Saturday, December 11, 2010


Autumn wind rises; white clouds fly. Grass and trees wither; and geese go south.

c.127  BC  'The Autumn Wind' (translated byArthurWaley).The poem is a lament on leaving his mistress behind while he travalled on official business.

A few days after Thanksgiving, we drove to Arkansas to visit my sister and her family. I woke up early that first morning and looked out the window to the lake. There must have been 50 geese paddling around in the mist-shrouded waters. A pale pink was beginning to color the sky as the sun rose. Just as I was setting my camera, they all rose as one, almost as if someone had sent a secret signal. Needless to say, I was unprepared, but, even though the images aren't very sharp or clear, I like the moodiness of the pictures.


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