Tag: Photography

Mnemosyne

Trumbull Stickney

It’s autumn in the country I rememberHow warm a wind blew here about the ways!
And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
During the long sun-sweetened summer-days.

It’s cold abroad the country I remember.

The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
At midday with a wing aslant and limber;
And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain

It’s empty down the country I remember.

I had a sister lovely in my sight:
Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre;
We sang together in the woods at night.

It’s lonely in the country I remember.

The babble of our children fills my ears,
And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
To flames that show all starry thro’ my tears.

It’s dark about the country I remember.

There are the mountains where I lived. The path
Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber,
The stumps are twisted by the tempests’ wrath.

But that I knew these places are my own,
I’d ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
The earth, and I to people it alone.

It rains across the country I remember.

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Waiting for the Cranes

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It is a little early yet, but the Sandhill  Cranes overwinter near us. They love hunting bugs, frogs and other such small deer in the cotton fields at the Georgia Alabama border near Centre. We’ve even seen, once, the Whooping cranes fly through.

This shows what a 200mm lens does. I’m just waiting to try with a bigger one.

With Music

With Music

Helen Hay Whitney
Dear, did we meet in some dim yesterday?
I half remember how the birds were mute
Among green leaves and tulip-tinted fruit,
And on the grass, beside a stream, we lay
In early twilight; faintly, far away,
Came lovely sounds adrift from silver lute,
With answered echoes of an airy flute,
While Twilight waited tiptoe, fain to stay.

Her violet eyes were sweet with mystery.
You looked in mine, the music rose and fell
Like little, lisping laughter of the sea;
Our souls were barks, wind-wafted from the shore—
Gold cup, a rose, a ruby, who can tell?
Soft—music ceases—I recall no more.

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Slapton Sands
photograph (c) 2015 R. Harrison

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Getting Buggy

dragonfly
I’ve taken almost all the pictures on this blog myself. It’s probably worth sharing a couple of tips for catching bugs and critters.
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The first trick is to use the correct lens, assuming you have a camera that can take lenses (The digital SLR’s are now, and have been for several years, more than good enough to be worth it for serious photography.) I use a moderate telephoto (200mm) for insects. It can focus close enough to bring the insect into focus, but lets you stay far enough away to not disturb the critter. I could use a longer lens, but the depth of field is too shallow – which makes it difficult to keep the creature in focus.

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The depth of field can be used to artistic effect, but I’ve found much longer lenses problematic.
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I use a “skylight” filter to keep the lens clean, but don’t bother with a polarizer for these (I do when taking scenery – with a wide angle lens, but that’s a different post.)

 

Sunday Photo

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It looks like you’re at the edge of the world when you’re at the top of Mt. Snowdon. Even when the weather is good.

My Light with Yours

My Light with Yours
Edgar Lee Masters, 1868 – 1950

I
When the sea has devoured the ships,
And the spires and the towers
Have gone back to the hills.
And all the cities
Are one with the plains again.
And the beauty of bronze,
And the strength of steel
Are blown over silent continents,
As the desert sand is blown—
My dust with yours forever.
II
When folly and wisdom are no more,
And fire is no more,
Because man is no more;
When the dead world slowly spinning
Drifts and falls through the void—
My light with yours
In the Light of Lights forever!
Ships at dawn, anchored near Cumberland Island.
Ships at dawn, anchored near Cumberland Island.

A Riddle, an Enigma

Old English riddle

Anonymous

My dress is silent when I tread the ground
Or stay at home or stir upon the waters.
Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air
Raise me above the dwelling-place of men,
And then the power of clouds carries me far
Above the people; and my ornaments
Loudly resound, send forth a melody
And clearly sing, when I am not in touch
With earth or water, but a flying spirit.

Backcountry Mists.
Henry Coe State Park,
California

Photograph (c) 2010 R. Harrison

October

October

Helen Hunt Jackson

Bending above the spicy woods which blaze,
Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun
Immeasurably far; the waters run
Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways
With gold of elms and birches from the maze
Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one,
Escape from satin burs; her fringes done,
The gentian spreads them out in sunny days,
And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance
Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail,
And conquering, flush and spin; while, to enhance
The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil
Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale,
Steals back alone for one more song and dance.

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Photograph (c) 2014 R Harrison

Nondescript, but vitally important 70 years ago.

A few pictures, no words

Why was it so important?

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There’s a literary connection as well a the computer science one.

From the Tooth.

Altitude

Lola Ridge, 1873

I wonder
how it would be here with you,
where the wind
that has shaken off its dust in low valleys
touches one cleanly,
as with a new-washed hand,
and pain
is as the remote hunger of droning things,
and anger
but a little silence
sinking into the great silence.

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Sunset from the Tooth of Time
 (c) 2009 R. Harrison