A Central Park Forest
Late afternoon. Grey. Reflected sun. Behind the Metropolitan, near Squiva's territory
Posts
Fuzzy Trail of Red Berries
Wait a year, I hear, for the wreckage to clear Before launching another endearing career. Wait a month at least before choosing a beast to replace the lover who’s passion has ceased to enchant or entice or enliven the feast. I meant to be rigid and buttoned up tight. I meant to go slowly and wait for the right time to notice another or care for a night full of brightness and lightness and fervid delight. Let's follow the trail with our watering pail, and we’ll see how it plays in a couple of days. North East Ramble
A Time for Wishes
What if nothing ever happens, will there still be time for wishes? Will every hand I hold be fleeting? Is it too late to grab the strings that brocade life into a silken cloak? If I could find the words, would I put my wish into a sentence, Or would I try to pull the ink back out of the page in fear of never? What if instead I pull the edges in around that glossy wish And turn it into damped down hammered gold? It’s a wish for heaven’s sake, Why not? I miss the simple act of presence. The Golden Apples of Central Park
A Bush of Tangled White
What are these tangled whites? Perhaps a bush of daisies? A gathering of zenias? White corn flowers, bunched? A fall full of chrysanthemums? A snowy drift of weeds? Or perchance a charm of humming astors, vibrating over a bush.
Squiva on a Mid-Shoot Break
I asked for Squiva for this particular shoot, but since we needed two subjects, the National Union of The Squirrel sent over Squiva and a Sibling. Nevertheless, even in makeup this off-the-set photo is identifiably our Squiva. Notice the care given to the tail, the attention to sunlight splashes and the ability to create a beautiful composition in the tiniest split of a second. North of 79th Street, South of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Backyard
There’s an old glove I had that summer When the weeds were eating up the flower beds. We had a broken patio, and a fence with spirea. I looked up from my work that day, and there Mom was, dressed in polka dots and yellow. A broken thing by then, our life. But one time there she was, S tanding in yellow polka dots, Happy as a dandelion. Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, August 2010
Tourist Admires Exquisite Clock
Elegant New York City visitor on her way to Central Park admires the beautiful clock in Grand Central Station's grand concourse.