More than meets the eye

This photograph of Lake Erie was made in the early afternoon from the mouth of the Welland Canal at Port Colborne, Ontario.  Most of the day had been overcast, but not gloomy.

I don't know what I'd expected the view of Lake Erie to be when we exited the canal.  Probably sparkling, bright water, high billowing clouds in a clear blue sky, lovely houses dotting the shoreline.  Whatever those expectations, an expansive wall of grey had not been among the options I'd considered. 

I stood on the upper deck for a long time -- watching, straining my eyes -- having trouble distinguishing the horizon line.  The occasional ship in the distance was a help.  I made several images, wondering what I'd get and how the various shades of blue grey would be seen by the camera's sensor.

It was only this week that I began looking at the photographs from that day.  Pretty subtle.  Lots of layers of grey.

As I began developing the image, however, lovely things began to happen.  Normally, I wouldn't push the post processing quite so far, but, oh, the intricate colors and textures that emerged.  The nearest water looks a little like a beach (which it isn't).  There is a ship out there.  The clouds are a bit billowy.  I especially like the wisps of cloud descending on the right side.  Clearly, the camera saw more than I did.

How often that is true.  And, not only the camera.  I simply don't see.  I can stand on deck, as it were, looking, watching, peering into the gloom -- seeing nothing, thinking "there's nothing here."

I so it with ideas.  I do it with people.  Dismissive.  Because ...  Because of what?  Hair style, grammar, interests that don't jibe with mine?  Without benefit of interaction I seem to feel free to categorize, to judge, to exclude.  Snobbish and conceited, without doubt.  I almost despair thinking about it.  But, I also understand that my tendency doesn't have to be absolute.  Seeing, seeing differently and deeply, is my choice, a choice I can -- and even sometimes -- make.   

This image, however over processed, reminds me that there is more than meets my oftentimes haughty eye.  There are layers and colors.  There is depth and interest.  Almost always, there is much to learn and to appreciate.

Put it in its place

I removed the color from this photograph for a reason.  I wanted the eye to fall not on the flower but on the seed head sans seeds.  But, yes, the flower is yellow.

Yesterday it was the flower that slowed me down on my circuit through Orchard Estates, a stalled subdivision near the local country club. There are lots of yellow flowers along the way, but only a few with petals like this one.  I made several photographs to detail the flower, seed head and leaves in hopes I could identify it beyond the term "dandelion-like."  And, I kept walking.  Breakfast was waiting.

I am disappointed that it does not appear in my wildflower guide.  I am frustrated by the whole identification thing.  I was so busy thinking about getting that flower named that I missed that the seed head itself is an intriguing and beautiful structure.  I am sad that when I returned this morning to give the seed head attention of its own it was gone.

For all my wanting to put this flower in its place, or the place where we humans have put it, I failed to see what was before me.  But, it's what we do.  Whoever wrote Genesis knew that, proclaiming the idea that God told us to name things.  My vocabulary is full of it ... categorize, sort, classify, identify, group, name, rank, arrange, order, catalog, organize, file.

I know how important the process of arranging things is.  Life would turn pretty chaotic pretty fast without some sort of organizing.  And, I do enjoy being able to name flowers and birds.  But, what is the point of categorizing, classifying, cataloging?  To know?  To understand?  To find meaning?  In part.  I suspect it's also to keep ourselves feeling safe and in control and superior (likely a primary point of the Genesis story).

I am sorry to have missed admiring that seed head.  I'd like to be less intent on putting the next thing in its place.  I hope I'll be able to let myself linger awhile and admire what I'm seeing.

Clouds

Yesterday was simply one of those days.  I like the word "charmed."  In actuality, nothing extraordinary went on ... nothing noteworthy for anyone but me, and probably Tal.  But, it was our day and I was aware every minute of that fact and that I was both aware and engaged. 

No, you don't have to endure any minute-by-minute details (or to decide not to wade through a long essay about it).  Rather, I'll let two images made just before we came inside for supper do the talking.  We had walked to the water's edge to put out corn for the reclusive wood ducks who reside at the head of the pond -- and who have eggs in the two duck boxes.  The sun was low in the sky and the clouds were dramatic.  I looked out -- and then I looked straight up.

This is a portion of the westward view.



This dizzying sight is of the clouds casting shadows on themselves.
 (West is at the bottom of the image.)

Icing on our cake ...