Day 351 – It is Really Blue!

It is Really Blue!

Day 351

’Twas na her bonie blue e’e by Robert Burns

’TWAS na her bonie blue e’e was my ruin,
Fair tho’ she be, that was ne’er my undoin’;
’Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us,
’Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o’ kindness:
’Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o’ kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me,
But tho’ fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever:
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Chloris, I’m thine wi’ a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o’ the dearest!
And thou’rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter:
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Advertisements

Day 300 – Rush

Rush

Day 300

Eel-Grass by Edna St. Vincent Millay

No matter what I say,
All that I really love
Is the rain that flattens on the bay,
And the eel-grass in the cove;
The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
At the tide-line, and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach:
Nothing in this place.

Day 297 – Another One of “those” Shots

Another One of "those" Shots

Day 297

Oh fair enough are sky and plain by A. E. Housman

Oh fair enough are sky and plain,
But I know fairer far:
Those are as beautiful again
That in the water are;

The pools and rivers wash so clean
The trees and clouds and air,
The like on earth was never seen,
And oh that I were there.

These are the thoughts I often think
As I stand gazing down
In act upon the cressy brink
To strip and dive and drown;

But in the golden-sanded brooks
And azure meres I spy
A silly lad that longs and looks
And wishes he were I.

•••
I have photographed this stretch of river in every season and almost every month.  And each time I take a photo, it is new again.  I never tire of it.  The river is very high now, the water over the flat banks we normally sit on while dangling our toes in the water for the tiny fish to nibble on.  I had to tip toe around the water, holding on to the high banks so that I wouldn’t trip into the cold wet.  Before long, the water will recede, the trees will be in full leaf and my children will be sitting on the flat part of the river bank with fishing poles while I dangle my toes once more.  And I will think about my father.

Day 290 – They Call Me the Breeze

They Call Me the Breeze

Day 290

Call Me The Breeze by J.J. Cale
Call me the breeze
I keep blowin’ down the road
Well now, they call me the breeze
I keep blowin’ down the road
I ain’t got me nobody
I don’t carry me no load
Ain’t no change in the weather
Ain’t no changes in me
Well, there ain’t no change in the weather
Ain’t no changes in me
And I ain’t hidin’ from nobody
Nobody’s hidin’ from me
Oh, that’s the way its supposed to be
Well, I got that green light, baby
I got to keep movin’ on
Well, I got that green light, baby
I got to keep movin’ on
Well, I might go out to California
Might go down to Georgia, I don’t know
Well, I dig you Georgia peaches
Makes me feel right at home
Well now, I dig you Georgia peaches
Makes me feel right at home
But I don’t love me no one woman
So I can’t stay in Georgia long
Well now, they call me the breeze
I keep blowin’ down the road
Well now, they call me the breeze
I keep blowin’ down the road
I ain’t got me nobody
I don’t carry me no load
Ooh, Mr. Breeze
•••

I really have been taking my photos….
I just have no time to get them posted as I work my way slowly through
the wedding photos that I must get edited! So here, at least, is one
day’s worth of photos. Sigh… You know, the hurrier I go, the
behinder I get.
The windmills pictured run along a 30 mile stretch of US 30 in Ohio.
They start right at the border between Indiana and Ohio and go on and
on and on. I think they are quite eerie looking, so large and silent
and I mused, as we drove along this trail of windmills, that if
Stephen King were to drive along this stretch of road, these windmills
just might find a place in one of his stories along with Middle Town,
a little burg we found while in search of some bottled water and maybe
a restroom. The locals are not impressed with the windmills as they
feel that they detract from the ambiance of the flat, flat, flat fields
that surround them.

They Call Me the Breeze

They Call Me the Breeze

Day 287 – It Came in Like a Lion.

It Came in Like a Lion.

Day 286

MARCH. by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The snow-flakes fall in showers,

The time is absent still,
When all Spring’s beauteous flowers,
When all Spring’s beauteous flowers

Our hearts with joy shall fill.

With lustre false and fleeting

The sun’s bright rays are thrown;
The swallow’s self is cheating:
The swallow’s self is cheating,

And why? He comes alone!

Can I e’er feel delighted

Alone, though Spring is near?
Yet when we are united,
Yet when we are united,

The Summer will be here.

•••

This photo isn’t showing you how the lion has actually been roaring – you can’t see the wind blowing and the morning’s snow blew away at this point.  So many branches litter yards and roads, even a few trees have tumbled this week.  Looking at 60’s this coming week, so I am hoping that the lamb is heading out of the barn.

A friend posed this question today: “Have you ever noticed how when you are not looking for love, that’s always when it seems to come looking for you?”  I am driving to Dayton, OH to the wedding of my niece who wasn’t looking 6 months ago.  It is to be an intimate wedding, immediate family only and I was supposed to be a guest only at this wedding.  However, the photographer I recommended and who was hired, backed out at the beginning of this week (something better came along, so she threw professionalism and ethics to the wind) and I will be providing the camera work.  And I am tickled pink that I can do this for her as a wedding gift.  Guess what tomorrow’s photo will be?

Day 276 – Typical Swan Shot

Typical Swan Shot

Day 276

The Swan by Mary Oliver

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air –
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds –
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?
•••
Three days worth of photos are coming in tonight.  I really don’t like posting in this way, but what can you do?  I have been very busy with a graphic project for the local Civic Players and it has kept me quite occupied.
This really isn’t a great shot, but it was the most cooperation I could get from this particular swan.  He certainly was a pretty fellow.