Signs

This summer many of my posts seem to revolve around the weather. Maybe it's because it's been so unusual, so volatile this year. Maybe it has to do with climate change or our unpredictable economy, but most likely it has to do with my changing perspective.
Since creating my newest blog, Recovery Thru My Lens, I've grown even more connected to the natural world that has always provided so much to see. But now I'm seeing it in a more personal way as signs of what's to come.
While attending a meeting during a torrential storm a few nights ago, there was an eerie yellow light filling the doorway during the break.
"Look, it's a rainbow," someone shrieked.
And indeed, there it was arching over the church next door.
In the middle of a very stressful week, it was the sign I needed most.
To see a more poetic rendition go to Renew...

Magic

No matter how long I take photographs, it's magic never ceases to amaze me. When I finally succumbed and bought a digital SLR camera in 2008, I started to experiment with it by photographing the sky. At that time, I was envisioning a collage about climate change that would require many small images; so I thought it was a perfect application for the camera which offered endless frames, easily deleted unlike the more cumbersome, expensive film process.

That project has not yet materialized, however four years later, I have rediscovered this series and they are resonating with me much more now than when I originally created them. It reminds me that when we feel the urge to photograph something, we must take action even if we're not quite sure why we're doing it or where it might lead. 

So far, two of these images have inspired me emotionally on my more personal blog, Recovery Thru My Lens. Take a look at Help and Bliss to see how....

Fog

After almost a week of rain, it finally stopped today and the sun came out for a while around noon. By the time I stepped out, however, the weather had already changed---not unusual by the sea here on the East End.

As I walked down the block toward the bay, I felt the moisture in the air and saw that the fog had started to descend. "Wonderful," I thought, "it would be nice to feel the warmth of the sun on my face, but fog is much more interesting."

Then, I started to wonder why. Is it the mystery it evokes? The blur in the distance? A sense of wonder?

Sure, it's all those things. But looking at this image, I realized that what fog does best is bring our attention to what's right in front of us since there's not much more to distract us.

Here, mounds of sea grass stretch into the water like fingers testing the temperature. I had never noticed that before...