The setting sun can reveal splendor in the most ordinary things.
The setting sun can reveal splendor in the most ordinary things.
Last night the temperature dipped into the low 40’s, yet my hibiscus plant is still making a valiant effort to rebloom. This year’s garden has been a welcome distraction from my ongoing orthopedic problems (and a depression whose volume is directly proportional to how much pain I’m feeling on a given day). I see inspiration in the partial blooms on that hibiscus plant. It keeps going, even when no pleasant outcome is guaranteed. It grows with an unspoken knowledge that it will persist over the years. All of this blooming is just a bonus, a nod to its kind that it too hopes for a little immortality.
I’m happy I was able to get a few shots of my garden yesterday, for today has proved to be too blustery for good shots. The weather has remained warmer than average, and I don’t see that we have a threat of frost for the next 10 days. It is possible the garden could persist for the entire month of October. Last year it didn’t give up the ghost until the second week of November.
We don’t have dramatic topography or structures in my area that are conducive to taking photos that tease our ordinary perceptions of scale. The land here in Lima, Ohio, is fairly flat. The few hills in this area are like sedentary folk in that they do most of their rolling while asleep. Our buildings are fairly short and squat as well. Short of renting a helicopter or buying a drone, I don’t have any vantage point I could use for a photo that says, “look how small we really are in the grand scheme of things.”
I suppose that some of our trees are tall enough to make us look small. I noticed this in a video I took of my husband and I walking through a local forest last weekend. The further we walk away, the more Lilliputian we look.
In reality, my husband, my daughter, and I are fairly short people. We ride together comfortably in a Honda Fit.
Last month, we attended a car show that had a few classic cars that are even smaller than our Honda Fit.
Here’s a photo of my husband walking by a 1957 BMW Isetta:
Perhaps the Isetta was the Smart Car of its time (but of higher quality, I hope). In this photo, my husband looks small enough to fit himself into that car twice over. While he is on the short side, I don’t think he’d have quite enough leg room in that Isetta.
I don’t feel inspired to take many pictures on cloudy days, but I’ve been noticing lots of great photos taken in low light on Instagram. Early this evening, I did a quick photo walk through my garden with my Nikkor 50 mm f/1.8 D lens attached to my Nikon D5200.
I think this is my first reference to my photo equipment in a blog post. My stuff squarely resides in the “prosumer” segment of photography. I have two DSLR’s, the aforementioned Nikon and a Canon Rebel T6. The sole reason I have the Rebel is value. I was able to get the camera and two lenses (one of these was a 300 mm zoom lens, no less) for the regular price of the camera alone. I suppose the smarter choice would have been upgrading my Nikon camera body, but as I’ve mentioned before on this blog, sometimes instant gratification takes too long (as the late, great Carrie Fisher wrote in Postcards from the Edge).
I have six lenses as well. Two of these are the kit lens for each camera. For my Nikon I have the 50 mm and two zoom lenses, a 200 mm Nikkor VR lens (which I love) and a Tamron 300 mm that I haven’t used once since I bought the 200 mm. My Canon also has the 300 mm I mentioned above.
I don’t often think of using the 50 mm, but the quiet light of this evening was well suited to it. The day began with fog and ended with light rain; our small drought is over. The cold has not settled here yet. We haven’t yet had the unique autumn pleasure of surrendering to the chill by wearing a coat or nestling under a blanket.
Peak fall color is still a fortnight away, but my husband and I ventured out to a local park this morning to capture some of the brighter leaves on the margin of the forest. By the way, my husband has started taking nature pictures, too, but I have not yet convinced him to start posting them online. He will be retiring in a year and a half and plans to devote himself full-time to his vintage bicycle hobby. I’ve told him he should consider blogging about his hobby, but I haven’t succeeded in that campaign, either.
While it would be neat to have interests like photo sharing and blogging in common with my husband, I can content myself with the notion that he is a rare treasure almost undiscovered by the world at large.
This week I saw a comedy clip on Facebook about a woman who freaks out because she has started dating a man who has no social media footprint whatsoever. She and her friends are so befuddled by this that they resort to creating an ad-hoc intelligence agency to figure him out. I wish I had a link to that video, for it is highly amusing. Anyway, my husband is like that guy. He has no presence on social media aside from my images and mentions of him. I’m glad I grew up in an era when you couldn’t scope someone one by stalking their Facebook, for I’d have thought it strange that he opted out of it. Maybe I’d have wondered if he had five wives in different states or belonged to the witness protection program, and I’d have alienated him with my suspicions.
I was glad to have him with me this morning. Enough of the leaves have fallen in the forest to reveal some spooky features, like this fallen tree:
My husband said it reminded him of an elk. Close by there was a tree carved with many initials of couples who also strolled through that forest:
I did persuade my husband to take a little walk with me on video. I made this clip by setting my phone on a tripod and pressing record, and then I trimmed it with the YouTube app on my phone. I’m sharing that little tip with you in case anyone else is interested in creating videos of moments with those who are near and dear to you.
This morning we were chasing the light because the sky was clouding up as we were taking our photos. The moments of dull light gave us more time to reflect on how many times we’ve visited that park over the years. I am grateful that I am nowhere near exhausting my interest in this locale. I am also blessed that I can’t imagine ever growing weary of talking to my husband. Even during the spans of time that have not been easy, he has yet to run out of fascinating things to say.