I woke realising it was raining still, and it was early. I had passed by this little street that oddly enters a public park and abruptly ends. The light bluish paint on the last garage was waiting for the right light, and I knew it would come. Only 30 mins, there and back, but I am oddly happy with the image. It seems to say something quiet about summer, and early morning rain.
Walkway Through the Woodlands
Salt Pile
Along the Creek Running Through the Industrial Park
The Compost Pile
In the early morning rain.
In the Forest, On the Mountain Slope, in the Shadows.
The fort at the Edge of the Forest.
A Small Space in the Garden.
Near the Beaver Lodge.
Along the Pacific Coast Highway, near Orange, CA.
What seems like an impenetrable wall of undergrowth.
The woodland pathway as spring approaches.
After a few days in the Arizona desert I came home and went back to the woodlands with my camera. There I found a complexity I welcomes like an old friend.
Near the water's edge, Orange, California
Winter morning in the garden.
The End of Summer
The end of summer brings empty courts, waiting quietly, a sense of loss and smoke from nearby forest fires.