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| View from the backyard of dad's farm (west), taken on Saturday |
It’s as though nothing exists beyond a middle distance. My cabin, the trees that surround it may as well be the only thing in this world that’s closer to a dreamscape than a landscape.
Dog and I penetrate the shadows carefully, slowly, avoiding the ice. Dog is elderly now and more cautious than he used to be. He slips once but recovers. I move haltingly, afraid to slip. The headlamp does me no good. We move slowly, going half the distance, or less, than we usually do. He is glad, I think, when we turn around and head back. I know I am.
The fog is pretty, in the way that things that are different are pretty or at least interesting. After a day or so the novelty wears off, long before the fog does.
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4 comments:
Perhaps this is a little bit weird, but I know to what you are referring about the fog. A few years ago, I went dancing at a nightclub. The dance floor was not crowded. At some point in the evening, the DJ threw a switch that generated a fog so dense that it was impossible to see more than a foot into the gloom. Nevertheless, combined with the throbbing music and the pulsing lights, the fog made it seem as if I'd been transported to another world for the few minutes before it dissipated. The fog can be disorienting--and wonderful--at the same time.
Oh, Carolyn--I love your writing, and I adore this photo...it is almost as though I were there.
You are an amazingly gifted photographer and writer. I mean that. This photo fills my eyes, which is the greatest compliment I can give.
I LOVE your writing.
What a beautiful photo and lovely view. I love fog, and try to get out in it at least once a year for some forest photos.
Scott: Yes, that's it exactly. Disorienting and wonderful (but preferably in small doses)
Al: Thanks for stopping by!
Bath: Thanks so much! Some days are just easier to photograph than other days.
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