Saturday, July 25, 2009

Sleepy Bees

Early on cool mornings*, bees are in a state of almost suspended animation. They need to warm up before they can move, offering easy photo pickings. The day I took the photo on the left was very unusual though -- there were at least 30 bees in a very small area all hanging upside down off the flowers. It was both eerie and fascinating.

Taken July 21, 2009

Taken July 24, 2009.
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* And yay for unseasonably cool weather, with or without sleepy bees.

Friday, July 24, 2009


There are places that I love to photograph over and over but sometimes a spot I've gone by countless times and ignored just grabs me and won't let go until I've gotten just the shot for that moment. I can't say that the resulting shots are anything particularly special but I always like them anyway. I don't understand why or how this happens but I suspect it's something like when writers say that some meant-to-be minor character suddenly won't leave them alone until they give it a lot more space in the book.

Taken July 17, 2009

Taken July 16, 2009.
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Thursday, July 23, 2009

Nibbling Away at Summer

Taken July 20, 2009.

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Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Life Imitates Art: Jackson Pollack?

Taken July 16, 2009.

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Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Light Show

Taken July 12, 2009

Taken July 12, 2009.
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Monday, July 20, 2009

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Sunday Poetry Post

We had 2 cords of wood delivered today. There's something satisfying about having a good part of 2 winters of heat stacked up just outside.

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Firewood Poem

Beech wood fires burn bright and clear
If the logs are kept a year
Chestnut only good they say
If for long ‘tis laid away
But ash new or ash old
Is fit for queen with crown of gold

Birch and fir logs burn too fast
Blaze up bright and do not last
It is by the Irish said
Hawthorn bakes the sweetest bread
Elmwood burns like churchyard mold
E’en the very flames are cold
But ash green or ash brown
Is fit for queen with golden crown

Poplar gives a bitter smoke
Fills your eyes and makes you choke
Apple wood will scent your room
With an incense like perfume
Oaken logs, if dry and old
Will keep away the winter’s cold
But ash wet or ash dry
A king shall warm his slippers by