A Summer Poem
A raindrop tells the story of an hour;
when a cloud comes to life in a day.
A bumblebee waits out the passing shower;
while a wildflower sees the season pass away.
A tanager tells the story of the canopy;
as a snake slithers along the forest floor.
An oak bears its weight patiently;
while a lichen outlasts everything before.
As it happens, from big to small, from fast to tall;
but a child can tell the story of them all.
Inspired by the last few weeks of wandering around in the woods—searching for owls in the dark (without success), the coming and going of wildflowers, seeing hungry fledgling chicks all around, and thinking about the limits of time and perspective.
Revel in summer: watch my short film from a lighthouse 11 miles off the coast of Maine.
I’m used to paying for photographs. Sometimes in the form of itchy mosquito bites. Once I paid with a badly twisted ankle. More often I pay in numb fingers and toes in the cold.
Last week, staying up late to take photographs of Mount Shuksan under the stars, I expected the lost sleep, but I did not expect to pay by losing my place to sleep and my sleeping gear!
It all started when I noticed that sometimes even the most serious photographers miss great light.
Continue reading “Mount Shuksan: Blue Hour is Better, Sometimes”
Sun filtered through the verdant canopy. The air temperate was 80 degrees in the middle of January. It was hard to believe.
I was hiking with my girlfriend on an abandoned road in Nosara, Costa Rica. Soon, we heard a faint but mesmerizing sound from the underbrush to our left. Transfixed, we moved closer to peek through the thick tangle. We waited. Then we caught glimpse of a black bird smaller than a sparrow sitting on a low branch. Soon, we heard two, singing with each other in bubbly notes.
Continue reading “Tropical Birds of Costa Rica”
For a brief moment the bird sat in plain view, under the full light of the midday tropical sun—it was long enough to absolutely shock us both.