Day 269

Tim at the window.

I went to George's Island with Tim and two other photographic friends from the Camera Club.  I hadn't been to the Harbour Islands in nine years, and suddenly I have been twice in the space of two months!  Fort Warren is a very atmospheric place, with deep patches of chiaroscuro and lovely frames within frames in the vast expanses of brick, stone and wooden halls and rooms which were used to house soldiers, cannons and anything else required in a fort.  The other three had a photographic assignment to pursue, which was the frames within frames.  This is my take on it.  You can see Tim's one here. 


The weather has suddenly cooled down, after two beautiful warm days, positively hot, in fact, and today we had fair weather with wispy swathes of white on blue as we left the harbour, and the sky grew steadily more grey and overcast, the wind ever stronger, so that on the boat on the way back, everyone shuffled into the warm closed-in cabin part of the ferry, only one little girl and I braved the bow of the boat, holding on to the railing while we rode the swells like dolphins. 

It was a grand day, Tim asked me to model and I had to do various things, like run and twirl and sit sombrely on a windowsill, and some of the pictures are lovely, even though, as I pointed out to them, the model is of an advanced age!

This boat created some lovely waves for us.  I love all the black, white and grey horizontal lines.




Shades of Orange - seen while walking up through the city to catch our (Orange-Line) train.

Sometimes you think that you are very busy doing something, like cooking, or checking your email, or writing your blog, like right now, when a little old cat comes strolling purposefully towards you, her body wasted, her once perfectly calico coat now blobbed with matting in places, her eyes big green lights in her bony little face, her back legs threatening collapse at each turn.  And you realise that there is nothing more important at that particular moment, than squatting down and stroking the 'rosary of bone' which is her spine, the soft ears which love to be rubbed, and the chin, under which you gently scratch and scratch, for the simple reward of the eyes closed, ecstatic expression of a very old soul, who will not always be here.