Keeping On

At the close of this most snowy month as the constant barrage of storms continues to disrupt life here on the East End and throughout the Northeast, this image seems fitting. Determined not to let the weather stop me, I was driving through Hampton Bays on Wednesday just as the morning snowfall was ending and there was a break before yet another foot fell that evening. Crossing the railroad tracks around noon, I noticed that the lights were on at the station at midday. Instead of focusing on the gloominess the sight portended, I decided to focus on the positive, to look at it as perhaps, the light at the end of that tunnel that we are all waiting for...

This posting, my 58th, marks a full year that I have become a blogger casting pictures and words out into cyberspace. I'm pleased that I have been able to stick with it and find images each week that I find interesting enough to provoke some thoughts. Moreover, I want to thank my readers for taking the time to take a look, especially those who send encouraging comments...they have kept me going...

Hide-and-Seek

During this January freeze, it's often difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel, to believe that warmer days are ahead. For that reason, I was particularly attracted to these overturned rowboats stacked on the shores of Sears Bellows Pond the other day.

Skimming the surface, the sunlight was elusive, seemed to be playing a game of hide-and-seek. When the light is low and the contrast high, it's a challenge to replicate through the lens what we see before our eyes. In this case, I had to overexpose by two stops in order to render any detail whatsoever in the shadows.

The result is an image that appears black-and-white although it was taken in color. Apropos for the stark days and nights this month.

Accumulation

Just when the foot of snow dumped in my yard last week is starting to melt, they are predicting more for tomorrow. This winter is surely bound to set records for accumulation here on the East End. Imagining how treacherous it's been for commuters over the past few weeks, I feel fortunate that I work from home and can find images, if need be, by just stepping outside and looking around.

After the last storm when the sun finally came out, I tromped around in my back yard looking for something noteworthy. Since I've lived here for almost twenty years, it's quite a challenge to see things anew on my property. But once again I was surprised when I gravitated toward a line of bare lilac branches that hung down under the weight of all that snow.

As I zoomed in close, the ratio between the spindly branches and the amount of snow accumulated there magnified before my eyes. It's a wonder of nature that I doubt I would have noticed without my camera.

Symmetry

In the midst of back-to-back snow storms, I thought I'd post this image taken last month on a sunny day in Port Jefferson. Before meeting a friend at Star Bucks, I made a beeline for the harbor where the ferry runs back and forth to Bridgeport. Instead of focusing on some aspect of the large boats loaded with cars, I found myself heading to the small beach where I gravitated toward these algae-covered pilings.

Beyond my attraction to the lime green, I often find that symmetry predominates many of my images where the simple law of thirds constitutes the composition. And then there are the surprises--the gold and green sunspots that many photographers try to avoid, but in this case seem to coordinate so well and add interest to the image.

Ever-Present

On New Year's Eve while driving through Riverhead, a little early for a lunch date, I turned into Indian Island State Park and drove around looking for an image to post for the New Year. Although I haven't been drawn to landscapes lately, I was attracted to this scene, classic for the area because of the common reeds (or phragmites) on the right invading the marsh.

No matter what the season, they appear wherever you look here on the East End of Long Island. Hovering over the dunes, lining the roads and waterways, crowning private gardens, these tall grasses are always waving in the wind. In the winter they become particularly beautiful as their hue turns from straw to auburn and their fronds fill up with seeds becoming ever so bushy.

If it weren't for the reeds, this spot with no leaves, no sign of life would appear bleak. But the cattails (as I wrongly refer to them) lift the spirit. Not only because of their spiky beauty, their tufts of silk, but because of there persistence, their ever-presence.