When you've been a photographer for as long as I have, things you see tend to be surrounded by an imaginary frame, and your mind places them in an album or on a computer screen.   This isn’t always a blessing.  Often you don’t even have a camera handy or you can’t pull your car over.  The light on a landscape or the expression on a face may change before you can focus.  Sometimes the subject appears liable to do violence to your equipment and/or your person if intruded upon. 

I saw this picture nearly every time I visited the transfer station, but on this particular day The colors were bright, the shadows were sharp, my camera was in my pocket and there was no one behind me waiting for me to dump my trash.  I collected the image as one might collect a shell or a vintage comic book or an expressionist painting. 

A Morning in May

Annette woke up to sunshine the other day and declared that we should rise and be out and about before the skies clouded up again, so we headed for Brant Rock in Marshfield to have breakfast at Arthur and Pat’s.  This one of my favorite restaurants, it’s only fault being that it’s closed in the winter. 

It didn’t disappoint. The lemon smash Belgian waffle would have been outstanding at a five star hotel.  It was topped with tangy lemon curd and decorated with blackberries, blueberries, and cut strawberries.  Arty the chef cures his own pastrami and uses it in one of his versions of eggs Benedict.  Usually I get the smoked salmon on a potato pancake, but the season stretches ahead. 

After breakfast we walked in the Daniel Webster Audubon Bird Sanctuary.  The land was part of Webster’s historic farm, and the fields are still mowed making them habitats for the bobolinks that swooped about filling the air with their song.

Canada geese with parades of goslings walked on the grass and swam in a small pond where a muskrat was conducting his daily ramble.  The bright orange of an oriole was set against the white background of apple blossoms, and the sapphire of tree swallows glinted in the bright sun. 

Rough winds have been shaking the darling buds of May, but this was a perfect spring morning, something a fogy can’t afford to waste. After pleasure for the palate and satisfaction for the soul we nibbled a light lunch and rested our tired bodies with a comfy nap. 

Impending Storm

Travel at Night

The Thames near its mouth,

Marshland mostly,

And a dock,

Not for the ship,

Just a low wooden pier,

An electric light

Above it on a pole,

Nearby a small lone house

Its windows glowing yellow

In the predawn dark –

Years later,

But earlier in the a.m.

A Georgia railroad station,

A man in shirtsleeves

Working at a wooden table,

And further down the track

A tree of unknown species

Frothed with blossom

Pale and ghostly

In the streetlamp glow.

Cooking Tip From the Legal Department

The following is an excerpt from the heating instructions for Legal

Seafoods Seafood Chowder.

“MICROWAVE: Remove container from outer sleeve and remove film from container. Place container on a microwave-safe plate and loosely cover with microwavable plastic wrap or a paper towel.  Heat on high for approximately 5- 6 minutes or until completely hot, stirring chowder halfway through heating process.  Microwave time may vary; adjust accordingly. CAUTION Chowder will be hot.”

Italics mine

Morning Coffee

I somehow sensed that Annette was awake, and as I came to consciousness I realized there was daylight seeping through my eyelids. I fumbled for the clicker and handed it to her so she could watch the news and weather on the tiny bedroom TV. 

I opened my eyes and forced them to focus.  “It’s only six o’clock,” I murmured.  I got up and shambled toward the bathroom.  It wasn’t an ungodly hour for normal folk, but for a fogy it was early.  After I had showered and dressed I began to feel an urge to be out and about.   

Soon we were in the car headed through the blossoming spring for the Coffee Shack in the Green Harbor section of Marshfield.  Their donuts are crispier on the surface, yeastier, and less sweet than Dunkin’s.  I like their coffee better too.  We picked up a bag and headed for Brant Rock where we parked in a spot with an ocean view. 

This was the scene as we sipped and munched.  The air was fresh with salt, and we congratulated ourselves on living in an area where such beauty abounds. When we had finished eating, we walked along the shore.  Dog walkers and joggers said hello.

I reflected that the fogy privilege of sleeping late is no more to be overindulged in than breakfasting on donuts.  It’s still worth while to haul your body up and get it out into the morning.  Indolence is a privilege of the old, but a little get up and go has its rewards.

May at Last

Spring sent timid portents.

Maroon and green horns of skunk cabbage poked out of February muck.

Crocuses shivered and furled under March snow and reopened bravely

In the chilly sun.

But now the season explodes like fireworks.

Flowering trees burst in pink or white.

The crowd goes "OOOOH!" 

Pale maple blossoms glow with light.

Forests of oaks go yellow-green. 

The grass burns like flame,

And dandelions pop like musket fire.

Birds nest,

And alewives leap toward spawning.

You can't keep track of it all.

Over your left shoulder a huge horse chestnut detonates.

In the distance entire orchards go up.

You gape astounded by the thunderous booming of the trees.

May 1st Bristol, Rhode Island