The fog has enfolded us for several days. We can barely see across our bay, and certainly can’t see any farther. At the same time, while our view is limited, there’s a different kind of beauty even now— even here shrouded in the mists.
In the forests, the mosses practically glow in the diffused light, and the depth of the forest is more ‘visible’ as the trees fade into the mist. On the roads, the shapes of the bare trees are revealed — unique sculptures, each one. Spider webs are strings of tiny beads, as the moisture forms on each slender thread.
Each morning, when I take the dog out for her first walk of the day, I venture out to the Point for a clear view of the morning’s light. If it has rained at all, I note the measurement in the rain gauge, and then empty it for the next 24 hour monitoring. And I take photos.
Every day is so different —the light, the angle of the sun, the patterns and textures of the clouds, the tide’s height in its constant ebb and flow, the way the waves are meeting the shore, the presence of various shore birds, gulls, otters and seals. Occasionally, on a very still morning, my attention is caught by the breath sounds of a humpback whale, and I see the spray of it’s powerful exhalation far out in the distance.
For over a year I’ve been documenting the mornings under the title ‘The Point this morning’. I had intended to do my photo project only for the 6 months from winter solstice to summer solstice, to note the wide varying of the sun’s position at sunrise. But these daily photo glimpses became such an important part of my day’s beginning, I carried on. Now, I can’t bear to give it up so I’m thinking I will contimue for the time being and see what happens…
I took this photo last week in the warmth of the afternoon light and the stillness of Whaler Bay. What caught my eye was the complex reflections with the fallen tree, the tangled lines of its branches both above and beneath the water and the curves of the sandstone intersected by the straight lines of the wharf’s shadow.
The resulting design is intriguing: another instance of the playful art of nature all around us.
The fawns are growing quickly. Their spots are gone, and they’re often on their own. This one visits our place at least once a day, if not more frequently along with quite a few others. As long as they all stay off our porch (away from the flower pots! ) I enjoy their company.
This delicate flower is always a surprise to me when I come across it. I’ve rendered it here, blending several photos and textures together, to present the soft colours, the delicacy and vulnerability of this little flower the way it appears to me.
This sight stopped me in my tracks today: pink honeysuckle climbing and blooming all the way up an anchor cable of a power pole. Sunlit against the shadows and fir trees, with fragments of blue sky visible through the spaces— the beauty and colour invited standing at the roadside, looking, and capturing a photo (or three).
So often honeysuckle clings to the trunk of a tree, choking its life from it, but this one’s found a place to thrive and bloom, doing no harm at all. And it has transformed the harsh hard lines of the anchor cable into a striking beauty.