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It’s Hot, But We’re Not! July 21, 2011

Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
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This past weekend was a scorcher, especially in the lower climes, so I invited my Susan to join me for an afternoon at the Cold river.  Flowing as  it does through a high, narrow valley and getting less sun than the wider water courses in these parts, it’s of a scale which is easily assimilated by humble minds and lives up to its chilly name.

We parked at a spot which has room for only one car (ours!) in a half-mile stretch, so we wouldn’t see another soul.

And we didn’t.  We walked the short distance down to the boulder-strewn river bed:

…and set to exploring.

It was magical; Susan got deeply into building delicate stone towers:

…while I scoped out the scene for photos.  The place was rich with opportunities, and I was soon hunkered down amongst the rocks, framing shots of the rich range of colors on display:

The predominant rock type here is schist, but there are chunks of blue-green serpentine as well.  I like the complexity of this rock, with its angular features on a micro scale:

…and its colorful weathering:

There are also a lot of big round quartzite boulders, which display a weathering pattern known as “spalling,” and look like they’ve been carved with a round chisel:

As a black and white image, I think that shot evokes old India ink drawings.

Eventually we got down to the hard work of the day: holding down the big boulders and keeping a bit of the sun off them:

It was grueling, enduring the hypnotic pink noise of the burbling cascades and all.

But hey, somebody’s  got to do it, and we volunteered!    😉

A Taste Of Summer. July 13, 2011

Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
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July is an intense month – the blazing sun, the misty nights.  Frogs and flowers, storms and crickets.  Everything heats up, gets larger, more insistent.  Working men with bronzed backs feel every inch of their glistening skin, pretty women in sticky sun dresses stand back-lit by the July sun, unfurling themselves like sails in search of a breeze.  Babies startled by ice cream brain-freeze lunge gleefully for more as you drive slowly past, turn the wheel and head up-country for your Daily Cool.

You motor past thinning neighborhoods to where the barns live, then out past that, and before long the pavement turns to gravel, the poles and wires fall away, and you’re alone in a green Cathedral, your face dappled with sunlight and shadows, green light and birdsong accompanying the crunch of the road beneath your tires:

There’s a stream with a nice swimming hole up here, and you head for it to sit watching the cool water swirl around your feet as you study the efforts of whoever was there last:

This is how summer should be, the stuff of muted memories, less spectacle and more substance, life in the slow lane.

Refreshed, you meander homeward.  As the sun gathers its rays together for a Last Hurrah you glide along beneath a rising moon, tall grasses wave to the fading day:

Friday night the moon will be full; make a note to bring the camera out on Thursday, weather permitting, to catch it rising fifty minutes or so before sunset.

Goodnight, my friends.