Spring Colors

Right now things are changing. In years past I remember the beginning of spring more as an event rather than a process. I remember trees in blossom followed by a few weeks of pedaled messes in the streets. I recall looking out into the woodlands behind my house which had suddenly been made over with fresh green leaves, and I remember the dismay of mosquito bites and gnats around my head in the early mornings or cool evenings when water was close by.
Now I look differently. I have been waiting for Spring for weeks, searching for signs of change. Sunday morning I was at Marsh Creek State Park, hours before it opened. I took the photo you see below. The grass is straining to become green and the yellowed hay is withering away. The trees on the bank look like dark branches until you look closer and notice the color peeking out from their ends. The trees across the lake are definitely not in their summer outfits yet, but preparing their budding limbs for what is to come. It’s an in-between time right now. I’m glad this year I can appreciate it.

Nikon D800 Nikkor 28-300mm f/3.5-5.6 ISO 100 7 Image HDR

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