Orange Haze

A gentle giant rumbled in the sky
In older times, when weather was a friend
With eyes shut tight, I'd feel the wind drift by
But patterns, large and small, began to bend

I grew up in the midwest, and it's a place that leaves an impression on you. Winters were cold. Summers were warm. Fall was the browns, oranges, and ochres of falling leaves and pine needles. And springs were the green and the crisp, bright sunlight that promised the start of the next cycle.

It rarely just rained. More typically, there was rain with a deep, rolling, distant reverberation of thunder, at times interspersed with a sharper, but still amicable sound of nearer thunderclaps. It wasn't a crack, so much as the sound of tearing a giant piece of paper, as the vibrations continue to echo through the material itself.

Those were the days when "go inside when it's lightning outside" was something that adults said, and that you did because you were told; not because you actually understood what could happen.

Sometimes, during the perfect thunderstorm, the gentle, humid breeze would feel so wonderful amidst the chorus of pitter-patters emanating from the raindrops landing all around you…

Doc Diaries: Tunnel Vision (part 2)

I mentioned before that I love the experience of just sitting on an airplane, and watching the world through a window. Regardless of which plane I'm on, or where I sit, my view out of the window always has the same basic framework: there's a wing that's always there. And everything else changes.

I also mentioned that one purpose of photography, for me, is to find ways to express my curiosity about the world, and to share some of the details that delight me when I look around.

Out of an airplane window, I'm often surprised at how quickly the view can change, even as the framework stays the same. But just as often, what's surprising is how the details of the view can be so consistent, even as we move through the environment at hundreds of miles per hour.

Naptime

Our household, in a single vignette

Birthday

A day transpired recently which was a year after my most recent birthday. I walked around Menlo Park with some friends and took some photos.

During our jaunt, we stopped by Penzey's Spices. The store was large, open, and well-stocked. It had an old-timey feel and the light inside was fantastic. I managed to grab this photo of my friend Stephanie sampling one of Penzey's many selections.

On a wall just past Cafe Borrone, I spotted this oddly-done "Fire Dept" stencil. I was struck by the two different kinds of shadows — one instantaneous, the other from long ago. I found the persistence of the stencil's shadow to be slightly reminiscent of the persistent human shadows which occurred after the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.

We passed through a farmer's market a few blocks off of El Camino Real, in the parking lot behind Penzey's. We were fairly late — many of the proprietors had already departed, and others were starting to pack up — and the high noon sun beat down on everyone.

This young fellow didn't seem to notice, though. The awning of the stroller provided enough shade for what looks like a pretty comfortable nap.