Postfestival Blues

Mon-

Parts of the harbor finally succumb to deep cold with a skimming of ice. The warm water has been very resistant this year, these floating patches the first sign of freeze. Even so, only the upper fresh water layer is affected _ out near the inlet the salt water looks like mid July.

Most lights have been taken down, most decorations put away. All guests have gone home. Daily routines have resumed in all their dull glory. The party is over, even the hangover the party is over, and now the hard wait for spring truly begins. An easy time to ignore, to hide from, to try to forget. And yet _ as always _ there is deep beauty in the always fresh scenes each morning, loveliness in the rich colors of southern sunset.
Tue-

Hushed frozen wind
Words thoughts fail

Wonder or infirmity of age?

Answers slide vague as air
Wed-

This bay into Lloyd Neck lies beyond the harbor inlet, and the waters out here are slightly more frigid and unpolluted. A freeze can almost resemble “the good old days” when everything _ even Long Island Sound itself _ would occasionally ice over in the more normally harsh winters.

On the one hand, I regret those times have passed. For one reason or another, the waters run free almost all year, every year. There is a worry about what that may mean. But, on the other hand, I only have today to enjoy it all anyway. What reason have I to be troubled of past and future? Things will change _ they always do _ and whoever is around then will have to adapt and enjoy whatever there is, as I have done with what has been around now.
Thu-

By necessity or choice

Some people must perform

Tasks alone and difficult

While I try to stay warm

Fri-

A dock in Northport village could be Maine, gulls and all. Northport is known to be picturesque, but many of the commercial photographs concentrate on summer evenings. The iced harbor hosts a wind that bites to the bone and sucks heat out no matter how warmly dressed you are.

Yet there is a clear channel in the middle of the harbor, where working boats continue to go in and out as long as the ice remains thin enough. I suppose those folks are extremely proud of how hardy they are _ I would be. Nevertheless, I’m always amazed that in this day and age people can still be found to do such tough and difficult and presumably nasty work.

Sat-

Irresistible force of the tide meets unmovable object of the rocks and the loser is _ the ice. Here are all the elements of a good tale or proverb, not excepting the dead reeds that will eventually return no matter what and the encroaching works of man destined for eventual dust.

Proverbs and tales and thoughts of irresistible and immovable are plentiful and comforting. They all lie. The world is all relative and contradictory and complex and there are no absolutes. Deeper cold for longer and glaciers wou
ld halt the tides and move the rocks. Desperate heat for longer would remove the reeds and eventually the people. Goldilocks environment is in delicate balance, for which the only appropriate tale is one of worry.
Sun-

Imagine how strange a scene like this would look to some primitive from the tropics who had never known snow or ice. Even for me, the sharp shadows and reflections can make it resemble some setting from a science fiction movie on another planet. Yet it is part of all the “normal” taken for granted every day.

One of the hardest tasks I find, in a world of electronic distractions, is to maintain a sense of wonder at the “ordinary.” I become dulled by the repetition of moments, and forget how precious each one is. I set out strenuously looking for something wonderful, when wonderful is everywhere I wish to concentrate my being.

Renewed Joy

Mon-

By convention, seasons begin another annual cycle, just like the last one, but subtly different. So also with the views and daily thoughts in my blog, each very much like each other, like all the others last year, yet each subtly charged, never quite repeating. So, of course, each moment of my life.

I notice no difference in myself. Yet almost all my cells, in the solar revolution past, have been replaced one or several times. Some memories _ what I ate for breakfast in September _ are irretrievably gone, but others such as a summer wedding are deeply etched in memory. Mysterious, incomprehensible, contradictory, awesome. I try to great each joyous moment of existence with the respect it deserves.
Tue-

North wind whips

Whitecaps rushing on
While calm geese shelter all day

Old man remembers.

Wed-

Light snow drifts into a quite cold morning. Only I see these outlined branches against the farther waters. Dogs and their masters are waiting for better times, not yet desperate enough to brave these minor elements when they have just had the holidays to run around outside as much as they want.

As always, I carry mood within myself, although that is sometimes hard to accept. The deep chill of short winter days seems made for depression, but it is just as beautiful as summer. In any case, all my universe and how I seek to appreciate it lies behind these eyes, under my cap, almost immune to the physical world.
Thu-

What marvels seen, such wonders come,

In passing night, each risen sun.
_Karma Save_
Fri-

In spite of 5 degree temperatures, the water is too warm to even skim over yet. Light snow refuses to melt, mud from recent rain has frozen into the consistency of steel. A brisk wind rapidly bruises exposed skin, even taking a deep breath can be an adventure.

But the good side of all this is that I have the whole place to myself. Even the cars are infrequent. No dogs, no joggers, not even my casual normal fellow walkers. I can enjoy the peace and quiet, listening to birds and the rustle of the trees. I rarely notice how antisocial I am until I have the happiness of such moments.
Sat-

Preening feathers, swan said “Behold how lovely am I, the most noble of waterfowl.”

Goose said “Yeah but you can’t do anything except drift. We take over entire fields, and can migrate incredible distances.”

Duck said “You never do, though. I’m the only one around here that has to work for a living.”

“Poor birds,” old man said, turning away, “too stupid to know that I am the glory of the universe.”
Sun-

Haven’t had much snow this year in spite of frigid temperatures lately. These two inches are about it.
An appropriate blanket of forgetfulness marking the true end of another year gone.

I struggle with the recognition that I am useless and irrelevant. I no longer share an illusion that I can affect the world. It is important that I remain true to my culture and my time of life by appreciating it fully. In all the infinite history of the universe, there has never been anyone like me, and never will be again.

Holiday Cheers

Mon-

What? This hardly looks cheerful. Rain (not snow this year) due any second, no sign of happy shoppers, just another drab day in an increasingly drab season. Solstice passed, we assume the sun is making his way back, but it will be a long journey until spring. Meanwhile, all our instincts are to burrow in somewhere for the rest of the winter.

These are the times when I must force myself outdoors, to follow the normal routines of walking about, enjoying the few bird calls that are there, watching the play of light and feeling the grace of the breeze. If I dress appropriately, the world is still an immense playground. And, of course, there is the added bonus of gatherings of friends and family when I return, warming my soul while my fingers and nose catch up.
Tue-

I drone on about the subtle harmonies of browns when it suits my purposes, trying to contrast how I feel now with my emotions in summer. But conifers are here in profusion, and their green needles quietly insist I am mistaken. The white sand, the grey sky, the blue water all join the chorus. And that is without getting into the brash colorful chatter of manmade objects no matter where I look. My carefully constructed observations are, inevitably, founded on falsely narrowed perceptions.

The world is too infinitely diverse to describe. Much of what we could know, we never do. I suspect there is even more that we are unable to comprehend. But even in that narrow band of what we think we do know, based on what we think we do perceive, our limitations at any given moment are only allowing us a frozen impression of what our mercurial minds will eventually realize as they slide along and about. Consciousness is a miraculous gift, reborn each moment, an appropriate thought for these days of solar renewal.
Wed-

Suspended moment, almost unformed, misty and cool and waiting for rain or clearing or something besides the transience of suspended droplets. Waiting, as it were, for birth, which is really the theme of this season. The birth of a new year, or the return of the sun, or the religious encapsulation of Christianity.

It is appropriate to have a celebration of being born, for that is hope and future and genetic or cultural continuation. Bring out all the bright lights, exchange gifts, devour feasts. The old will soon enough have their day of reckoning, but for now it is all about the bright promise of what will be, and being grateful for what there is.

Thu-

Ah, Christmas skies clear with the dawn. Lovely symbolism. Except, like many things, this clearing comes from an unexpected direction. The east, where the sun is presumably rising, is covered in thick dark clouds, and the light is all from the west. How silly we often are, to think we know where to look into the future.

I insert here the standard prayer for peace on earth and goodwill
for all. Optimistically, I think that still has a chance to happen, and that after our difficult cultural transitions there may yet be a golden age for all. It’s a good dream to have.
Fri-

Very mild holiday week _ no snow, in the fifties, verdant lawns. When I escape the rush, there are quiet unfrequented places in the woods, such as this, where no delivery truck nor yard crew roams. That may all change in a few years, as the drones frequently given as presents yesterday become common everywhere. The world continues to change in unexpected ways.

All I can do is be grateful for having lived now, for living now, for still having enough of the wonder of a child to appreciate my existence. As I grow older, I realize that has been greatest gift of all, and no mere bauble from the mall can produce nearly such happiness.
Sat-

Children’s happy laughter and loud adult conversations have died down, overwhelming anxiety gives way to calm. Perhaps after New Year’s there will be resignation, perhaps anticipation of all that is to come, but for now it is enough to relax and forget about what was and may be.

Normal life gradually returns as do all the visitors. The sun continues to rise and set, the ducks and geese swim in the cool, and media inform us of new storms on the horizon. I am simply happy to look out and be grateful for everything.

Solstice Stops By

Mon-

Harbor activities wrap up rapidly now. The weather has been moderately bad, but normal. Everyone knows at any given time, it could become horrible for quite a while. So the boats that are going ashore have gone ashore, and their moorings are now being picked up and stashed in parking lots. That’s what this little work craft is doing _ in fact, in another week it is likely the docks themselves will no longer be available.

Mornings don’t seem all that different _ well, colder, of course _ but noon sunlight is never all that brilliant, and the outside workday comes to an end surprisingly fast. Most of the folks who are putting up holiday lights have them blazing by the time the sun goes down. Judging by the frantic traffic, most of those same people can hardly spare a glance to notice any of this, immersed as they are in last minute necessary tasks.
Tue-

Remove the possible snow, eliminate the fancy flashing lights and eccentric lawn decorations, turn a back on the constant auto traffic and the season has a feeling of free emptiness and quiet. The birds are often quite hushed, except for a shriek of alarm here or there. When the wind does blow, its echoes are subdued with no leaves to disturb. The eye rests on seascapes free of human activity, not even implied by boats bobbing patiently awaiting use. Docks are tied down, expecting the worst, but the worst is a while off yet.

It’s a good time to reflect on the rhythms of the universe, the tides of my life, and the majesty of each day I am permitted to experience. Some, apparently, regard such vistas and ask “is that all there is?” seeking a secret logical meaning or imagining great hidden treasures in an inconceivable eternity. I know I know nothing, but “all there is” in my world and life is infinitely more than I can possibly appreciate properly.
Wed-

A mild spell has everyone who can do so out walking. Mist softens the harsh outlines of bare branches. Sienna, ocre, umber soften to grey in the distance, while the muted greens of remaining grass accent the composition. The same moisture mutes the various constant noises from last minute yard clean-up and road crews getting the pavement ready for the worst.

In a week, there will be jolly festivities, enforced merriment, tense truces in family relations, and the constant requirements of following tradition. A week after that, everyone will take stock of themselves, shake off the disappointments of the last year, make resolutions for the new, and gird themselves to get back to “normal.” Then the decorations come down, cold settles in for good, snow and slush and ice rule the grounds, and I return to life simply being.

Thu-

Nice effects from the sun low in the sky even near noon. Without any instrumental change in the temperature reading, simply having the sun and no wind this morning felt warm and fine, no direct sun and a brisk breeze this afternoon feels raw and cuts deeply. No matter how bleak it may seem, however, the beauty of everything is undeniable.

Day after day,
paragraph after paragraph, I drone on and on about beauty and wonder. Do I not realize there is evil in the world, that people are hungry and children die and pollution pours into the seas? Am I ignorant of the thousand and one calamities that surround us all? Mea culpa. All I know, shallow as I may, is that at my time in life, in my situation, moments in the world are magical and glorious and worthy of praise, and perhaps that is what I must add to the noisy bedlam.
Fri-

Water is chilling down fast, although it looks the same as always _ I can tell because my warmth is ripped by the steady northeast wind blowing across the empty expanse. The barnacles on the pilings and the shellfish unseen go on with their normal lives. Fish _ well, I don’t actually know any of their cycles except for the bluefish, all gone out to deep sea.

I could read up on all this, try to become a naturalist, relearn all the names of the plants and trees and shells and other things I once knew, be amazed by studies and meditations others have produced. But the tattered remains of my memory are enough for now. They add to my enjoyment and pleasure, without intruding or overwhelming the experience, and that for this afternoon is exactly where I want to be.
Sat-

Monochrome only slightly broken by the crane, done working for five or six months. Boatyard activity has slowed considerably now _ well, actually the action moves indoors and out of sight. Even the yard crews have scraped the last of the leaves off every surface and rarely visit. Once again, sound is dominated by wind, birds, and an occasional jet plane or siren. Not exactly ever quiet, but about as much so as it gets until a deep fresh snowfall.

Contrary to expectation, such days can cheer me up. There is a certain perverse streak in looking at a monotonous landscape settled in depressing chill and just going with the mood. Nothing to be done, it is all futile, we are lost. OK, that means it is truly a holiday _ I have no responsibilities, no hopes, no urgent must-be-dones. Adjust and enjoy the world as it is.
Sun-

At least six geese, more swans and ducks, but as far as I can tell no golden rings. This avian gathering in a sheltered cove goes on all winter, out of the wind and with plentiful fresh water seeping through the sand from the hillside. The worse the weather, the bigger the crowd.

You would say that other creatures hardly notice solstice, but of course that is wrong. Now that they have dealt with migration instinct anxieties, if any, males are already preoccupied with mating in the coming spring. It’s fun to watch the chasing and pairing. Humans like to feel they have a monopoly on emotions, and also like to believe they have tamed their more primitive behaviors, but some of the actions in this area closely match the plots of many of our soap-opera entertainments.

Stormy Weather

Mon-

Harsh blue stretching almost uninterrupted by watercraft, except for the Harbor Master boat which has to remain available all winter even if it eventually gets icebound. This year the bets seem to be on heavy freeze and nasty storms. Today is below thirty, and a northeaster is due tomorrow, so I suppose the early season is reinforcing those predictions.

Otherwise, of course, nobody notices. Up the hill from this tranquil scene, hundreds of kids are standing outside the Halesite Fire Station with their parents waiting for Santa Claus. No matter how bad the snow wind and rain the malls and stores will be open all week. Schools and businesses might as well be underground or on a spaceship. All in all, stormy weather is not what it used to be, hardly cause for concern, surely never life and death, and rarely even an inconvenience. That is, no doubt, a good thing.
Tue-

As usual, these pictures run one day prior, when I was walking after my writing routines. It was twenty five degrees with a raw east wind off the not so distant ocean that cut to the bone and made it feel much colder. One of my acquaintances, who was stationed in Alaska in the sixties, claims that this cold is worse than anything he experienced at forty below out there. Of course, he was a lot younger then, and memories tend to blur with the years. On the other hand, that wind cuts quite bitterly.

Slate grey is in any case the color of the week. Today it is pouring, with more to come, and you almost need a miner’s headlamp to venture outside. Here the sea almost seems brighter than the sky. One clamming boat, whose owner works in all weather to bring in a fresh harvest around the holidays, when prices are often at their best. Tough way to make a living, lest we forget how just about everyone used to have to live _ and without the warmth and light to come home to that we now assume is our right.
Wed-

No walk in the rain, flooding highways and setting records, so just fall back on an older picture. Is this dishonest? Not showing what should be a moderately current photograph with some little idea inspired by it? I don’t know.

As I get older rigid categories have relaxed a bit in my mind. I no longer see nature and humans as quite so distinct, nor good and evil, nor truth and reality. Sometimes the world seems so complicated as to leave me completely confused and helpless. Why, then, should I find that the same realizations also provide hope and a possible path to wisdom?

Thu-

Swans ignore or do not notice a cold freezing drizzle that dims everything in the distance. I’m always amazed at what a change of a mere twenty or thirty degrees Fahrenheit can do for our perception of the world. Suddenly, in weather like this, it seems hostile and distant.

Nevertheless and regardless of my mood, everything is beautiful beyond description. That is a decent thought to begin each day, as the shrill worries of fragile civilization intrude endlessly.

Fri-

Light snow dusting covers the kayak racks at one of the private neighborhood beaches. The entire week has been cold, dark, and wet, with an interesting surprise each morning for anyone who must go outdoors. The overall mood is little helped by the late sunrise and early sunset, if there were a sunset ever to be seen behind the clouds.

Yet I walk along with a smile, quite happily, greeting other regulars out to get a breath of fresh air, or walk their dog, or just enjoy the world. Most of the crowds who were around for a while trying to work off their Thanksgiving pounds have vanished for a while, although they will surely reappear with new year’s resolutions for a couple of days eventually. Dressed adequately, this is as rewarding a set of moments as any other, and certainly much more of an experience than trying to understand the world through colored LED screens.
Sat-

Reeds already looking a little bedraggled dark against the sky. Noticed the sun is rising far south this week _ of course. It can be a strain to try to notice stuff all the time. I am grateful I now have the time to do so.

There are many philosophies of life aggressively floating about these days _ purpose-driven or hedonistic or wealth-related. The “good life” has lots of definitions. Our consciousness and experience is insanely complex: no single philosophy fits us at all times, in all situations, for each of our ages. But just as once in a while I now like to break out of my relaxed mellow vacuousness and achieve some goal, so back when I was always driven to accomplish tasks I fortunately found moments to breathe in the beauty of my existence.
Sun-

Caumsett State Park is busy even after a snowstorm in deep winter, but there is room off the beaten path. Here on the trails through the woods, the leaves are all down and in place _ without the noisy help of yard crews and blowers and rakes and vacuums. The browns and blue of the sky are relaxing and integrate the cycle of the year with the rest of our memories. A few green briars or yellow leaves stubbornly resist the elements.

These trees, of course, are all new new growth. The ancient forest primeval was cut down in the 1700s by the first enterprising settler here, who sold the logs to Europe and the Indies. It grew back. The jazz age millionaire who wanted a farm leveled it once again. So little here is even a hundred years old. And yet, it is woodland, it is thick, and unless someone cuts it down yet again (or the oceans rise to cover these hills) it will be thick primeval forest once again.

Edged Anticipation

Mon-

Sticklers for detail remind us that true winter does not arrive for three more weeks, but for most people in this area, winter begins with December as surely as March begins spring. Although there has been cold, snow, and ice, it has all felt temporary, and is often followed by pleasant days in the fifties. Suddenly, we are ready for the real stuff _ weeks of freeze, never-melting slush, dangerous storms always on the horizon. And, of course, the almost unconscious awareness of less and less sunlight day by day.

Yet by the same token, the worst tends to take its time. We expect deep blizzards, horrible wind chills, all the nastiness that Christmas cards try to sentimentalize. Like the holiday itself, they often take time materializing, and we are left in edgy anticipation. I try to shake off this lassitude and enjoy the experience of each day as fully as I do in midsummer _ one of the hardest tricks, I admit, that I normally attempt.
Tue-

The white humps above the dock are boats wrapped in plastic. I suspect future generations will view such profligate waste of unrenewable oil with horror, but who knows? Anyway, I think it is kind of stupid _ I wouldn’t mind if they could somehow save the stuff, but this is all a kind of one-use shrink wrap that they mold to the boats with hair dryers on steroids. In the spring it all heads to the landfill.

Part of the human landscape of this century. Not the worst of what the civilization does, by far, but indicative of the excesses we all entertain. Anyway, at least, for the moment, the breeze seems fresh, the sky is lovely, and the trees hold their own against the upcreep of the mean tide level. The sand more clearly represents the destiny of everything.
Wed-

Season of subtle brown has arrived. Many of the weeds and reeds and grasses are simply drained of other colors, although the trees reveal branches now that only a few leaves remain. The storms have not yet battered anything upright, the winds have not yet torn the ever more fragile remnants of summer foliage, snows have not flattened the fields. Very lovely, if I concentrate and relax and ignore the raw chill.

Some might claim I could leach out all the color, turn this into a black and white shot, then print in sepia and it would be the same. Those same would say this is, within limits, an accurate picture of being there. But neither statement is true. A photograph is not an experience _ like any art it is most successful if it recalls an experience, and possibly challenges our memory of that moment.
Thu-

Beginning a period of dreary rain with occasional cold breaks of brilliant sun. Everyone just happily chortles “lucky it’s not all snow.” In some ways, scenes like this can be taken as grim, depressing and extended to terrible melancholy about fate and life. On the other hand, the mellow merged tones are kind of soothing and non threatening, we can relax and just let the world go on its way.

The hardest part of December is adjustment. Once I have accepted the deeper cold and dressed well for the biting wind, it is invigorating. But until my body and soul have accepted the switch as the “new normal” I find I can resent it as much as the next guy. That insolence in the face of reality is also part of being fully human.
Fri-

Other surrounding waters _ such as these at Cold Spring Harbor _ have also emptied of craft, leaving the increasingly jagged waves to flocks of ducks ready to overwinter. Perhaps because of the lack of other color, the blues of sky and sea seem more vibrant this month, the few notes of color such as the boat more memorable. I suppose the tones are much influenced, also, by how low in the southern sky the sun remains even at midday.

Inevitably, but swiftly, nature rushes into cold and snow. This week is easy, relatively warm, free of ice, only a bit removed from lovely outside weather. Yet it seems part of what is coming, when even standing here on this dock _ even getting to this dock _ will be an exercise in will and fortitude (well, what I call will and fortitude in these tranquil and easy times.) Today, I luxuriate in the feeling of time with no regrets at its passage.
Sat-

Strong raw East wind off the ocean, twenty miles away. Darkness in the morning only slightly lifting through the overcast some days, in any case dusk falling by four in the afternoon. Holiday lights everywhere, of course, as we seek to make the solstice transition a festival.

Winter solstice was only a big deal to people in the northern temperate land masses, but those cultures have come to dominate the planet. I think these days most of the synchronized lights and fireworks and holidays at year end are there simply because an accepted universal global year end exists. Only a few stubborn people or cultures _ who which to ignore and be ignored by all the others _ cling to other equally arbitrary calendars. For everyone, the passage of a year is meaningful, a time for both regret and celebration, memories and plans, and it is fun to share the experience.
Sun-

Full calm before a rainstorm. These ducks will be unperturbed no matter what. I try to cultivate the same attitude, but often fail.

Fitting way to end a week of thoughts on slow changes and intermediate weather. Too many people seem to be focused a few weeks away, and ignoring the moment except to get through it as quickly as possible, sucking its possibilities dry in a vampirish need to “get things done” before the end of year holidays completely arrive. I try to keep out of their way and avoid being angry if they intrude on my calm _ as, I suppose, these waterfowl treat us humans.

Gratefulbeing

Mon –

The Yoda-like syntax of this holiday remains meaningful, but Thanksgiving has such immense and varied connotations that a general feeling of gratitude to the universe for our existence sometimes gets lost in the shuffle. There are certainly times when most of us are overwhelmed by the richness and wonder of being alive. On the other hand, there are all the sales, the hassles with cooking unfamiliar birds, travel, the dread of encountering family, and, of course, the fact that the original holiday was declared by Lincoln as a day to ask God to help us slaughter the other side so that right might prevail.

I’m not at all cynical about being in awe of the cosmos all the time. I know I had nothing to do with the bounty provided to me. Like many people, at least in the more fortunate parts of the world, I would not trade my ordinary life here and now for an ordinary life in any other time nor place. I am very lucky.
Tue –

Amazingly, we can find beauty in scenes that promise little direct pleasure. Evolutionary theory would claim that there is a clear survival skill in recognizing something immediately useful _ a fruit, a possible animal dinner, avoiding danger, whatever. But the sere landscapes of late fall and winter offer no useful relief to our basic needs.

Yet we look at snowdrifts, and brown reeds, and skies promising rain or snow or harsh cold and we are often happy. This all fits, we think. Beauty is complex. Our universes are more complicated than our theories can ever know. I sometimes wonder if the only real sin is in extreme simplification.
Wed-

Everyone seems to have taken the hint of the last few storms and spells. The waters ride open and clear _ at least at this end of the harbor _ once more. Even most of the buoys have been taken up. Let the ice and snow arrive _ we are deep in our burrows until better times.

Thanksgiving kicks off the “holiday season” with which the Northern Hemisphere combats the depression of dark solstice. It’s filled with feasts, and lights, and special social gatherings, and that is all to the good. Some urge us to ponder the “deeper true meaning” of such events, but the “deeper true meaning” of any time you can take some moments to contemplate the universe is just to be astonished and in awe of your own experience of existence, and overwhelmed that you can share it with others.
Thu-

Of all the infinite things for which I am grateful, perhaps the most extraordinary is the privilege of having lived in a goldilocks historical period. Nature was still viable, man had not yet overwhelmed the planet, the past of cultures and buildings and languages lived on. There was an amazing mix of new scientific knowledge and deeper religious experience. We were all amazingly free to experience almost every human possibility.

This picture symbolizes that nicely. It seems remote and wild, but it is in one of the most heavily populated and reworked places on earth. Nature frames all, but there are docks and kayaks with which to explore. An old man can walk here with a camera and go home to a full dinner. Perhaps in t
he future, as in the past, the sky and the water will be filled with menace and destruction, but this particular slice of time was mostly benign and immensely glorious.
Fri-

Not so much the cold as the raw drizzle and biting wind _ and the early onset which means I have not adjusted yet _ added gloom to the already dim and bleak scene. I hunched down in my parka, furtively snapped some pictures, fondly remembered other, better times, and began to put myself in a pretty nasty funk.

Fortunately, I was able to take a few deep breaths and pause and finally immerse myself in the moment, and all was well. I am constantly astounded that my mind can switch moods and make lemonade out of just about anything. I’m not so foolish as to claim my life is entirely built on attitude, but I am amazed (and often grateful) that emotions can override any logic.
Sat-

Bittersweet is featured perhaps too often in these seasonal shots, but this year’s crop happens to be magnificent, after several rather skimpy autumns. It is the flashiest of the wild berries, out of place in the drab brown wilds where it is typically found. Harder to ignore than the more inconspicuous fruits of poison ivy, wild grapes, rose hips, and innumerable others, but we manage to not see it all the same.

I never pretend to divorce myself from this blog, and that includes my personal history. The other reason for bittersweet now is that it brings back strong memories of gathering it over twenty years ago for Joan’s Mom to decorate the house during these holidays. Linking the past with today using tangible artifacts can be a rather noble activity, especially when it also recalls nature and a world that once was, keeps constantly changing, and yet, fortunately, still remains with us.
Sun-

The greenest life around is the algae happily glowing on the tideline, although the most vibrant life of all remains under the water, like the seaweed draped on the back of this concrete. The concrete itself is a remnant of a once-mighty wall futilely designed to hold back the sea, although its true demise rested on the constant erosion caused by fresh water springs seeping through from behind. So many processes and connections in this world, of which we are mostly unaware.

Happily ignorant, I try to experience what I can each day. I know I am affecting nothing, doing nothing, being nothing in particular. And yet, to me, it is all important. And, selfishly, “to me” still matters a great deal.

Happily Civilized

Mon-

Seems like I spend a great deal of time avoiding the immediate traces of industrialization around here. I take shots over fences, around boats and houses, avoiding bits of trash, cutting out the auto traffic. But, of course, it is always there, as here with the fence and the signs and the houses across the way. Sometimes I may seem to imply that life would be far better with a return to wilderness.

But I do not really believe that, even on a perfect summer day. I am well aware of my attire, my last meal, my health, my camera, my latest reading and the very language in which I think, none of which would exist except for the civilization in which I live. Signs, fences, cars, noise are all part of that, as much as the seagulls overhead. I am especially aware of it in cold air, with winter on the way, happily wrapped in heavy clothing and with a warm house to which to return after my stroll.
Tue-

Unlike some of the more bucolic coves of the North Shore, Huntington Harbor has been commercial for nearly the last four hundred years. Originally, that just meant clearing the marshlands and building piers and bulkheads and landing spots, but as the motorized traffic increased another problem became obvious. All of Long Island is one glacial sand dune, and constant churning of motors disturbs the hills alongside the water and naturally clogs the channels over time. Not to mention the constant garbage, flotsam, jetsam, and sunken docks and boats and (probably) bodies. Eventually, it has to be cleared.

I am sure that somewhere someone is trying to stop the dredging. It is certainly not good for the natural wildlife _ it kills of oysters and clams and who knows what else, although I imagine most of the fish simply take off elsewhere. Yet, honestly, it is part of what makes the harbor the harbor. You need the access to have the boats, and the boats to have the stores, and the stores to have the people, and the people to have the money to create and maintain access with roads. The roads that I use everyday. Complaining about one element in a necessary chain is like bitterly hating your nose because it sometimes drips.
Wed-

That is a huge plastic water tank on a trailer behind a pickup truck. Some local entrepreneurs have apparently found a way to make money siphoning harbor water and taking it somewhere _ they are reloading almost everyday. I assume, without having verified, that they sell it to restaurants and stores selling live lobsters. I prefer my romantic imaginings to whatever the truth may actually be.

Cold has arrived, although without the huge snow of Buffalo. Even the wildlife is a bit stunned. I saw a seagull lift off, take a few dispirited flaps into the strong biting wind, and flop back down resignedly onto the sand. Another useless gift I have is being able to anthropomorphize anything at all, not so much to enhance my worldview as to fit it into whatever momentary story line I happen to be weaving.
Thu-

Mid twenty degree temperatures cannot prevent activity at the marin
a. The harbor water is still too warm to be affected, but boat owners have been reminded that there will not be many if any nice days left to sail. Also with this early hard weather, this winter may cause an ice freeze thick enough to crush hulls. So there is a little more urgency to get the boats out and winterized.

Walking along, I notice birds and trees and other natural events. But I enjoy watching the patterns of humans just as much. People are nature too (as the supreme court might put it.) Their activities are easily as fascinating as those of hawks above or seagulls along the shoreline.

Fri-

The point of this picture is that even the views that do not include some kind of industrial theme all involve some kind of human cultural attributes. Around here, two hundred years ago or so, there were very few trees _ everything had been cleared for grazing land for sheep. This area is called Southdown for precisely that reason. This vista is here courtesy of Mr. Brown’s gold coast estate. Arriving before the Europeans, you would not have been able to see the harbor from this hill.

We inhabit a world formed by us and by our ancestors. The current debate is how much of the general patrimony is anyone’s by birth _ and why. But the first realization must be that at this point almost all the world _ even that which seems wild, even that which represents nature _ has for better or worse been heavily shaped by our species.
Sat –

Ice forming on the little pond below the hill. Fresh water even now attracts birds and insects, provides habitat for various plant species, and is a welcome change from lawns and salt bay. We think it quite natural that such scenes should occur frequently everywhere.

Yet looking more closely, there is a concrete rim around the edge _ not a muddy bank with willow thicket. This was just a muddy trickle until it was shaped by some landscape architect almost a hundred years ago. Recently, it was all but lost until the eutrophication caused by reeds and algae was partially dredged out by the county, and the dam where the stream exits repaired. Here in the heavily populated northeast, very little if any of our favorite natural spots is truly natural. So what? It is in some ways unnatural that I can think in twenty-first century language or write and show my reflections on this machine or send them to you.
Sun-

Skin ice pretty early this year _ of course we haven’t had it this cold for a long time. My sister reminds me that according to records, we have no conception of the harsh climate the first colonists were facing. For them, perhaps, harbors freezing over around now may have been the normal expectation.

Just as one swallow does not make a spring, one cold snap or snowstorm does not do much to predict the eventual pattern of the winter. In fact, most of the time we can only say “that was really warm, or cold, or snowy, or dry” after the fact, sometime in late March. Now that I no longer have to be anywhere or do anything on any particular day, my worries about weather have pretty much vanished. It’s a nice day, no matter what.

Flocking Geese, Falling Leaves

Mon-

All the foliage is now turned and in various stages of drying brown, the only uncertainty being which raindrop or snowfall or gust of wind will eventually drop each leaf onto lawn or into gutter. Biological function is fulfilled, except for ultimate decay to nourish future life. In a more morose mood, I would make an analogy to being a senior in human society.

Flocks of certain kinds of geese, not those that hang around all year, have been overwintering in this harbor for several years now. Some would claim that as a sign of global warming, but I don’t need such subtle indicators. In Thoreau’s time ponds all around here were used to harvest ice blocks when they froze solid, even when Joan and I grew up there were frozen lakes and streams on which to skate. Now _ not at all. You can argue as to whether humans cause it, or if the effects will be for better or worse, but not that the climate is different than it has been recently.
Tue-

Most of the horizon now a harmony of thinning yellows and browns. Artists will try to capture such things, but of course images are not reality. You would think such limited pallet would be boring, but nature is never boring. If a natural scene bores me, I know exactly who to blame.

In a frantic world, it is often necessary to consciously slow down _ even to stop dead _ to regain such a perspective. I rush too frequently with eyes blinded to a vision of the future, staring into desired futures rather than experiencing my surroundings. I accept the need for speed to simply live in this culture, but I must be willing to fight against it consciously as much as possible for my own deeper cosmic sanity.

Wed-

The boats are gone from puppy cove, the buoys are being picked up and stored off at the end of the harbor, half the leaves are fallen from the trees along the shore. The day is beautiful and warm, apparently the last of this until spring arrives. Nobody wants to be inside, loveliness is overwhelming.

We all get to pretend we are good little ants now, having worked all summer to store up for our winter needs while the frivolous grasshoppers fiddled away. Of course most of us did no such thing. We worked at keeping our income available, in the civilized faith that somewhere someone else was growing our food and digging our energy. It’s amazing what lies we can tell ourselves about how virtuous and independent we are, when in fact we generally have never been so individually helpless. Carpe Diem, my friends, while we have it.

Thu-

Signs of the season, but another example of beauty everywhere. The trick of being an artist _ or at least of experiencing life as an artist _ is to be able to experience uniquely and intensely. Most of the time, I go through life blin
ded by what I think is important and what I must do next and what will be necessary. I fail to feel my heart beat, I ignore the distracting sounds, I filter out anything that is not danger nor opportunity. If I can just stop, and look, and meditate for a moment I will be rewarded with incredible riches _ but I simply do not think I have the time, if in fact I think at all.

There was an old saying common in the counterculture _ “the further you go, the less you know.” It is an old person’s lament, a joke among the young, and yet it is true. At least for a certain value of true. As I go less far, I seem to understand far more. Maybe it is a trick of a deteriorating brain, but I find it helps me feel fulfilled every day.
Fri-

Calm waters, emptying rapidly. I guess most of the boat owners expect another hard winter like the last one, with the harbor possibly freezing over deeply, crushing hulls. Looks like the expensive craft have mostly been removed, anyone who took their chances last year either paid dearly or were frightened to death. So we regain a slightly bucolic vision.

Calm is pretty unusual for mid-November. There is almost always something blowing from the north _ from a constant relatively gentle breeze to a relentless gale. The only time that stops is when wind from the east overcomes the prevailing normal. A still day is welcome _ both for visual effect and for relief when walking through the chilled air.
Sat-

Day to day changes now can be dramatic. The tree in full colorful foliage one afternoon may be nothing but branches by the next. Whole sections of land transfigure. Microclimates and the vagaries of wind patterns mean that for a while nothing is really in step with each other _ there are pockets that look like midwinter, others that hold promises of late summer. But the trend is clear.

At first I welcome the bite, a refreshing difference from the flabbiness of by now ordinary mild temperatures. Then I wish it would go away. Finally, I adjust completely and what was once ridiculously cold becomes the new normal _ or even the relatively warm. I find the fact that I still have the flexibility to go through such transformations myself, season after season, to be a hopeful reminder that I am not yet entirely fossilized.
Sun-

Today I present the cathedral of the Japanese Maple. It is true that this was taken yesterday; today is overcast. Nature presents its cathedrals all the time, with sacraments and services every moment, if we have the will to observe them.

Faith is just another word for unknowable. Some scientists with faith that everything is just random coincidence affected by underlying mathematical laws could doubtless write Proustian multi-volume texts showing how everything just happened to lead to my enjoying this moment and writing about it for you. My faith that it was especially directed at me to guide appreciation and contemplation of the universe is no less valid, and no more provable.

Metamorphosis

Mon-

Like a mirror image twin of March, October comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion. Whitecaps on the harbor are caused by a fierce north wind following a blast of cold rain. Throughout the rest of this month, the lion cub _ cute at first _ will grow stronger and bigger and eventually be a constant presence in our subconscious and a frequent nighttime terror. Already the villagers huddle in their warm huts and set out lights against the increasing darkness.

While the rest of the world warms, the northeast seems to be chilling down. If the patterns of the last year hold we will have brutal cold and frequent heavy snow bordering on blizzard conditions. The future is always filled with such ifs, and while it is interesting to contemplate them abstractly in daydreams I fight the enervating tendency to let them control my mood right now.
Tue-

The weekend storm ripped many of the most colorful leaves to the ground, the rest are rapidly fading into various shades of browned russet and gold. But there are still patches of brilliance, abstract masterpieces no matter where we look if we just take the time. Of course, no photograph can do justice to what we can actually see.

Nature always puts the lie to any systemic theory of aesthetics. In nature, all colors and shapes fit perfectly well, regardless of our logical preconceptions, which usually involve willfully ignoring parts of what is before us. Once upon a time, all this surely warned us of danger or opportunity, but somehow we have been gifted with the amazing ability to appreciate it all. If we but try.
Wed-

Exactly the scene everywhere, from the top of the Coindre hill. Leaves beginning to cover the still verdant lawn, one tree stripped, colors becoming muted, the far hills transitioning away from basic green. This was another particularly warm day, with pedestrians happily stripping off layers of clothing in surprise.

Nature doesn’t care how we vote, whether we dissolve into anarchy or become feudal clans. What might be lost will only affect human individuals, as parks like this are removed from common heritage and enjoyment and taken by the most aggressively heartless selfish wealthy for their personal use and enjoyment, leaving the rest of us to wonder at what once was.
Thu-

Another boring shot of the same old boring places. But to me they are constantly changing and mysterious. Nothing is simple in the universe. Should I ever get tired of the banquet obviously spread before and around me, I can consider what is unseen _ under the water, in the air, beneath the trees, over our heads. Or what once was here and what may happen in the future. Imagination knows no boredom.

I think we have lost that in our edged search for novelty everywhere all the time. We have lost the ability to glory in the subtlety of change and difference. We have become the grossest of consumers, with absolutely no discriminatory tastes, no connoisseur ability. We experience as we eat _ until we are overfilled and on our way to obesity of the soul.
Fri-

Although the general surrounding splendor is rapidly dimming into browns, this is probably the week of greatest contrast with what remains _ a brilliant red here, a glowing yellow there, greens still untouched. And, after all, it is contrast _ like movement _ that our instincts most detect and call to our attention. A sea of scarlet-orange maples on a hill is all very well, but we lose interest quickly. Just as spicy food is brought out by a bland companion course, the colors of autumn are more spectacular by comparison with lesser surroundings.

True, I have to search a little to find what I want, but the rewards are greater. I suppose a philosopher would extend that to some kind of tedious metaphor. I’m too old for metaphors _ I think everything just is as it is and we better learn how to accept reality.

Sat-

Pure November, across the wind-churned water to the deepening brown trees under a dark foreboding cloud-filled sky. Breaks of sunlight highlight a white mansion standing almost defiant against the coming elements. Of course, that is the normal romantic take on all this stuff. Otherwise, ho hum, another day, whatever.

There’s always a question of how much I allow my imagination to run wild. I can despair at all the awful news in the media, until I am ready to gratefully welcome whatever apocalypse is being served up today. I can equally become enamored of the wonderful discoveries and scientific marvels of a new age until I believe everything will turn out better than ever. And my own future _ my own future actually varies just as much mood by mood. But from this scene, right now _ why not be a Romantic for a moment?
Sun-

November fully colored by nature, active waves, constant clouds and wind. You may not feel the temperature nor experience the shortened days nor hear the lack of birdcall, but somehow for anyone who has been there a picture like this recalls it all. That is, really, the primary purpose of photographs and most other forms of capture _ not so much to show us new marvels as to refresh our memories.

What I find disturbing is that lately what I read is that everyone is ditching reality for imaginative capture _ avoiding the sunlight to watch a well-crafted show on some media. That may be true, and if so is quite sad. Yet simultaneously, I note that the people I actually know are doing no such thing _ the parks and outside fairs are crowded, the parks are well used, many take walks as I do, my children grab the same time doing things as I used to. I think, not for the first time, that what the media gives me is a completely distorted view of current cultural life.