Leaves, bridge, woods.

I may or may not have accidently singed the carpet with a light while trying to figure out the new lightbox rig that Paul insisted on building when I mentioned the $10 Macro Studio (HomeDepot can see us coming a mile away, and they chortle with glee every time).

The peppers were $4 at the market and inspired by Jerry, who's clearly the kind of influence I could use more of, since his arrangement looks like it wasn't thrown on the table (which mine most certainly WAS).

(Note to anyone who noticed I'm about 8 hours behind today... internet was dead at the office until after lunch. Oops.)

Earth was not built for six billion people all running around and being passionate about things. The world was built for about two million people foraging for roots and grubs.
Doug Coupland

As I mentioned yesterday, my evening photoroam was a bust. Our original site wasn't available and the sun fell quickly as we searched for something else to shoot instead.

This was handheld, slight pan attempt, with the Nikkor*ED 300. I feel pretty lucky that I managed to get the focus.

For most people, we often marvel at the beauty of a sunrise or the magnificence of a full moon, but it is impossible to fathom the magnitude of the universe that surrounds us.
Richard H. Baker

About a month ago, Richard wandered into the office mid-day and plunked an enormous lens on my desk. "Give that a try," he said and vanished with a little grin.

The lens in question - a Nikkor*ED 300mm 1:4.5 - is roughly as old as I am, heavy, and fully manual. It's been a real challenge for me to hold steady, use with any sort of speed, or get anything usable out of, which means, of course, I'm going to have to make it my mission to tame this lens.

Last night, after a botched photoroam with Photography Paul, he tossed a 300 Teleconverter at me and we squatted in his driveway gawking at the moon.

Needless to say, I've never gotten a shot of the moon that looked like this before!

At present, I am mainly observing the physical motion of mountains, water, trees and flowers. One is everywhere reminded of similar movements in the human body, of similar impulses of joy and suffering in plants.
Egon Schiele

Right now, there's nothing better than sitting on a dock at the lake watching the rest of the world do what it does. I wish I could do it more than a few times a year.

Took my camera on an early morning walk with Misha, but soon regretted it when it started to rain and I had to try to wedge the Nikon in my jacket with 45 lbs of high-energy Karelian insisting that "wait!" wasn't a fun idea.

I discovered this little fellow crossing the path as we headed for the woods for a hike. Paul scooped him up for a closer look, and the snake was NOT HAPPY about this. Not at all. Not one little bit.

I'm pretty sure he's plotting his little snakey revenge right here: "Putsss me down. Now. I callsss in the big sssnakesss if you don'tsss. I keeeellss you. Right after I figuresss out how to getsss down."

(Snakes come with big, thick, outraged accents in my world.)

These berries are bright, glossy, and vibrant even in the middle of January. Since they don't seem to be disturbed much, I'm guessing even the birds consider them inedible.

Ferns, in a passionate embrace, regardless of who's looking or judging.

Or perhaps I've just been reading too many cheesy novels lately.

The leaves started changing around here before August was over. I'm not ready for this to be the view yet.

(Dead tree. Not fall yet. Even without my denial.)

As some know, my eyesight is not the greatest, which makes photography very frustrating, because I get what I thought was the photo of my life home to discover it's not focused.

However, this time things are different. I finally got what the Nikon was trying to tell me about focus/not in focus though my thick skull. Taadaa! A tiny flower. IN FOCUS.

Feel free to laugh. I am quite pleased with myself. It's the little things.

The trees get creative in their quest to hold fast and grow.

The fine, long stamen on these flowers remind me of antenna. Thus, Space Alien Flowers.

No clue what these berries are, though they were a cloudy blue that was reminiscent of the Porcelain Berries I found in Stratford in last fall.

As admonished as a kid, don't eat them unless you know, for sure, what they are and that they are safe.

The weather forecast claimed it would clear in early afternoon. It cleared for a few moments, taking the afternoon from fall to summer and back to fall in heartbreaking swiftness.

Rockwood Conservation Area

This spring, itchy to get my hands in the dirt and looking out onto my barren rooftop patio, I indulged in a rainbow flat of impatiens and gleefully attacked the gardens at the office.

The flowers survived and flourished (sometimes I wonder how, since when work got busy, watering the flowers was forgotten!), and it's a riot of colour out there now. What's really great is that there is a hummingbird that stops by every day at lunch to sample the goods.

In some ways, cedar branches leaning over water look like the frost that grew on the door on cold winter mornings when I was a kid.

After a three day stretch of heat and humidity that finally shut down the office because it was too hot to think, it finally started to rain. I celebrated by taking the houseplants outside for a drink.

A soy field, north of Rockwood, Ontario.