The Greek roots of the word photography translate as "writing with light." Welcome to my studio--a place to practice and illuminate good work using writing and photography.

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

It's Spring . . . pick a trail


any trail


tune in


look for surprises


savor each encounter!

Sunday, April 22, 2018

If . . .


. . . you are lucky enough to have this guy as your neighbor . .you're lucky enough

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Piggyback Song


Sun-filled piggybacks march in the breeze forming paisley patterns around the splintery remains of the 100-year maple that fell without notice on Mother’s Day two years ago. Left to lavish on the tree’s fertile remains the piggybacks have propagated their way down the steepness to meet the horsetail in the wetland below. From the plum tree the spotted towhee takes in the lime-green layers of progress and can’t help sing its approval in two chirps and a twill.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Predictable Killdeer


"Killdeer, killdeer, killdeer," shrieks the bigger of the two birds from the inland side of the Barview Jetty on the Oregon Coast. Though we are hiking above them on the seawall, both birds run toward us along the shore, faking broken wings, and when we show no sign of stopping, take flight in unison over the still water below.

Members of the Plover family, Killdeer nest on open ground, often on gravel. They use slight depressions in the rock to mate and lay eggs. Their nests blend perfectly into the background and their speckled eggs look like stones. As a matter of fact, the pair likely had several nests, built to confuse predators, but they use only one for laying of eggs.


Not surprisingly, baby Killdeer are "precocial" (which means ripened beforehand). They literally hatch and start running.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Teacher

You dazzle me with your stories 
of alignment, and of wild things;
your forward movement into the plausible
blows my mind,
opens my skittish heart,
catapults my pen,
forces a time limit,
squeezes perfection to
bleed secrets onto the page.
I abandon my addiction
to the perfect word
to avoid the sinking feeling 
triggered by fleeting grains of sand
in your menacing timer.
You ask me to write 
about impossible things,
read aloud before I am ready
and in doing so
remind me
how small I can be,
and how big I am;
and how resistant I am to risk,
to being vulnerable.

It all leaves me hungry for
full presence in my stories, 
and the desire more than ever,

to tell them so others feel my words.

Monday, October 2, 2017