Today the heat subsided and the clouds arrived. I went in search of you. I found sunflowers, pumpkins, cornfields, and a bridge. You peeked out for a minute from the clouds but then ran from me. That’s okay. I don’t need to see you to love you.
Because I’m still in love with you I wanna see you dance again Because I’m still in love with you On this harvest moon —Neil Young
I visited Bishop’s Pumpkin Farm with visions of taking a photo of the full moon over a cornfield, but the clouds didn’t cooperate. Instead, I had a lovely evening with my mom. I hope you enjoy these images and let me know if you have a favorite. As always, all photos were taken by me with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
Darkness swallows the city. I drive for hours looking for the moon until I find it beside the courthouse at the top of the hill. It’s lit for the Fourth of July, a beacon of patriotic light.
“I’m going to live there someday,” I used to say. An entire childhood spent dreaming of a place that wasn’t at all what I thought it was.
I park near an antique shop and stare at the oddities inside. Cars streak by below. The moon blends into the city lights as a warm breeze dances around a patch of thorns.
“Does time ever feel like it’s not moving normally? Like it’s all out of whack?”—Maddy, I Saw the TV Glow
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The sixth full moon of the year arrived the day after the summer solstice. I set out fairly late and felt uninspired by the view until I drove to Auburn and found my favorite building. These aren’t very “strawberry moon,” but I like them anyway. Let me know if you have a favorite.
These photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
As I carefully walk toward the rippling water my shoes sink in the soft mud. You tell me to listen to what the frogs are saying. I try, but I don’t know how to be still enough. A small patch of yellow flowers grows near the shore and I struggle to get closer to them. What are they saying? The Worm Moon bursts out from behind the clouds shining a spotlight across the water. Everything seems to be calling out. I swallow my words and listen harder.
“The gold tree is blue, The singer has pulled his cloak over his head. The moon is in the folds of the cloak.” —Wallace Stevens
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For my third attempt at full moon photography, I visited Folsom Lake at sunset. It felt magical and different. My daughter drew a moth in the sand. Spring is here.
Let me know if you like these and if you have a favorite. These photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
You aren’t here with me in these blue woods. I’m alone. Hands hanging loosely at my sides, I track the full moon until it peeks through the dark silhouetted branches. The sky morphs from cold white to warm gold and back again. A breeze blows gently and my skirt dances around my knees. It feels like butterflies and Spring, but it’s still February. Still winter. Snow falls softly in the nearby mountains.
My mind forgets and remembers things as I walk, a circle of thought looping and playing. Soon a song cuts through and clears out everything else. “All this joy, all this sorrow.” Maybe I hummed it then, alone in the woods on the night of the Hunger Moon. The night I was missing you. Maybe you did too.
“We’re both looking at the same moon, in the same world. We’re connected to reality by the same line. All I have to do is quietly draw it towards me.”—Haruki Murakami
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This was my second attempt at photographing the full moon this year and it was nearly as frustrating. There were a lot of clouds and I found myself more interested in the trees than the moon. I wonder if I’ll tire of this project or stretch my photography skills further. Time will tell.
Let me know if you like these and if you have a favorite. As is usual, these photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
it can look selfish this way I’m living looking for love through a camera lens through the way my thighs move when I dance through the way my chest rises when I sing but it’s survival like the lone daffodil blooming in January a waning moon at dawn the first dandelion puff the cluster of fuzzy buds on the bare peach tree we are all looking
These photos were taken this morning in my yard with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
It’s the 8th day of the New Year and I’m behind. Behind in responding to comments. Behind in writing blog posts. Behind in reading blog posts. My Christmas decorations are still happily shining and my sink is full of dishes.
I share this because there’s a tendency this time of year to feel like you have to hit the ground running. January has to be YOUR month to get all the things done and to set into motion all the ways you wish to make your life better. It’s all a lie. Like so many untruths we tell ourselves, it’s just another example of perfectionism making us miserable.
Don’t let it.
I’ve chosen Movement as my word of the year. Any forward momentum toward my goals will be considered a success. No, I’ve not done much blogging, but I did take a trip to Tahoe and my photography heart got to dance in the snow. No, I’ve not done much cleaning of my house, but I’ve written a poem and short story in my journal every day this year so far. Movement. Like water over stones. It all matters.
If you’ve been around here a minute, you’ll know I have a deep love for David Bowie. Today would be his 77th birthday and last night I dreamed I was in his Lazarus music video. I was under the bed reaching my hand out to him. I woke and wrote this poem and a small flash fiction in his honor. I hope you enjoy them. They aren’t what I had planned to post but I’m learning to let my creativity go where it wants to.
like bluebirds racing sunlight like bare branches in a breeze like tomorrows that don’t come
it’s just like you to leave us quick as lightning moonman mornings starlight singings
fly free toward me
One who moves
I don’t want him to call me his bluebird one last time, although he does it anyway in a raspy voice I barely recognize. It matters to him, but I refuse sentimentality. I suppose it’s my way of fighting back. I know he understands.
“Time loops around,” I whisper when his heart stops.
Someone screams. Someone else runs to tell the people waiting on the mountain. Or maybe nobody is here at all except me. I wipe his eyes with the damp hem of my dress. I clean his face of tears, but the ones on my face are dry now.
He’s not gone, I yell to those wailing and screaming, but maybe the certainty he gave me at the end was only for me. He was fond of parting gifts. A lifetime of moon whispering, hip swaying, star gazing, and half-smiles don’t disappear. Not fully.
He’s writing everything down in a notebook beside the river while I wade up to my knees in the cool lapping water. Geese loudly scream out for attention, but I don’t take my eyes off his pen. Rocks beneath my toes are covered in slimy moss and they sing to me. The sky above is as blue as his right eye, maybe not even as blue as that. Clouds find a way to shift. Moving toward him, like we all do. Like I want to do right now.
Our years have now become days. We change nothing. We do nothing different. For certainty and love requires surrender to the forces of nature. A deer walks into the water and stands near me drinking loudly. Its side constricts and contracts—a life that does not care who we are because we are just like it. One who drinks. One who moves. One who watches the sky and feels the earth.
The pen stops and he looks at me over his notebook and perhaps he’s smiling. I can’t tell because the sun has burst through the dancing clouds and turned him into a being a light. “Free,” I think I hear him say, and just like the bluebird he takes flight. His wings sound like music.
masked moonlight wakes me pulling dreams backward, inward pulling body forward, outward five steps and I’m outside bare feet on weathered wood yes, moon, what do you want watch me descend, it says casting legato light across waves as sapient stars nod, blinking in agreement what else can I do but listen
opalescent ocean dances below sings softly of forgetting or is it forgiving maybe it wants me to bleed shedding mawkish memories dance, move, swing your arms let go, it calls can it be so simple
silver moon transforms briefly mimics sunlight before sinking below the waves below the horizon below my pained core with a final golden gasp it calls out to me yes, I hear you
folding, folding I tuck the words inside— my moonset gift swaying, swaying I rock with the waves under billowy blankets until morning comes
Note: Both of these photos are of the moon setting at around 1 a.m. If you look closely in the second one you might see stars.
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!
“The night is falling down around us. Meteors rain like fireworks, quick rips in the seam of the dark… Every second, another streak of silver glows: parentheses, exclamation points, commas – a whole grammar made of light, for words too hard to speak.”—Jodi Picoult
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to experiment with handheld long exposure. While this is similar to motion blur, instead of trying to capture movement you are trying to create it. I really had fun playing with purposeful movement and light.
These photos were taken either overlooking the city from my neighborhood park or in the local casino parking lot. The shots of my daughter are used with her permission and my gratitude. She’s such a wonderful supporter of me and always up for a drive.
I hope you like these very different kind of shots. I’ve also included two bonus photos of the supermoon. Let me know if you have a favorite photo and have a fantastic week.
“When the light turns green, you go. When the light turns red, you stop. But what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots?” —Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to use spot metering. I’ve heard the words before and had a vague understanding of what they mean, but it was time for me to really figure it out.
For those unfamiliar, it’s a setting on your camera that takes a measurement of light from a single spot and then adjusts the exposure. It took me watching a few how-to videos to find the setting on my camera and then I headed to Old Folsom at night.
The results show how inexperienced I am. In retrospect, night photography wasn’t the best idea. However, I did get a picture of the moon that’s not a white blurry blob. Skill unlocked. Be warned—there will be a lot more pictures of the moon now!
Let me know what you think. My son said the clock photo reminded him of Alice in Wonderland as the clock tower has virtually disappeared. Do you like the effect? Do you have another favorite? Thanks as always for your support and have a wonderful week.
Also, if you’ve not read it before, here’s the short story I wrote this time last year:
Bridgette Tales 