One of my favourite photographers in the world, David Perry, challenges me with every post and every photograph he shares. Tuesday, he took it one step further, challenging us to show him something of our gardens. Not perfect. Not pristine. Not even sun-shining.
I promised to do that today. And today was a grey, grey day. But I promised. So I walked from room to room with my camera, mostly from a couple of the upstairs windows, and let the camera see whatever it wanted to see. I had my zoom lens on initially, and left it on just to see what it would be like.
One discovery: the windows seriously need washing. Fog, rain, snow, sleet, wind, and salt-mist will do that to a window on the outside. Wood stove heat, flies and general living-life will create window-art inside. For the photo above, of clematis on the front arbour, I opened the front door.
Then I went upstairs and took photos from the room directly above. That's ice in the bowl of Scotts Bay, with the tide half-in. Or half out.
Further out in the water, no ice. Since we were at about half-tide, there wasn't much water screaming around Cape Split. When the tide is running, the riptide is around 8 knots.
In the back yard, we have snow sculptures where the snow is mere inches deep in spots, and several feet deep in other areas. Petitpoint of bird feet under the rosebushes and birches. Tangle of grapevine with punctuation of teasels around the obelisk.
The only real colour in the yard right now is the blue blue arbour in the back yard. Everything else is in shades of white or black, sepia or cream. The hollyhock sculpture is made from recycled oil drums. The horse hasn't been out in the pasture for over a week--there's ice under that snow, and that can be treacherous for a horse.
Outside my office window, east: The big Catawbiense rhododendron acts as a thermometer, hauling its leaves down and rolling them tightly, offended by cold. In front of it, feeders on the metal hangers provide me with lots of views of birds feasting, and provide the cats with bird television, of course.
South office window. Grey grey day, with just a momentary glimpse of an anemic sun, almost eclipsed by the blown glass orb hanging from the curtainrod. Normally, my office is washed with light if there's any sun at all, and cascades of rainbows from the crystal snowflakes. Today, the sky was exhausted, and so was the writer.
Same window, different lens, straight out window and hoping the dirt on the glass won't show. Those marvelous spruces bound our land, act as huge moody windsocks, and brood in even the finest, fairest of weather. I love the spruces. I love our views, most days.
Tonight, the weather is raging. Tomorrow, we may well be encased in crystal outside, and the views will have changed again.