Returning from Riis Beach after a light rain warned of a coming storm

The rain was very light, but the skies were darkening. After learning what the satellites warned, we broke camp— packed as quickly as possible, ran to the boardwalk and rode fast to beat the real rain at our backs. Made it to a bayside pub to wait out the rain then another quick dash to the ferry dock.

By the time everyone boarded the rain had stopped. Later, as we rounded the bend toward the Verrazano Narrows, the divide between the portside storm and clear skies ashore (starboard) was dramatic, and those of us on deck got a little of the rain. (Still, better to be on deck in rain and wind than below in the too-chilling air conditioning.)

The situation of the weather in these photos brings to mind the original meaning of the word POSH: Port Out; Starboard Home. On a larger vessel, posh seats would have been just the thing in this case.Back in Sunset Park, cycling northward on Second Ave, the post-storm light was too good, so I had to stop to take pictures a few times. 

From here I can see the curve of of the earth

Here are the days—
Heat, haze
on the horizon like a
matte painting, wavering

This part of summer
finds me un-hungry.
I have no appetite.
My desires simplified,
bleached
like the half-shells of
bi-valves, left hollow on the sand.

The sounds of waves,
shrieking gulls, soft wind—
And the gradual granular erosion
of my skin, cell by cell.
A pretzel taste on dry lips.
The penetrating tiredness,
and how sun-soaked skin
feels temperatures differently now.

The monotony of waves,
endless motion
that results in a kind of
pounding stillness,
a loud silence,
a dense-packed solitude.
Time stops for a few hours.
There is a profound reassurance
in these contradictions.

Tide in, tide out
Salt and sand—
abrasives
that soothe, and erase.

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A quiet wander through a green wood (part the second)

Here continues my collection comprising studies in symmetry from Green-Wood Cemetery— a continuation from this post. These are all in stoic and formal black & white, selects edited to a round dozen.

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A quiet wander through a green wood (part the first)


This is part one of two, as I took a slew of photos this afternoon, walking through Green-Wood Cemetery with my younger brother, in town for a few days. This cemetery is very near my apartment, yet I haven’t been since last summer. It was a trip to release one of my goldfish (grown too large for my tank) into the beautifully tended koi and comet pond there.

Here begins Elysium.

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A day lakeside

My nieces and nephews sitting at the end of the dock, late afternoon

Yesterday was the first day since I arrived upstate that it broke sunny instead of clouds attended by rain. It was welcome timing, as we’d long planned a day on Canandaigua Lake where my middle brother and his family have a new lake house. It was breezy and sunny with a brilliant sky and the water was pleasant for swimming. (Some of these photos were filtered through the Nik collection.)

The neighboring dock

Up the hill and across the road from their slice of waterfront is a shale-lined ravine that torrents in heavy rains, bringing a fresh slough of sedimentary shards after every storm to down to the edgewater. We spent fair amount of time skipping stones across the shallows, bare feet in the cool water.

On the farm after a sudden, short downfall


I apologize— I missed my Monday posting deadline! I’ve been posting a lot lately, but was somewhat busy leading up to go out of town and come upstate. Here are some photographs from around the farm earlier today. There was a brief, thundering deluge around 11am or so. Then the sky brightened which is always a good time for photos I’ve found. Much more so than a sunny day, depending on the sort of images one wants.

A Spring rain, soon forgotten

The morning, bright and grey,
has brought that soft, all-day rain
peculiar to certain regions, like here.

Neither dire nor gloomy;
gentle patterings on the sill
And out the streetside window—
Wet roads that sound like
crushed velvet or old dresses,
piled flat in a secondhand store.

No slantwise wind or biting air
Just a fine steady parade of silken threads
falling from bright skies

Sequins and bright baubles
gather on the lips of things,
then parachute one by one, to
Join up with silvered rivulets
in the mud of backyards, or
the sunken spots in the pavement.

Inspiring of bookish pursuits
or, maybe, a walk—
The streets are quiet and empty.

Only the swishing of tires as they pass,
pressing unforeseen creases
into the faded dresses—
a jazz brush accompaniment
for a quiet grey spring day,
soon forgotten.

May 22, 2017