“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us…It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
- Marianne Williamson
Another long exposure. This one is a 30 second exposure, which allowed me to make this photo in the inky-black darkness of 3:30am.
5-0, fools.
In Chicago the trees look like candy corn and the clouds are made from cotton candy and all the little boys and girls are happy!
I’m going to find an ocean soon—somewhere. And when I do, it’s going to be splash city: population me.
The rough, cracked slab of stone in the foreground is a grave marker.
The building way off in the distance, blurred and out of focus, is our main library on campus.
I think the symbolism is clear.
My nose caught my attention before my eyes had a chance.
Walking along listening to The Shins and enjoying a cool day, I smelled pumpkin. I looked to my left and found a quartet of sagging letters, carved days before, spelling out B-G-S-U, hiding in plain sight. I don’t know who did this deed, but I do know it hasn’t gone unappreciated.
Beyond simply appreciating a good carved pumpkin—I assure you that I do—I appreciated the reminder that fall is here, my favorite season. I always smell the season changing before I see it, smell the leaves and trees shifting before their colors begin to turn, much like I smelled these delightful pumpkins before I caught them in my gaze—and my lens.
I’m officially ready for fall. And so is my lens.
In the last 52 hours I’ve been out of my bed for six hours max—two of which I spent mellowly walking (the only exercise the doc advised) around the cemetery. I made a few photos I like and I hope you’ll like them as well.
Oh, and I’m feeling a lot better now, too.
It no longer feels like every time I sneeze I’m going to lose a rib. Even better, my upper respiratory infection is all but gone and I largely thank the chocolate milk for that. I’m holding out hope that my chest will reconnect itself by the middle of next week and I’ll be able to enjoy myself at Cedar Point.
I took this picture with my phone today, something new to the project. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy rainy, muddy soccer. It’s good for the soul; there’s nothing quite like it.
