dawn sky sunday

oakland. march 2012.

solstice morning

home. dec 21 2011.

it was so good to talk to you at that concert. so good to laugh and reminisce and forget about the thick crowds around us. when you reached out and casually squeezed my arm, just above the elbow, i felt it in my whole body. it was like something that was clenched loosened. my awareness turned towards you. i wanted it again, just that squeeze, that hand wrapped around my arm briefly, easily, connecting us for a moment.

i want that again, now. i want to feel your hand on my arm, i want to know you're there, standing next to me, listening and laughing and happy to be with me, just as i am happy to be with you.

jumbled

chevron refinery, northeast bay. october 2011.

why it's worth getting up early in the morning

train to martinez. october, 2011.

watercolor landscape

northbay coast. october 2011.

out the train window, pointing the lens straight ahead so no reflection creeps into the picture. a blurry predawn shot of the bay.

Flash

 

 

Mojave Desert. 2009.

Nevada Dawn

Middle of Nevada, Route 50. 2009.


A poem, for Sara. Great idea.



When I wake up
with my arms behind my head,
as I am wont to do
of late,
I wonder what relaxing dream has just
dissolved in my mind.
Was I on a beach, hot with sunlight?
Was I in a field, pondering possibilities?
Or was I dreaming of lying in bed, just as I am now,
hazy with sleep, so warm that I feel young and innocent again?

I never know which it is.
My eyes don't tell me;
my brain turns away when I might have read it on her face;
and my heart only ever gives me a warm, indulgent smile.
Only my soul whispers bits to me, when all the others won't notice,
but I am asleep by then.

Lighthouse

Boston Harbor. 2009.

Flying in at dawn. I love how solid the water looks, how long the lighthouse's shadow is. I love seeing dawn from high up, as if by being in the sky, you're part of the sun's family, an equal. Like you're somehow responsible for all those below you.