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.

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


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

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Chickadee self-care

A day at the spa for a chickadee includes sunbathing--theory is it helps the preen oil to spread across the feathers and drives out parasites.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Exquisite obsolescence in Shaniko, OR

Shaniko, Oregon never became the transportation hub that The Columbia Southern Railway envisioned, but more than 100 years after its heyday, a handful of residents still live side-by-side with some exquisite images from the past.

Saturday, September 9, 2017

WeNoNah on her own

When their relationship was new, he meandered from his small cabin to the dock most days to steer WeNoNah through the mostly shallow waters of the crescent lake he could see from his front porch. Some days he sang his way around, songs paced perfectly with the cadence of his paddle. Some days he was quiet except for the swoosh-trickle of his strokes. Back then he was always on the look-out for a great blue heron or otter, or the resident king fisher. In the fall, the water lilies. 

Nowadays when no one shows up to take her for a spin, WeNoNah takes herself, dragging her rope behind. She avoids the narrows to keep from getting tied up in the brush and shallows. Instead she keeps to the navigable waters, mingles with the otter and dodges the diving king fisher.

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Summer's work

I love what the summer did to your sleek waving lanks—unseasonable heat, frequent winds, occasional rain, a doe’s path to the river, left you a disheveled tousle of bushy blondness now heading east and west, north and south.