RUSTED

Saturday, December 15, 2012.  A familiar sign, known across the country, is transformed by weather and oxidation.  The sign has become something else, a softened version of its former self.  The solid bar in the middle looks like it might be soft to the touch, as if the admonition regarding your proposed action might not be so absolute.  Do you now dare to do what has been forbidden?

I STAND ALONE

Sunday, December 2, 2012.  A spot of color in a somber background, this leaf hangs on, refusing to drop from its perch, braving wind, rain and passersby.  The edges have burned to a crisp brown, but the red is still rich and ripe with the potential to reflect the sun, if it peeks out.  I like the tenacity of any living thing that goes its own way.

Beaded Beauties

December 8, 2012.  A morning walk in Central Park and the fog is thick in the air, the moisture collecting and dripping on branches and fruit.  It glistens in the wan sunlight, which is struggling to break through the mist.  The birds have left these little grapes to collect the drops of water and shine in the morning light. 

THE SPIRITUAL GAVE BIRTH

Saturday, November 17, 2012.  A lost letter, a discourse gone astray, a page turned and torn, gone away from the writer, or the receiver.  I was between engagements, done with one, going to another and there was this correspondence, someone's ponderings on the spritual and the natural.  The natural seems to have the upper hand, eventually returning the idea to the spiritual.

THE MISTS OF NOVEMBER

Monday, November 12, 2012.  There is so much mystery in the mist.  What is coming?  Is it hopeful, dangerous, prowling or wonderful?  I can imagine I am in many places, least of all where I really am.  I can see the distant shapes of something, I can see the far expanse of nothing.  And yet I will walk on into it, expectant and eager as to what lies ahead.

SHELTER FROM THE STORM

Monday, October 29, 2012.  Even the fallen leaves have sought shelter, glistening in the corner of ramp.  Every color of them has come together, tossed about and blown asunder.  In the darkness, only the flash of my camera illuminates the red and the orange and shines on the yellow. They rest a bit, before they will be called again into the swirling pull of the next gust.

RED

Sunday, October 28, 2012.  Red leaves gently harbor a stray brown, welcoming it into a soft embrace.  This is a red that Vreeland probably appreciated at one time or another.  Singular, occurring just this once, in this shade and sheen.  It might repeat itself year after year, but not in its entirety.  It is a standout, this little tree, hardly more than a bush, but radiant in its brashness.