One Observing

A Curious Person's Photographic Notebook

November Notes

November Notes I

Strokes and squiggles. Lines and loops. Dashes and doodles. November trees write their strange script upon the grey skies. Notes on the season. Poems of transformation.

November Calligraphy

November Notes Edited




Walk with me

Walk with me I

The morning is cool and damp, but come, walk with me. We will don our woolly scarves and mitts, and be grateful for that warmth.

As we enter the leaf-strewn path, our footfalls mute. Birds tweet and observe our passage from their spy perches. Fluffy-tailed bunnies scamper for cover, but we mean no harm. We are simply walkers who came by one autumn day.

Walk with me II

Alternate Walk

September Sky Blue

Blue Sky Still Sunday

“The blue of the sky is one of the most special colors in the world, because the color is deep but see-through both at the same time.”  Cynthia Kadohata

Changing of the Light

One evening, a fading flower the light illumines

Even now, still in the midst of summer, the light is changing, preparing for transition: the days ever so slightly shorter, the rising sun a few minutes delayed. Here, the last light of a warm evening illumines a fading flower.


Sometimes the simple

To pause to allow the ordinary to reveal its small beauties
is to attend,
is to meet a moment of joy.

Dancing in the Summer Sun

Botanicals Wild

“Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair…”
―Susan Polis Schutz

In the tall grass prairie, wildflowers

Wee White Bourquet

Hovering Buds

Small Abundances


This forgotten house

Better days ahead, my friend (1)

This forgotten house . . .

What stories have been worn into its walls?
What memories dwell within like lonely ghosts?
What secrets will it forever keep?

This abandoned home,
Once, was it filled with love and laughter?
Or heartbreak and sorrow?

Forsaken, does this house long for its past?
Mourn its lost occupants?
Weep as it crumples?

But do not be mistaken.
This forgotten house has not failed.
It is, simply, eloquently, telling its story.
And, as you know, all stories come to an end.