Unfamiliar bedsheets. Different light. Playing house. Here I can be anything. Time traveler. Lover. Midnight poet lost in fog. I collect pine cone roses. Walk the gargoyle dog under mocking magpies. Wooden floors creak. Could be a ship. I’m the captain. Ocean calls within pink coffee cups. Dance darling. Spin me. Do you see those lights? Pumpkin memories flickering. Was it a crowded nightclub? A woodland church? It happens again. It happens again. Pour me another glass— sing. Your voice calls. Sounds like together. Like us. Like me. I can be anything. This time.
“….he said it was interesting. He used the word ‘textured’. He said ‘smooth’ is boring but ‘textured’ was interesting, and the scar meant that I was stronger than whatever had tried to hurt me.” —Jeannette Walls
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to create images using a texture overlay. For those unfamiliar, it means after taking the image you add an overlay in the post-processing to give the photo a different texture.
I’ve never played with this feature before and had fun trying out different effects. Some of these I blended until they almost disappeared but others I made more obvious. Let me know if you have a favorite and what you think of this type of editing. Not sure I’ll use it often but it’s a great tool to add to my growing photography skills.
If you are in the mood for some reading, here’s a short ghost story I wrote this time last year. I’m proud of this one. Week 41: The Cornfield
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9#10
Photos were taken with Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com
panic sits inside my shoulder just under the skin wiggling spiderset leggy, crawling 3 a.m. do you know where your children are? i check, don’t trust my eyes other senses won’t wake drive a tractor toward a fence can’t go fast enough to break through are they on the other side am i running to or from something hold my hand, am i really here bubbles become breath, no breath is bubbly spiders lie, right, it’s not real 4 a.m. do you know where your children are? they aren’t little but the world is bigger now eyes too open, close them rest your head upon my shoulder my head doesn’t know where to rest it spins, a top loose upon the table, it trips the horse we tumble, tangled limbs, hoofs, hair spider calls its friends, a party moves down my body pop the champagne, let’s go 5 a.m. do you know where your children are? pull the legs off so they can’t scurry inside i still feel them even when i say they aren’t real exterminators tell me they got every single one but why do i hear them tap dancing clever cat knows, he will find them for me hearts can only take so much, he purrs 6 a.m. do you know where your children are? too late to take the little white pill, stuff to do it makes me sleepy—fight it, fight it, fight it eight-leg shadows find my chest, neck, eyes fine, take it, one loud swallow fingers find keyboard, words trip/flip/skip not good enough, not anything, fine, all fine check kids one more time, one more time one more time step outside, cool air brushes skin softer morning traffic sounds, my ocean in and out, nothing else, we breathe seagulls cry with the mourning doves time to do last night’s dishes another load of laundry i know where my kids are
Author’s note: I suffer from occasional panic attacks. I had one this morning and penned these words in an attempt to capture the feeling.
we watch the water hold tight rope swings, we jump high rise like lilacs, like waves, like space ship rocks, sways, we tumble weeds snare, we stare at sun shine within, soft skin, we whirl pool glows, grows, lacks sense less we see, less we know—a flash back to life, hands catch cold rain bow tied neatly around bold moon light dances, our souls wonder land a kiss upon my lips, our hour glass turns, we say goodnight
Author’s note: Each line in this poem ends with the start of a compound word. You can either read the poem line by line or you can read those words combined—tightrope, highrise, spaceship, etc. Let me know what you think.
“As long as there are kids who are pissed off and have no real way in venting out that anger, heavy metal will live on.”—Ozzy Osbourne
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to create an environmental portrait. Ideally, the image would be of a person in their surroundings and it would tell a story.
I didn’t quite follow the instructions. Instead of featuring a singular subject in an environment, I redefined it as featuring the environment itself. The place I focused on was Aftershock. It’s a four-day festival featuring 90 bands with more than 160,000 people in attendance.
As I wasn’t allowed to bring in my camera, all these photos are from my iPhone 13. I added a “gritty” look during editing which fits the mood of the audience and the music. Some of the bands featured on the day I attended were Avatar, Baby Metal, 311, and Korn. The temperature was hot. The crowds were wild. It was a lot of fun. I’m still tired.
If you are in the mood for some reading, here’s a short story I wrote this time last year. It’s one of my favorites. Week 40: Room 313
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9#10—the crowd walking out at the end of the night looking like a zombie movie.
Photos were taken with an iPhone 13 and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com
My spider has a moon on its back. It’s not a big one. Don’t be silly. It’s small, like my spider. In fact, you might not see it unless you get close. Really, really close. I know you won’t because of the eight legs and eight eyes thing, but you’re missing out. The moon is translucent and shiny—a rare precious gem. You might even call it pretty. I like to stare at it before bed and sometimes even touch it. My spider doesn’t mind. It likes me.
The moon affects the way my spider moves and feeds. Full moon days it must find a quiet place to lay because it’s weighed down by the gravity of it. On new moon days, it hunts. Some insects have learned this cycle and can avoid becoming prey. They are the smart ones. Plenty aren’t so bright; my spider finds them and fills its stomach. Drinks them up.
Now, dear, you must ask yourself an important question on this dark, dark night. Do I have a moon on my back? You see, we are alone in this room. You are close enough I can hear your heart beating and feel the warmth of your skin. Am I the kind of creature who feeds in the dark or the light? You tell me.
Author’s note: This tiny story was inspired by the second day of Inktober prompt “spider.” It’s my attempt at a campfire tale. Let me know what you think!
It’s a cave. No, it’s a mouth. I’m standing on the tongue trying not to be swallowed but I find the warmth alluring. It’s almost like a siren song but I can’t hear it. What if I let myself go?
Action accompanies thought and I slide gently backward. I’ve turned into little Alice, all blue and white. Clicking my feet together three times I land beside the white rabbit but he’s got fangs and he tries to bite my ankles. “No,” I say but my words come out as meows. I’ve got whiskers and a hankering to find a spot to lay in the sun but it’s only skin all around me.
Is it tea time yet? A tidal wave of Mint Majesty knocks me off my feet and I tumble further and further down until I come out into the bright sunshine. I’m not inside anymore, I think, but maybe I’ve reached the center. Giant sunflowers surround a not-yellow house with a white picket fence. Voices call from inside but they are madness and I cover my ears so I don’t hear them. Too late. “Curl up into a ball,” they say.
I’m rolling now along a path lined by oceans on both sides. Starfish leap at me but I’m too fast. My bowling ball self hits the pins and someone yells “Strike” but before I can celebrate I’m in the cave again. No, it’s a mouth. This time I’ll do things differently.
Author’s note: I’m participating in Inktober this year by writing the prompt instead of making a drawing. This poem was my response to “dream.”
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”—Anaïs Nin
“Things blossom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time.”—Neil Gaiman
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to take photos that define the word blossom. While it could be interpreted in more abstract ways, I decided to visit my local plant nursery and photograph literal blossoms.
What excites me about these photos is I had an idea of the type of image I wanted—black background and bold colors. In the past, I’ve achieved this look by accident, but today I did it on purpose. I consider this a huge photography milestone.
Let me know which photo is your favorite and have a wonderful week.
If you are in the mood for some reading, here’s the short story I wrote this time last year. Week 39: The Wheels on the Bus
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9#10Not a blossom, but aren’t those water drops pretty?
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com
i am burning it down she says while we eat meat and rice in the afternoon. flames crackle between us scorching nearby tables and turning sorrys into ash. our daughters watch us shoot lasers from our eyes while holding hands. we laugh at time shedding worn-out shadows until we sing our siren call center stage. fire leaps from our naked tired bodies to transform old beliefs until they break free or bloom or evolve; anything but stand still. wiggle it loose until it snaps. forget how it looks. our mothers didn’t know but we do. we dare each other to burn brighter and brighter. we promise to not look away. hearts can be soft and still rage. let’s get together again soon, i say.
“I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves, and behold the reality beneath.”—Kahlil Gibran, Faces
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to focus on faces. While some of the photos here fit the challenge, especially if you define sunflowers as having faces, most do not. I hope you’ll forgive me this week.
I’m a huge fan of pumpkin patches and have decided my 4-year-old nephew and I will visit a different one every Friday from now until Halloween. Part of these adventures will be to find the most sincere and sweet pumpkin patch in our area.
We started with the opposite of that, the very commercialized Bishop’s Pumpkin Farm. While I know it’s a favorite of many, I find it overwhelming and far too expensive. The train was fun and we loved the corn pit, but it feels like it’s grown too large and is trying to be too many things. Next week we will try a small family farm in Folsom.
Let me know if you have a favorite photo and I hope you have a wonderful week!
Bridgette Tales 