Mon-

In any case,  the area is much more visually appealing than it was a century ago, when this area was filled with gasification plants, coal dumps, oil depots, power generation facilities, and the rotting remnants of the extensive dockworks that were necessary for this to be a working port before the coming of the railroads.   Now the uses are somewhat more gentle visually, and probably even environmentally.  All modern change is not for the worse.
Tue

Sometimes I do not need to leave my front yard to be struck by wonder.  I try not to get overly into “I am an artist” now _ my photographs are purposely crude and without much artifice.  But my eyes _ well my eyes are able to see beauty everywhere.  The sun through our Japanese maple trees seemed fully as deserving of being poorly captured as any wide vista of sand and sea.

Life, of course, is a balance like that.  We are so constructed that there is a very fine line between being so entranced with our surroundings that we catatonically never budge very far, and being in an instant terminally bored by exactly the same thing.  What most advice misses is that not only are both states completely valid, even if contradictory, but both are essential components of human consciousness.  We are excited and bored (and many other things) at exactly the same place, with each change of train of thought.  The only real advice is to accept it and use the gift happily.
Wed-

This is a view from the beach at the Teddy Roosevelt park in Oyster Bay, looking back on the Lloyd Neck peninsula where Joan and I live.  The amazing thing is that the hills look almost uninhabited, even though we know that they are jammed with houses and crawling with cars and people in constant motion.  In some ways, it looks more virgin and primeval than it would have a century or two ago, when the hills were almost completely emptied of trees for crops and meadows.

I remain hopeful that, if our species can just survive another century or so, it will be able to fit into the environment more gracefully.  We have the seeds of optimistic greatness in us, for both ourselves and everything around us, if only we are not overwhelmed by mistakes carried on from the past.  In some ways, I suppose, I am lucky that I will never learn the outcome.

Thu-

The old boathouse at the Gold Coast Mansion continues to decay along with its dock _ the county has no money, and few have any use for it.  Reeds and honeysuckle add a romantic touch.  Summer is life, but also hastens decay of the unused and dead.

Probably the houses being constructed by the wealthy today will not last as long as these old ones, almost a hundred years along.  The climate is becoming more severe, the current materials are less permanent, and in this country at least we build for decades only.  Whatever comes along and is new will, we think, be much better.  For all the warnings, those that can reside near the oceans, and the oceans will soon claim this structure and all the more recent ones, leaving new expanses of shoreline for colonization.

Fri

It’s not Central Park, but Huntington’s own little Hecksher has well-maintained charm.  Totally artificial constructions _ like both those parks _ can be as beautiful, meaningful, and refreshing as wilderness.  They are, after all, expressions of human spirit working together.  They exist only because generations cooperated, and citizens contribute annually with taxes for upkeep and a few of the wealthier have dedicated some of their private money to the public good.

When it goes well, and people respect civilization, places like these are amazing.  All kinds of different humans, of different age, condition, status, and background manage to coexist not only peacefully, but joyfully.  Each in their own universe, yet each connected in beautiful relaxed happiness.  If there is a heaven, it must resemble such a park on a fine summer day, with flowers in full bloom and the sounds of children playing in the distance.  
Sat-

Common blue chicory now springing up everywhere.  Almost as common as ragweed, growing in much the same places, its large pale flowers are another of the common wonders we often ignore because they are not grand and overwhelming and mysterious.  Unless you actually look at them of course.

I marvel now at how many people seem not to see nor even look unless there is some mechanical contrivance involved.  People go about peering into cameras as if they were new eyes on the universe, suddenly aware of the beauty of dewdrops on the grass.  I suppose that is no different than artists sketching _ seeing as an artist does is an important gift to develop for oneself.  Even so, they tend to focus on what they consider appropriate for a unique vision, and manage to continue to be blind to the vast everyday beauty that surrounds us always.
Sun-

A quiet little bench in a grove along a pleasant shore, an old tree providing shade, a perfect place for meditation no matter the time and place.  You can almost imagine Socrates or Lao Tzu contemplating the universe.  Bodies of water, with their complex ever-changing fractal reflections and waves almost always evoke thoughts of the infinite.

Of course, a mere picture ignores the fact that right behind this lovely bench is a highway filled with smoking speeding SUV’s and the grinding gears of numerous yard crew rigs and boat haulers and an occasional diesel roar and shudder as a garbage or cesspool truck roars by.  Nor does it account for the roar of jets and the more annoying thwack of frequent helicopters on their way to the hospital.  And a good deal of the time there are constant child screams from the adjoining beach.  That’s the problem with any reduction of reality in an attempt to preserve it _ too much is always left out.

  

   

  

Mon-

That is really the great luxury of wealth of any kind:  that you can take the time necessary, whenever you want, to fully appreciate your life.  The poorer you are, the more you must constantly jerk around at someone else’s bidding to do whatever is required.  A wealthy person can enjoy a meal, or a sunset, or a long walk with no expectation of being paid.  Not many of them do perhaps, but at least they have the option.
Tue-

On Lloyd Neck near the beach, there is a Catholic Church seminary occupying the vast lands that used to be a jazz age estate.  The somewhat eccentric owners held festivals of stage and music in an amphitheater built high on a bluff in the woods overlooking the bay.  These ruins remain, unexpected, and appearing to a startled hiker as far older and more mysterious than they actually are.  Sometimes you wonder if many archeologists are not similarly fooled by their surprise encounters with old structures.

The church wants to sell the land, and multiple developers are slobbering to carve it into as many pieces as possible, each bulging with as huge a fake mansion as local zoning laws permit.  Then there will be no wandering, no ruins, and just more of the same paranoid wealthy owners protecting their sacred lands.  In this case I’m comforted by the fact that it will all be under the sea in another century, amphitheater and all.

Wed-

Two for one today _ as a point of observation.  A catalpa tree in flower high on a hill is magnificent in its own right, white blossoms against the green, huge and overwhelming.  But we glance at it and think _ oh, how nice, that tree is in bloom.  It takes an effort to get really close and view each individual flower as a perfect little fractal masterpiece.  What could be more rewarding?

Yet, if we were to tire of the purely visual study, we can be amazed at the vast biological web of time and space and connections around this single blossom, one of countless others, on countless trees.  There is a whole support system of roots and branches and trunks and leaves.  There are necessary soils and trace elements and carbon in the air and sunlight and water in the proper amounts, for years and years and years until the tree reaches maturity.  There are necessary insects and birds and pollen and winds for decades before, to assure fertilization of this tree’s parents and propagation of the plant itself.  Finally there are untold eons of time and simultaneous evolution of an ecology to arrive at this one particular moment.  Ah, you may say, only God could have done that _ but for God, time is simply another dimension, as easy to use as your walking over to be awed by the result.

Thu-

 

Cereals and grains are ripening now, some wild, some domestics left over from centuries of farming before the land was coated with suburbs and asphalt in the last fifty years.  There are no working farms here anymore, just a few preserved patches of open ground, most of which are quickly reverting to forest as they are no longer worked and head for a new climax ecology.   

I find grasses and their seeds almost as beautiful as flowers.  An entire meadow of waving, ripening tall wheat and weeds is magnificent.  On closer inspection the individual seed heads have their own aesthetics.  And all around them flit the insects and birds that can gorge on the feast from what local humans no longer need (since local humans get all their food from huge insecticide and herbicide drenched killing vistas far to the west, but that’s another thought for another day.)  You can only, sometimes, accept what you find.
Fri-

Another lie this morning.  I present this fine picture of honeysuckle blooming sweetly on the fence along the roadside.  You may think it is a true sharing representation of a moment of my walk.  But, of course, it is not.  You cannot smell the sweet fragrance, feel the moist cool breeze from the left, squint into the surprising luminosity of the air, hear the approaching pickup truck from the right and the faint roar of a jet overhead.  Not to mention all that I see that this particular framed view crops out and ignores.

But it is worse than that.  Even were you here beside me, experiencing all those things simultaneously, we would both still be in different universes.  My worries about the future are not yours.  Your remembrances of the past are not mine.  The logical trains of thoughts and body kinesthesia of each of us are impossible to know or communicate.  And so on.  This is a nice picture.  That may be far less than it seems.

Sat-

Solstice!  Longest day of the year!  From now on, we are slowly but surely marching closer and closer to another winter.  It has been so cold this spring that summer hardly seems to have arrived even now, we all have sweatshirts and long pants still, and the beaches are like refrigerators.  Of course, that hasn’t slowed people from wanting their boats _ this is the last one of the throng that were walled side by side here on the marina lot for months.

All of the midsummer annuals are reaching blooming stage, and another certainty is that the meadows will soon fill with seeds and drying pods.  For some reason, insects have seemed scarce _ of course that may just be my perception.  Lately, we are all primed to watch for portents of global disaster in each fall of any sparrow.
Sun-

A man, a boy, a dog wandering the shore and exploring what might be found.  Except for their clothes (and the trees, and the boats, and everything else) they might as well be native Americans before the overseas invasion.  It’s nice that some activities remain almost unchanged over the eons.  It is good to remember that we are pretty much identical in composition and consciousness to anyone ten or more thousand years ago.

“Futurologists” are excited about pouring the human spirit into eternal circuits, with senses enhanced fractally to infinite huge and unimaginable tiny.  They claim it will be a wonderful, better utopia for thinking beings.  I think they are wrong in mind, body, spirit, and hopes.  Regard these folks along the shore, look into yourself this very moment.  I rest my case.

  

 

  

Mon-

But I trust my senses, and appreciate the present, and look at a world of blessings.  For this is a time of peace and plenty, at least in my own corner and in many others.  I do not worry about my next meal.  I do not expect barbarians to rush over the hills any day, raping and pillaging and destroying all I know.  The worst enemy for many of those I know is boredom, their greatest fear not making enough money to buy even more stuff to cache into their bloated lives.  For a simple person, the world winds on fat and beautiful and calm.
Tue-

This is one of those gloriously luminous misty days that is probably a (warmer) variation on the constant climate of Ireland.  Every green glows impossibly bright, and although there is no sun there is a whisper that sunglasses might be a good idea.  All the harsh edges of the world are blended into pastel harmony.

Although we can embrace all kinds of weather for it’s novelty, some is obviously more likeable than others.   A heavy downpour such as we had yesterday, or humid temperatures in the nineties, or a blizzard are more endurance struggles than cheerful experience.  As a childlike persona who hates monotony, however, I find the constant change a wonderful surprise each morning.

Microclimates again.  All around us it is ten degrees warmer, brighter, drier.  Here mist and fog and cold breeze off the chilled waters.  Visually superb, but not what we expect for summer except maybe in San Francisco.  The contrast of the glowing sky, dark silhouettes of foliage, radiant leaves and dissolving background is worth taking time to actually stare into.

Well, that’s always true, of course.  We live in a rush-rush world, and our eyes are always focused on the prize down the road rather than the splendor all around us.  As you get older, the prize down the road seems a lot less desirable.
Thu-

A quick glance would seem to reveal a pastoral land, scarcely populated except by local rustics, who will soon herd their sheep onto the meadow.  A hundred years or so ago that might even have been true.  But here it is all a false picture _ Long Island is as heavily populated per square mile as Bangladesh.  There’s a little more room per actual living space, but only because we don’t grow any of our own food.

The land look
s healthy, and sounds fine with birds.  Yet snakes and most other reptiles have been banished, insects are thin, the bats have died off.  People _ ah, people are everywhere.  I worry that this may be what the whole planet has come to be _ looking fine on the surface, but with an ecosystem made extremely shallow and in deep distress.  Ah, well, this morning looks beautiful, anyway.
Fri-

An unexpected weed with beautiful flower can be a delight, showing that all our asphalt and concrete and weed-killing chemicals have not yet prevailed everywhere.  How long this state of affairs can continue I don’t know _ possibly in the future the only weeds and non OGM crops will be found in botanic gardens and greenhouses.  More or less fortunately, I won’t be around to find out.

Older people think they have become wise and have learned a perspective on the world.  But that perspective is not as flawless as they like to think, and it is flavored by what they knew and came to expect as normal.  Human experience has been rapidly changing everywhere for millennia, and will continue to do so.  If there are ever any old people anywhere, they will be telling the young how the modern world is going to hell.
Sat-

Sometimes, Coindre Hall looks like a real chateau.  Of course, in France itself, many of the chateaus are less than real _ built in the twentieth century, reconstructed from absolute flattened ruin, restored in the last ten years _ so the whole notion of “real” is slippery.  Anyway, here we have an out of place “grand maison” on the Gold Coast of Long Island, pretty much languishing away because the county is not sure what to do with it. But on a misty day like this, with the Korean dogwoods in bloom, it is a vision of a wider world.

Now, some would have us tear down as much as we can, return this all to “native” status.  We have people marching around here with petitions all the time.  I find that natural state (which is never returned to prehistoric status, filled with invasive species of plants and animals) is far less useful to me than buildings, lawns, ornamental trees, and roadways.   I continue to believe a mature civilization should concentrate on a balance of nature and human, mixed, not inseparable, doing justice somehow to each.
Sun-

Old ways remain useful.  This clammer in a dinghy might as well be paddling on the Yangtze river in the Song dynasty.  He’s bringing in a few bushels of freshly hand-dredged clams in plastic mesh bags.  Hopefully, they all came from unpolluted waters, for enforcement around here is haphazard.  Soon enough they will be available in markets all over.

No, he is modern enough.  This is simply the ferry from the motorboat to the shore.  Like me, he uses muscles in the old ways to do traditional things, but within a framework of modernity _ electricity, internal combustion engines, plastic.  We should not really give up one or the other completely, simply find a way to make them compatible and symbiotic.   Like this scene.

  

 

 

 

 

  

Mon-

In spite of the warnings of global warming and sea rise, the tide can still go out a lot and leave the water level extremely low.  With pilings stretching far overhead, it is hard to believe anything is changing.  That may be why it is becoming too late so fast.

In the meantime, here on the deck of the Titanic, the sky is blue as can be, the air clean, the leaves crisp and new, the birds sing and squawk all around, and children play on the beach down the way.  In short, another day in paradise.  As much of our existence, I think, should try to be.

Wed-

  

Horseshoe crabs are swimming about mysteriously, digging shallow depressions in the sand to lay eggs on some primitive rhythm with the tides.  Sometimes, they misjudge the water or other misfortune intervenes and one is left like this, high, dry, and available for the gulls.  A tragedy, perhaps, from the crab perspective, but that is nature, not always quite so benign as some would have us believe.

Humidity is picking up a bit, already I hear complaints about how sticky it has become, how hot the sun.  Air conditioners are whining about the neighborhood.  I guess it’s just me, but these modern folk seem awfully wimpy.  Why, when I was a boy ….  But I guess there’s no need to go there.  I think, as always, everything is just perfect and dandy.

Thu-

Northport harbor is about two miles away, along the old Indian trail that turned into 25A curving up and down along the bay indentations of the coastline.  It can be a very crowded place, but just outside the village proper is this nice, almost forgotten, beach and picnic area, with a fine outdoor pavilion with tables and chairs for writing.  When I get tired of that, there is a long beach, a deserted dune area, and this lovely scene from a bench under the cedar tree.

Seeking out the obscure within the familiar is a kind of game for me.  To find the loneliest spot in Manhattan, or tranquility here in the midst of population and bustle that rivals that of India or Bangladesh.  We all must make do with what we have, I am fortunate in having more options than most.

Fri-

 

Summer truly arriving except, perhaps, for swimmers in the frigid water.  Surprisingly, this afternoon follows a morning of relatively
heavy rain.  Perhaps that is why the world feels fresh and washed clean.  Anyway, it’s hard for the sight of roses outdoors in profusion to be depressing.

My fickle human heart will, no doubt, soon tire of all this green and heat and humidity as well, as it begins to long for the cool winds of early autumn and changes to the monotonous foliage.  Expecting and enjoying change is one of the privileges of living in a temperate climate.  My problem seems to be that I expect to compress the cycles of a year to a few months, instead of the infinite days it actually requires.
Sat-

Back to boring pictures, ho hum.  At some point, I suppose, we would like to have the gift of good writers to capture a scene in words, or the eye of a good artist to convey the experience in other media.  Yet all of those wonderful efforts, for all their fine qualities, are only dim echoes of actually being there.  A simple photo like this is just a memento to bring back memories, nothing more.

Each of us is so much more than what our eyes see, each moment an infinite and eternal mystery.  We can play around seeking to describe our consciousness, but that is always futile.  Our main fault, in a scientific and technological world, is to ever believe we can truly reduce it to some conventional physical representation.
Sun-

You can almost imagine colonial New England here.  The town has been continuously inhabited for almost four hundred years now, and even when there were sailing ships in this harbor the coast here next to the landing docks had buildings on it.  The slope of the ground here, and the normally prevailing winds, kept the lowland mosquitoes at bay.

Those who do not bother with history do not hurt their chances to make money, but I think they live impoverished lives.  Connections to the past are far more substantial than those to imagined futures.  I never walk this road without thinking of pioneers, and wooden wagons, and sailing ships, all overlaid on the beauty I see.  A spectacular enhancement, more profound than any IMAX treatment.

   

Mon-

Simple pleasure scenes of summer return now.  Empty rowboats, reflections of grass above the waves.  The water in every one of its moods remains fascinating, even if that is only true because I am not lazy enough to spend long moments staring hypnotically.  Sitting and doing nothing is somewhat harder when it’s cold and raining. 

After all, that is one of the true functions of beaches everywhere.  We can just sit and do nothing and let our minds drift as sun and sea lull us into meditation.  Those with no beaches available can look up and do much the same with clouds.  It’s a wonderful universe, and at times like these we feel fully part of it.

Wed-

   

Beach roses opening before most of the hybrids.  From here on, there is a profusion of color as first the trees and shrubs join the blooming extravaganza, followed by an increasing wave of flashy annuals until a little after solstice.  Then it is the long sustained crescendo of whatever specialty flowers people buy and plant, but by that point they are just small pinpoints in a world of green.

An alien intelligence like a computer would assume that once we have seen this cycle we would never really find anything interesting in it again.  Certainly still enjoying the pattern after having watched it for nearly seventy years would seem to be an indication of brain dysfunction.   Yet, powered by the subtle unconscious desires of biology and nature, we always respond, and it is miraculous and wonderful that we do so.

Thu-

 

 

 

Deadly nightshade blooming already, one of the prettier weeds.  Not only the odd flowers, but also the bright red fruits later.  Of course, it is in the tomato family.  The fact that it manages to survive in the same habitat as ragweed always amazes me.

The rest of the harbor environs this day are fairly damp and miserable.  Not quite raining, but so humid water can form drips in front of your face.  Not exactly cold, but with a strong breeze even the mid-fifties can require a heavy jacket.  The sun is tryi
ng it’s best, but cloud cover is grey and gloomy.  Once we’ve had a taste of eighty degree temperature at this time of year _ as we did a few days ago _ we are ruined for the season whenever the weather goes back to being “average.”

Fri-

Colorful kayaks are ready to go, the dock has been repaired, boats sit awaiting passengers.  True, it’s only fifty-odd degrees this morning, but the intent is there as soon as summer arrives and compels appropriate activities.

Along the shores of Long Island, we have started to develop our own picturesque aesthetic, as beautiful as anything in New England or Europe.  You can almost immediately tell where you are, as you can from pictures of, say, the Cote D’Azur.  There are certain elements that remain the same.  This will only last for an instant, a brief flash before sea levels take it away, but it is lovely today and worth appreciating.

 

Sat-

Just more of the same old harbor, same old boats, same old water, same old sky, same old ….  Just because it is not the most different or most unusual or most spectacular does not mean it should be ignored.  Most of what we encounter is beautiful, and every moment is unique.  You are never this exact age, in this exact position, ever again.

Appreciation of existence is exactly understanding moments.  The past can be part of them, because we are composed of memories.  And our consciousness reaches out a cloud of comprehension and planning and being that goes far beyond our immediate environment.  But what is here should always be part of our awareness.  Anyway, that is my thought on more of the same old stuff today.
Sun-

Starting this month, I am expanding horizons a bit.  The last year has been restricted, for the most part, to places I have actually walked from my house.  Age is becoming more restrictive, and so this will now include almost anywhere I go doing the day _ the town, parks, the city, the beach.  Long Island has many such that I visit fairly frequently.

This old 1711 homestead is in Caumsett state park.  I like to go here because it is far less crowded than the rest of the park, and connects me back to days when the land was wild and new.  On the other side of the dwelling, barely visible, is the inlet which connected to the rest of the known world at the time.  Three hundred years ago_ an infinite distance from where we live now.

   

 

 

Mon-

Some years the heat by now has soared, and this short marvelous season is over as it begins.  For the northeast, this spring has been quite cool and continues to run ten degrees or more below average, especially here along the waterfront.  That prolongs the blooms indefinitely, although any given day we might wish that we could just ditch the coat.  Never completely happy seems to be my permanent condition.
Tue-

First beach roses of the summer.  It’s obviously silly to be obsessed with the “first” this or that of any cycled season, just as is it ridiculous to keep hanging on the “last” in the fall.  But it’s a human outlook on things, as we know there do exist such boundaries of beginning and ending.  Something never shared by other animals.  We are blessed or cursed with memories leading to projections of long-term possibilities.

Forsythia blooms, daffodils and tulips are already a distant recollection,  it is hard to remember the desolate brown branches covering the hills.  Heavy coats and gloves are packed away until autumn.  We take all that for granted, adjust quickly, move on into the new present.  But if we just pause a moment to think about all that _ how aware we can be _ it is a constant miracle that we are so conscious.

Wed-

The scent of wisteria is overwhelming from up close, but rapidly dissipates.  It’s almost a contradictory plant, seeming to bloom so profusely, look so fragile during much of the year, and yet manage to establish itself, perhaps for decades, climbing high into trees.  I love watching for the surprising flashes of lavender in the most unlikely places.

Each set of blooms is running rapidly through its programmed progression now, as buds turn to flowers turn to seed or fruit.  The dogwoods are on their way out, the lilacs have come and gone, cherries are long vanished, apples are about halfway, depending on location and microclimate.   The more aggressive annuals like dandelion are all over the place.  I get dizzy if I try to notice everything.

Thu-

Spartina is well on its way, although these seem to be perched more on floating mats than part of the wetlands.  Whatever works, I guess.  In another month they will be waist-high, and filled with various visible and invisible animal inhabitants.

My petty concerns with money or aches and pains too often intrude on my appreciation of existence.  Yet, in saying that in all truth, I also lie.  For I am as much my petty concerns as I am appreciation.  I not only must eat and sleep and perform various bodily functions and think, I also know that if I did not have to do so I should be much diminished.  Being alive and aware is more than anything else a miraculous balance of impossibilities.

Fri-

Civic pride still around in the plantings at the private beaches along West Shore Drive.  Hardly anyone except motorists will see these blooms, and certainly will not give credit to whoever planted and tends them.  Yet there they are for the public to enjoy.  An immediate refutation of capitalist economic theory, if you think about it deeply.

We’re in a fog and rain period typical along the seashore this time of year.  Inland gets very hot and then big storms when fronts come through, but the heat hardly reaches us as the cold water moderates the air.  Sometimes a thick mist or fog is quite beautiful, making all the greens more luminous than they are in bright sunlight.

Sat-

Nothing special, just a view on a misty morning.  Oh, we think, yes yes it is beautiful enough but nothing really remarkable, nothing we would sing about, just another glance among the infinite visions we see each day.  It is not only miraculous that we can engage in such infinite wonders with the world, but can treat them as common and to be ignored.
Sun-

Memorial Day weekend, so flags are obligatory.  I like flags quite a bit, they add unexpected color and movement to any landscape.  I’ve never been a purist, both raw wilderness and hermetic human engineering (such as malls) bore me. 

Anyway, it’s the great anticipation of summer.  Beaches are now charging entry fees, children are anticipating the end of school, everyone dreams of vacations to come.  In many ways this is the best time of summer, while such hopes are as fresh as nature itself.

  

 

  

Mon-

And yet it can all swing in a moment.  Torrential rain, cold nearly into the thirties, a raw gusting wind, long bitter nights are yet possible, even likely.  Stretches of nasty dark days may string out between equally long periods of perfect afternoons.  So you try to appreciate each hour for what it is, don’t worry too much about what is coming next, enjoy the pink and white floats of the dogwoods.  Not really a bad way to appreciate quite a few moments of life.
Tue-

For a month now pollen has been causing us to sniffle and sneeze.  Over the last few weeks at least insects have been busily flitting about.  The results of some of that orgy of pollination are now visible day by day, as in these seeds blowing off merrily into the strong breeze.

With the general scenic landscape changing so dramatically day by day, it is sometimes hard to remember that all that vast transformation is the accumulation of infinite tinier individual actions by trees and grasses and everything else.  One tree, one branch, one set of leaves, one small bundle of small brown seeds on white parachutes are easily overlooked and ignored.  Yet in some ways, that is what is real _ the scenes we stitch together are just figments of our minds.  Ah, the nature of reality, eh?  No, back to the perfumes and the perfect day and just being grateful for everything that is.
Wed-

All the subtle shades of spring greens are on display from the Coindre hillside, although my photographs do the scene no justice.  Without the cries of numerous birds, the sharp wind blowing off the harbor, the occasional perfumed scent rising above the simply fresh smell of new growth, no purely visual composition can do more than hint at the entirety of this experience.  Yet, in a purely visual sense, the variation of hues is magnificent.

So much of our civilized world centers on sight, with only an occasional wave to sound or other senses.  Some spend hours and hours entranced in no more than images on a screen or on paper.  Our brain keeps running its little kingdom, it is true, and our thoughts rush unimpeded by what pours in from outside, ignoring how uncomfortable our seat is, or how tired our eyes, or even if we are hungry.  And when other senses do intrude, they are often ignored as much as possible.  It is important sometimes to give in, center in one place, and expand to actually notice everything possible for a moment or so.
Thu-

Not much to add here.  Dingy ready for action.  Blue waves.  Boats waiting at moorings.  The only additional note would be a chilled wind, which keeps the nautical action in check.  Besides, it’s a weekday, and except for the clammers nobody is about to go
out before Memorial Day.

As I get older and grumpier, I tend to think of this stretch of road as my own personal domain, and kind of resent the weekend.  Then I must share it with many people out for an occasional stroll, lots of joggers, bicycle tours, folks walking their dogs, constant cars and pickups and motorcycles.  On the other hand,  I’m glad I don’t have to pay for or do all the necessary upkeep, so having it available to the public is a good thing.
Fri-

Azaleas planted by my father-in-law forty or so years ago still bloom profusely and magnificently every year.  This is one of the connections to the past represented even in the midst of the future promises of spring and a new growing season.  Traces of what was continue, or die, or are built upon.  An extended drama of life that only humans with their strange consciousnesses are ever aware of.

Like the rest of the children of nature, we must exist in the moment and manage to survive hour to hour and day to day.  Pursuing dreams which deny those fundamental realities are usually tragic.  Yet it is our unique gift that we can dream of more than the moment or the hour or the day.  We remember, we plan, we hope, we fear _ none of these center in the instant where we actually experience the world.  That is a profound wonder.
Sat-

Leaves are all out, framing views.  Boats dot the placid surface of the inlet.  In fifty years, this will all be submerged, leaving only old pictures and writing, perhaps, for the next generations to imagine.  We are living through a slow-motion Pompeii, able to watch changes as they occur, perhaps able to flee the catastrophe and survive, perhaps not.

It seems selfish, in such awful scenarios, to say, “ah, but I have today and it is magnificent.”  Yet as a human, is that not the proper response?  Many things are out of each of our hands _ nothing I do today or tomorrow makes any difference at all.  It never did, in spite of American myth.  If I waste this beauty, is that not also a perversion of the miracle of my actual existence? 
Sun-

Interesting flowers on a tree that I cannot identify.  This photo shows why I will never make a nature photographer.  The lack of identification shows why I cannot be a decent botanist.  But why should I want to?  There are plenty of photographers and botanists out there.  Only one me, walking around on a delightful Saturday afternoon.

One of the evils of our society is specialization, even in our leisure and hobbies.  Consumer culture and prevalent social myths insist it is important to strive to be the best, to achieve as much as you can, never to settle for mere naïve experience.  So the feeling is that if you must photograph, start doing so with focus and composition and paying attention to the details of the craft.  Balderdash.  Unless your livelihood and life depend on your expertise, I think you should happily remain as ignorant as possible about details, and simply enjoy the great platter of life spread before you.

  

    

 

 

  

Mon-

Inevitably, at any such annual event, the unbidden thought comes asking “will this be the last I will see.”  It is morbid, of course, and could have been asked any of the many years prior.  But so many peers and those slightly older now become commonly impaired on a routine basis that worry is natural.  On the other hand, it does heighten the sense of adventure and enjoyment and determination to make each day and hour as memorable as possible, all the time.  Take nothing for granted.

The far shore is rapidly becoming a wall of green.  Any close look yields convincing evidence either that a plant is well on its way to summer or has succumbed to winter.  The sun continues to scream that it is getting lovely and warm, but the breeze often begs to differ.

By now, primal rhythms in our own blood have cast deciding votes.  Young folks are as helpless as ducks caught in hormonal mating tides.   Only bloodless elders like me find ourselves observing the dance more or less dispassionately.  But even that is fun, now, as I am convinced at least for a little while that in spite of all its immense problems, the world continues on its course.
Wed-

Even the algae changes now, brilliant green in the bright sun.  The crystal clear water comes to an end soon, as all the various organic components awake and turn it murky, a surprising sign of vitality.  For the moment, it is easy to see the bottom from the dock.

Invisible in the picture, but definitely present, are shoots of green reeds, pushing upward inches a day, racing to be ready to take full advantage of the summer.  Even though all we see now are the interesting brown remnants of previous summer, the stage had been set for their replacement already.  As it is, really, for each of us as well.

Fri-

Maybe out of focus, but the colors on this foggy morning are true.  Sometimes everything looks more brilliant and harmonious in mists.  Spring has such a range of wonderful hues, from the bright yellows to pastel reds to fresh greens.  A feast for the eyes.

On the other hand, maybe I am just too lazy to walk much beyond my driveway.  If I had a porch and a rocking chair, I would probably be sitting on it too much.

Sat-

Recently purchased flowers line the patio wall under an overhang protecting them from predicted thunderstorms.  Joan has everything ready to go into what I refer to as our Ita
lian garden.  I’m privileged, because except for mowing the lawn and trimming the bushes, I can just sit back and enjoy the labor of the genuine gardener.

This time of year I often feel guilty even sitting inside and writing about it, although I have a window directly before me.  It is if there is a wonderful gift of experience out there and I am ignoring it.  That in spite of the fact that I have been outside thousands or tens of thousands of times before.  Nevertheless, for me it never gets old.
Sun-

As the temperature suddenly hits the eighties, the world turns green.  Dune grass is up, the far hills are finally veiled, and local views are obscured by big leaves.  Lines of people are starting to show up on the beach, from which dogs will soon be banished until the fall. 

So we made it through an April that seemed like it would never end.  The summer seems to stretch away forever before us.  Those perceptions, too, will prove illusory as time goes on and each month fades back into those previous.  But for the moment, all the universe is timeless and wonderful and we almost wish it would pause here forever.

   

  

Mon-

Around our house, I am the people, and my updates require scraping and painting, trimming and cleaning, washing windows, and fertilizing the lawn.  I do the latter with some reluctance, but although I try to resist the stupider conventions of our society, I enjoy a decently green lawn as much as anyone around here.  Like them, I think “well, one more lawn can’t make that much of a difference.”  Hey, it’s probably good to remove carbon from the air, right?
Tue-

Wall Street goes along Mill Dam park tracing _ naturally _ the ancient wall that formerly surrounded the tidal mill pond itself.  This section simply winds along the base of the sand dune heaped up by the receding glaciers.  The sand for tens of thousands of years since has been gradually covered with a thin layer of topsoil, some of which naturally washes down, and you get a few pockets of decent fertility.  This cherry tree is taking advantage of it.

Until pesticides came along, this was the poor part of town.  The marshes bred mosquitoes, so everyone wanted to live a bit farther upland.   It’s fun having learned enough to enjoy many of the ghosts of the past which inhabit  this land.
Wed-

Coney’s marina has reactivated piloting yachts to their moorings in a little red gondola with orange bumpers along the side.  The dune grass is well advanced.  Still too cold for trees on the other side of the harbor to be joining into April.

This is a day that reminds me Long Island is a maritime province.  A cold northeast wind off the Atlantic is damp, raw, and wicked.  It’s hard to believe how a few centuries ago mariners would cruise through this and worse in sailing ships all the time, working the rigging, fishing, whaling.  We’ve become a very soft people, I suppose, but I for one am glad of it.
Thu=

Coindre boathouse in high water, nasty storm.  This picture shows why docks inevitably become useless, just old pilings rotting in the water.  The county sure has no money to keep fixing them up, barely enough to put up fence and “no trespassing” signs _ ignored until they ripped out the missing section.  The overall color today is that of bad dreams.

With May here, the temperature (one day behind) was a scant 40.  I hate
to complain (ok, I can’t prove that for anyone who looks at my entire year of observations) but some warmth seems in order.  I know we need rain, and I really try to be grateful for it, but I’m only human.
Fri-

Heavy fog as our temperatures finally return to normal for the first time this spring after extremely heavy rain.  What we have here is a chunk of marshland which edges most of the shores here above the sand.  This winter’s ice and the higher water have broken many such pieces off and stranded them as seen here.  It’s a graphic example of the decline of the local ecosystem. 

I’m not too worried about the spartina grass.  It adjusts pretty quickly and will recolonize the current lawns as the rising sea level floods them.  People enjoy discussing catastrophe as much as they can ignore its local manifestations.  I suspect in fifty years, whatever happens, everyone will have accepted the new normal.
Sat-

Tides in the spring can be extreme _ very high, or very low, as seen here.  Sometimes the docks are almost submerged, sometimes so much bottom is exposed that you half expect a tidal wave to be coming soon.  This is also the first time we start to pay attention to what the winter has wrought in terms of shifting sand _ some beaches are all but gone, some deep anchorages  have filled up. 

Of course, everyone wants to keep it as it was.  Where the sand has gone away, people try to truck it back, bulldoze or shovel it around.  Where the sand has filled it, boaters want it all dredged out and dumped somewhere else.  In the meantime, the state ecology department believes that whatever happens by itself in wetlands is by definition natural and often refuses to issue permits.  No matter what, a lot of effort and money is going to result.
Sun-

That boarded-up beach house will be opening in another month.  Cherry tree is in full blossom.  Dune grass is sprouting strongly.  Here we have a turtle’s-eye view up the beach, if there were any turtles left around here, which there are not, at least of the salt-water variety.  Nor any lobsters either, but the only way you know that is from the lack of piled lobster traps ready for the season, as there used to be until twenty years ago.

Weather now is often hour by hour.  A gap in the clouds, a brief cessation in the wind, will cause summer to glimmer for a half hour or more, then suddenly a chill will descend and everyone grabs coats and sweaters.  You can be taking a lovely sunlit walk or sweating crouched in a garden, and suddenly be splattered by raindrops, a shower gone as quickly as it comes by.   It’s all fine, if you plan as little as possible.

  

 

 

 

 

  

Mon –

Each day is a little like a drag race.  Starts pretty cold, maybe high thirties or low forties, then races up the thermometer with the sun until, depending on the wind, air hits sixty or higher, only to fall back as afternoon grows late.  Always looks nice, but you can’t tell what to wear without actually going out for a few minutes, and then you’re not sure because if you turn a corner into shade or wind you may need something totally different.
Tue-

Dandelions are so fine in April or March, and so much a pest by later summer.  In the beginning, they are cheerful little outposts of brilliance amidst almost endless brown dirt and dead stalks.  Through the magic of our thoughts, they transform into the deadly enemies of gardeners or of those seeking a magazine-perfect lawn.  Another victim of our ambivalent consciousness.

This year, it’s pretty late to be so early, so they are all the more welcome.  One of the few species that seems to be able to keep up with the ecological tragedy that is human effort.
Wed-

Blushes of red and green faintly halo the trees beyond the reeds.  In a few days the crowns will fill in and branches will more or less disappear.  The sky seems impossibly blue.

Just another April day, a little cool, nothing that a poet would rhapsodize Our lives are filled with these “ordinary” moments that are all filled with miracles that we never notice.  Experience is so infinitely abundant and overwhelming that we too quickly retreat into small trivia we think we can understand _ like our jobs or fixing the house _ and waste the gifts all around.
Thu-

These few weeks are demonstrations of microclimates.  Sheltered south-facing terrain is in full blossom, with some of the earlier species already past peak.  Sound-bordering northern slopes, exposed to the Canadian winds, are barely greening.  The maples here are in full bloom, but nothing else is willing to make an effort.  A half mile away, all the cherries are open and ready to be blown away with the next storm.

We too easily group everything together and call it “environment” or “nature’ when in fa
ct it varies tremendously.  “The environment” is made up of an awful lot of complex variables, which drives scientists nuts since they can’t control nor easily determine cause.  Unfortunately, that rarely cures their hubris.
Fri-

Now the reeds are getting into the act.  Like pokeweed, they shoot up almost unnoticed in last year’s dry rubble until magically one day they seem to be everywhere and four or six feet tall.  That is always a lesson in how much I miss even when I am carefully looking.

Once the sun reaches a certain angle and a couple of warm days have gotten rid of all the left-over freeze, most annuals are dependent on soil warmth to germinate, and even those perennials which die all the way back do the same.  Trees and birds are slaves to sunlight length.  People _ ah people want it to be exactly the right temperature all the time.

Sat-

In a few months, this parking lot will be filled with cars and children and sunbathers will be all over the beach.  Although this area is one of the least used, it’s convenience keeps a certain popularity, especially for small kids to play while parents gaze at the water.

Meanwhile, the cold and school limit visits during the week.  The cherry tree has made it through the blasts of winter unscathed even though the north wind continues to hold back all the trees along the horizon.  I can finally believe warm weather is just around the corner.

Sun-

These little red leaves look innocent enough.  Just another cute reminder that spring is here, taking away the dull browns and whites of hibernation.  But of course this is poison ivy _ in this case a huge plant extending far up a tree by the side of the road, a constant hazard to people walking by.  Those who know better avoid it carefully.

Were it not for the effects of the sap toxin, it would be a lovely plant.  Shiny, bright green all spring and summer, gorgeous red and orange in autumn, cute whitish berries in winter.  Wildlife loves it.  But like any of our own internal fatal flaws, that one little factor makes all the difference in how we perceive it.