February. The old tortoise grumbles about being so late with urgent or seasonal chores, then sees how light falls in yet another way on the Xmas garland that is still up. Hmmm. Is the old tortoise still up for photography in dim light?
Category: growing old
Never Give Up — Continued
Consciously, I had nothing to add when I posted a photo recently. But the pot always simmers. I brooded on the word “victory” in a comment by Sue Ranscht. I recalled the epic journey across northern Norway in World War 2 by Jan Baalsrud, the sole survivor of a commando force betrayed by a Nazi collaborator. I seized another day of magical light and found there was more to show and to say.
Never Give Up
Icy Moods
My fingers can still press camera buttons for a few minutes in moderately cold weather, if I wear thin gloves and either lean out a window or stand in a doorway. Now and then, I can freeze a good visual moment in a winter day or night w/o freezing my fingers in the process. It’s not just about getting images like these four. It’s also about flipping the bird at the “winter of life” metaphor for old age. Winter can be so beautiful.
Twigs and Shakes:
Twigs and Pine Needles:
Twigs and Trunks:
Gold in the Cold:
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– above post (on phone) or beside it (on desktop). –
– above post (on phone) or beside it (on desktop). –
Vow of Silence
An excessive dread has consequences in this revised (and now illustrated) short story, with a somewhat upbeat twist after a few frantic minutes. The illustration has its own ironic backstory.
To Age Gracefully … or Not
While Freud’s quarrelsome trio was speculative and oversimplified, he was onto something: “the” mind may be a loose association of multiple partial minds (I’ll call them “miniminds”) that jostle for conscious attention and sometimes squabble. Here is a comic misadventure due to one of my own miniminds that segues to another minimind’s way to treat toenail fungus. BTW, it’s all true.
Going Gray?
Some photos need color, some are better in grayscale (aka “black and white”), and many are good either way. Here are some examples and a tanka that touches on the symbolism of color in general. Visit the links to see more examples.
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Bare Branches
Some go to grayscale
when form is “all” that matters.
I keep azure skies.
My world will gray soon enough.
I keep color and press on.
If somebody chooses to emphasize form and texture in a photo of bare branches by going to grayscale, I am likely to disagree with (but respect) that choice. So far, I have always wanted to keep color in my own photos, often with minor adjustments in my photo editor. Here are some examples where grayscale would be goofy:
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While I have no qualms about really needing color in most of my own photos, there is more to be said about the ways various photographers have used color or grayscale. Some examples follow.
A somber poem with grayness as a metaphor has been illustrated by a photo of a mostly gray scene. But it is a color photo, and rightly so. The subtle color is a reminder that the grayness is there in the scene, not an artifact of how the image is displayed.
Of course, I admire the photographic pioneers whose images were compelling despite then-obligatory grayscale. Some classic photos are best left in grayscale anyway, and contemporary photographers may choose partial desaturation. There are even a few photos that benefit from going all the way to true black and white, where every pixel is either pitch black or stark white. Scroll down from the header image in Choices to see an example.
Early Spring Snow Shower
Unaware of what lies below them, snowflakes fall thru air that is barely above freezing. Aware of what lies ahead of me, I rejoice in a partial workaround for growing old.
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Friendly Friday Photo Challenge – Feelings of Spring
Ground Already Warm
Falling thru cold air,
oblivious snow flakes will
melt on the blacktop.
Falling thru cold air,
oblivious snow flakes will
melt on the blacktop.
[2019-03-22] Bummer. I want to photograph the inspiration for my haiku, but my old hands cannot go more than a few seconds w/o thick gloves in cold weather.
Hmmm. Tho unheated, my garage gets some warmth leaking from the furnace. I put on a pair of thin gloves that can be worn while doing some things that previously required bare hands. I open the garage door and look outside while standing just inside the garage. Maybe I can work enough of the camera’s buttons while wearing the thin gloves.
The lens zooms too quickly for fine control. I cannot move forward or backward to compensate for zooming too far out or in. Oh well, I can crop the image later to compensate for zooming too far out. Is there a serviceable view in some direction from where I can stand w/o getting too cold? Hmmm. I try five views and go with the last one.
While it does illustrate my haiku, my photo is admittedly not of standalone quality. I can live with that. Any partial workaround for growing old is a small triumph to savor.
Old Age is a Mixed Bag
Yet again, classical literature says something complex and important, while leaving much for later generations to discover and say. For now, I will shut up after 2 haiku.
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Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #61
a new feature for the weekend … introduction
calls for Japanese-style poetry inspired by an excerpt from Plato. (An excerpt from the excerpt appears below.) Yet again, classical literature says something complex and important, while leaving much for later generations to discover and say. For now, I will shut up after 2 haiku.
“… the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life.”
“… when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many.”
“… for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden.”
“… I rather suspect that people … think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but because you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.”
Fond Memories
Nostalgia for
what never was (nor could have been):
old man dreams of sex.
Nostalgia for
what never was (nor could have been):
old man dreams of sex.
Still Standing
Mellow curmudgeon
shrugs off fate and stands proudly
paradoxical.
Mellow curmudgeon
shrugs off fate and stands proudly
paradoxical.
Somewhat Immortal
Having an afterlife may be overrated.
Afterlife
Dyed and dried
soon after they died:
artichokes.
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Wisdom in Wood
The haiku titles in my response to
Wisdom ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #124
stretch the word. Another response stretches it similarly.
After the leaves have fallen in a wooded area, the good news is that we get a relatively unobstructed view of the tree trunks and branches. The bad news is that it is not clear which of the trees are alive.
With one exception, all the trees and branches shown in this post are alive.
Wisdom in Wood #1
Singing silent songs
of injury and healing,
trees refuse to quit.
Wisdom in Wood #2
Never die?
No, the choice is to
never quit.
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Mundane Miracle – Pond
A consolation for the decreased mobility that comes with age is an increased appreciation of mundane miracles close to home. One example is considered here; I hope to post a few more in coming months.
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Long ago, I drove/flew/drove to a motel in the town on the western edge of Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. Soon afterwards, I hiked into the park, admired an alpine lake, ate a trail lunch, and hiked out in a thunderstorm that mocked my “waterproof” boots. Nothing epic, but well beyond me now. That’s OK. I did it once (which was more than enough for the thunderstorm part).
Some people consider it a miracle when the government does something right. Over the years since that trip to Colorado, the EPA adopted (and enforced!) vehicle emissions standards. I can walk the roads near my house w/o being assaulted by trucks and school buses belching black diesel crud. Their exhaust is still smelly and unhealthy, but not bad enough to ruin a walk on a breezy day. So I can often walk about 1.5 miles to the far end of an artificial pond beside the road. An artificial pond ringed by hilly pasture land is not the same as a natural lake ringed by mountains, but water is water and blue sky is blue sky.
After a few rainy days, excess water in the pond rushes thru a culvert under the road and into the little brook that was dammed to create the pond. I can admire the exuberant splashing on the rocks in the brook w/o dwelling on the artificiality of the scene.
Sound of Sunlight
Rushing waters bring
joy to those who hear them sing
and see them sparkle.
Happy Heraclitus
(added 2018-06-07)
Life flows and splashes.
No things are permanent and
all things are precious.
Mellow Curmudgeon 