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Reflecting On Reflections. September 16, 2012

Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
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Reflections in water are a favorite subject of many landscape photographers, partly because they can be fun and interesting, and partly because they’re there when actual landscape photography is less than interesting.

As an example of both rationalizations, here’s a shot from the Chesterfield Gorge on the Westfield river in Massachusetts:

It has a nicely reflexive geometry, but has neither the saturation of a real-world moment nor the contrast of a great black and white photo, so I’m at a loss as to what to do with it other than to throw it out there as a Potential Thing lost in the miasma of mediocrity. I probably ought to have more pride than to publish it at all, but then, we all have visions which go unfulfilled despite our best efforts. This is one of mine, and I welcome your input as to how it could amount to anything or why it never will.

 

Summer. August 22, 2012

Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
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I was at a meeting of a few folks last night, outdoors, at a picnic table. We talked past sundown into twilight and beyond, and with just a tee-shirt on, I got cold.

This signals a turning point which I’ve ignored in past years, the turn toward winter, the Long Sleep of the Green Things, the time of thicker clothes and bigger fires.

Not that it’s winter, not nearly; it’s just that this year I noticed the subtle shift from warm evenings to cooler ones.

Still, there’s  another month of Summer to be had, though it’s going to become less dependable from here on out.

It’s now or never, people, or at least now or next year. Get out and get some summer!

At the Chesterfield Gorge in Chesterfield, MA:

Young folks exploring the river.

 

Chesterfield Gorge April 23, 2008

Posted by littlebangtheory in Uncategorized.
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On one of my recent homeward meanderings, I decided to visit the Chesterfield Gorge on the East Branch of the Westfield River.

Just saying that evokes a sort of geographical ambiguity, and interestingly, I’ve always found that area of the state to be in some sense ambiguous. The three branches of the Westfield share a common geology and a common destination, but otherwise their characters can be so very different.

The East Branch seems to be the largest of the three, though I don’t have any hard data on that. It just seems more present and powerful a lot farther north. And by the time it passes through Chesterfield, it’s a real river, and the high waters of Spring are a thing to behold.

Like the Deerfield River to its north, the Westfield has carved its signature in the land, most impressively in Chesterfield, where the river passes between the walls of a schist chasm, crashing through drops and eddys into deep, dark pools beneath shadowed walls:

The bracing spray of a youthful Spring flow is slowly supplanted by the mists of a steamy summer, and all the while the river infuses its surroundings with the Water of Life. Mosses grow in profusion on surfaces too steep for forests:

The late afternoon sun throws long shadows across the walls as evening approaches; the parking lot clears out, and you’re left alone in the chill air.

Savor it. Listen to the river.