Early Morning Light

I like making pictures around my homestead ... because it so familiar.

Years ago my anthropology professors declared There is nothing more difficult to interpret objectively than one's own culture. I believed them and still do.

Making snapshots allows me to discover unacknowledged aspects of the things in my life. Some times the snapshots simply remind me of ways in which I sense the world.

Take an average walk around the side of the house. 

Early morning. The sea grasses lit from behind, 

a white trellis fence in the background.

If you squint.

You can see these things.

You watch the light falling down on your path

Like a blessing as color emerges. 

Along with the path of stones you laid down with your hands.

And your friendly neighbor's side door.

And contentment with the way things

arrange themselves.

~ ~ ~

Yard Waste and Pecker Wood

Perusing John Wassell's library, I was attracted to Susan Schaller's book by its title: A Man Without Words. It's a true story about a Mayan deaf man who could not communicate. He had no vocabulary, no words. 

Did he have ears that see and eyes that hear?       

My reward for sticking around the house the other day culminated in this pile of yard waste. The dead branch came from our Live Oak tree. Yes, they are messy. The branch fell off the tree months ago, landing on some lower branches. Stuck there in the tree, it was most attractive to woodpeckers. Such a nicely rounded hole ... all the way through the 4 inch branch to the bark on the far side!

That's as nice a hole ala mushroom as I've ever seen. 

This magenta crown was scalped off the top of a Florida Sweet Onion.

Popi is a Bengal and an outdoor-indoor cat. Bengals can't resist playing in water. When she was a kitty she would scamper up a small palm tree and jump into the swimming pool. 

I'm working backward through time and photo numbering now to show you the first light of day in this Florida house: Early morning light by table legs, tile floor and cat toy.

I realize that I bypass countless pictures during the course of a normal habitual day. I'm not concerned with what I may have missed. These pictorial records, like words, merely mark the places where my habits have brought me.