinking Summer. The weather was gorgeous. My brother and I played on the lawns around the picnic areas, we doned short sleeved shirts, and I think I recall ice cream. In 2009 this was not the case. In the long weekend my wife and I spent in January, the darkness encroached at about 3:30 in the afternoon. The temperatures never peaked above 20 degrees fahrenheit, and the windchill bottomed at the magical number of -40 degrees (magical because -40 is the same temperature in both celsius and fahrenheit). One of the things that really burned in my mind from this trip was that Niagara Falls is still there. Every second of every day between 100,000 and 200,000 cubic feet of water flow over the falls. It happens regardless of the time of day or the season (except on the rare occasion that Niagara freezes over). What I took from this experience and why it stuck with me is because when I saw it as a child I was awestruck, and as an adult I was awestruck. The falls looked as different as could be, and it was a totally different experience each time, yet still indescribably mind blowing. If I would have only seen it in the summer I would have missed seeing the mist frozen against the lamppost pictured below, and if I had only seen it in the Winter I could never have appreciated the cool mist against my face, cooling down an energetic young boy. Each place we visit is unique... and each time is just as special.

It Must be Here

Spring must have sprung, I have sunburn on my face. Over this past weekend I was outside taking soccer portraits and it was windy but there was no rain. It’s still early April so I made the mistake of not applying sunscreen thinking “I’m wearing a long sleeved shirt and a coat, I have my rain covers just in case, and I have food for a long day. I’m covered.” It’s been so long since I needed to shield myself from Apollo’s rays I had forgotten about basic skin protection. It won’t happen again (yeah, right).

Nikon D800 Sigma 85mm f/1.4 @ 85mm f/4 ISO 100 1/640 sec