Final Four

Today Kentucky meets Michigan for a spot in the final four at four. We await the remnant of family to come over for Sunday dinner. Melanie and I stayed home from church today. Melanie is especially flagging and so am I. I went over and got mamma from Paula's and so we wait, she reading the beloved paper and snoozing. Melanie has everything ready. On the trip back with mamma I stopped at Hill's field to see if the lavender in the field could be captured. I decided I would have to move further down to the right of the frame in order to capture it better. I then took a quick shot of the phlox starting to fill the ditches. In the backyard, after gathering three eggs, I tried to coax the chickens over for a shot, but they wouldn't comply, staying in the upper right of the frame.
The sky as you can see is a good blue and the wind is blowing the pond off the back yard. Saturation.
Again, I am in my posting funk, as usual in consternation over the lack of likes and comments.
I am liking, yet at the same time lamenting the beauty of photographers John Spohrer, Clyde Butcher, David Moynahan, Paul Marcellini and Carlton Wards photographs and the many shares and comments.
I told Melanie, they are light years above me. She disagreed. But then, I gave up on Kentucky to beat Lousville and she didn't. Oh for her positive outlook on life!!!! I could be a contender....

His Praise

Going through the files as I usually do this time of evening. Waiting for the NCAA Sweet 16 games to ensue, especially UK vs Louisville at 9:45PM. This photograph was taken last April along Old Country Club Road next to Cuz Yarbourough's place at the intersection of Old CC and 252.
The day was overcast with light rains on and off. They say worse weather is moving in this evening. It seems I am currently going through another of my many identity crisis. I am attempting to compete with the Carlton Ward's,John Moran's and David Moynehan's of this world, photographers far beyond my ability to capture as they do.
I call them Canon Marksmen. I am a little Canon man too, using mostly these days the Canon S95 point and shoot. One day perhaps I too will become a Marks man, purchasing the proverbial Canon Mark 3 or 4 or whatever iteration when my time comes, along with the proverbial 20mm lens, with the array of singe ray filters, perhaps even the gitzo tripod. I am getting ahead of my ability.

Snap Shots

I should have never done it, but I did anyway. I delved deeper into Carlton Wards photography, then from there two other Florida landscape photographers liked and it was all downhill from there. I came to the sudden if not already known realization why the photography just doesn't sing.
This photograph for example. I was walking along with Jordon and Pearce. Pearce was in a hurry to get back. Walking in the woods was not his idea at all of fun or interest. Jordon's likewise. And so, seeing the trees, I quickly took four or five snaps, quickly composing then moving on.
There is a magical, ethereal, outstanding quality to the photographs I viewed today. The lighting was fantastic. The composition, mostly it seemed, was made with a wide angle in the 20mm range. The colors were brilliant. The skies were heavenly. Nothing average or snap shot quality was found.
And yes, I am certain they are using post processing techniques I have never used, like masking and blending by hand, whatever he meant, since he said he does not use graduated filters.
They are probably all using full frame, I would go so far as to say Canon, for they all have a similar look.
Do I want to step up beyond snap shooting? Yes. Am I using my lack of equipment and post processing ability hold me back? Sure sounds like it.
I HAVE to learn some basic lessons yet after how long doing this?
Take a tripod. Take a light meter. Use manual settings more often. Study the light. Study the composition.
Wait. Study some more. Take away. Take less with a whir and a prayer that one will be correct. Get it right and shoot RAW for that day when you finally learn post process technique. Take three at least and bracket.
Otherwise, I may as well hang it up and quit taking so many snap shots. I am no tourist.

Re-Runs?

Well, friends, they do not care for re-runs. I thought, surely, what was liked on Thursday, would be equally liked on Friday. Not. Placing the same photograph on John Stokes Journey so far has garnered only 30 views and zero likes after being there since this morning. Yesterday, on the regular John Stokes page it garnered sixteen likes, one comment.
Not grand by any standard, but certainly better than zero.
Goes to show, unless you are constantly coming up with something new and exciting to titillate, to wow, you may as well just forget it. And often, believe me, I do.
After taking mamma down to the Southern Exposure Salon for her usual Friday at 1:oo appointment with Marina, I went by the gallery. The canvas print holder I had ordered from Dick Blick arrived and I wanted to switch out the wash tubs they were in. There was another artist friend there who asked how I got the vivid colors? I told her it was in camera. She asked if I could help her with her camera. Sure. I will set it to vivid. Take photographs like me.
And so I set up the prints in the gift shop. And will anyone notice? Yesterdays wows. Forget it?

Let God Arise

It usually takes a day. It is a work of grace in progress. It begins early in the day in despair, depression. The day ensues and grace has its way. There is a process of post and purge, post and purge. One begins to feel the pull from despair and repents of sharing nothing but the depression. The pain slowly subsides and grace takes hold. By evening time, one then is looking to post the positive, the uplifting. It happens slowly. It is as manna. Usually good for the evening. As by morning, the sun rises and the manna is spoiled. Yesterday grace gone. It is true, His mercies as His great faithfulness is renewed daily.
It is never overwhelming or awe inspiring, transforming visibly. It is subtle, still, non-intrusive, but often sufficient, enough to get one through. Let God arise, let the enemy flee.
Thus in the bottom of the frame, the dragonfly. In the tips of the blades of grass, the escape.
You do not grow in grace by going at a break neck pace. We were not built for speed. We are of the slow, the plodding toward God, crawling on one knee at a time. Take courage. You are not alone in the
field strewn with the fire weed.

Return

This photograph was taken at a very sad,sad time in our lives. Nathaniel was my first grandson, my fathers first great grandson he had never seen. And sadly, with his massive stroke, we will never be certain, when we took Nathaniel up to the VA in Lake City for my father to see, if he even made the connection or recognition. A few weeks after this photograph was taken,my father, on March 12, 2011 passed away. And then, on March 24, 2013, Nathaniel passed away. Not in death, but in separation from us. His parents, my son, ceasing all communication with us.
And so, this is a large reason why I am struggling myself to return, to crawl from the deep abyss of mourning and depression of sorrow. If anyone reads this, I apologize for sharing all this depressing stuff.
Some day I pray I shall return and joy shall fill our lives again. I pray for return. I pray for reunion. I pray for restoration. For relief.
Pray with me, if you are out there.

morning orison

upon the dawning...following morning orison...we are drawing...nearer the ocean.

A five seven vessel man. Earlier I wrote of the seven cycles. And so I have seven boats. Three kayaks, one purchased, two given to me by Bob Jones. Two canoes, one purchased from Steve Williams, the other abandoned and found, Two boats, the V hull my father owned, purchasing from Dr ZT Johnson called Tiki and the jon boat, also from my father, once used in the pond at Crawfordville, used by Landon, my son.
Like the cycles, there was the time when at least once weekly I would take one out either at Alligator, Watertown, Ocean Pond or one of the rivers, Suwannee, Santa Fe, Itchetucknee. I do not know why all ceasing has taken place. I liken some of it to my loss of work, career and a sort of fifteen year drift.
Some perhaps to just slowing down after turning fifty and lacking the energy.
Nevertheless, the boats, like the bikes, do not understand why the neglect. Patiently they await the return.
My morning orison. To return.

Beyond Moniac

Seven bicycles sit in various places. Basso and Miele, the road bikes with the Campagnola Athena grouppo in the tool shed. Both chrome moly lugged steel, one Italian the other Canadian. The Trek Mountain bike that belonged to Roger Sessler in the pool house. The Giant Mountain bike from Eric, Jessica my niece husband on the back porch. The various other three in sheds and places, one with the child carrier, two others with parts missing, used to keep others functional.
I will go out and air up the tires, check the chains for rust, spray some WD on them. Used to be a time when daily I would rotate about, riding each at least once weekly. Now, they sit and wait my return.
Much sits and waits my return. It has a been a long descending that I have done since leaving JCPenney on that unexpected Friday in April when they said they were 'letting me go'.
It hit like a sledge hammer then and the numbness continues well after ten plus years. I have never quite recovered. I had come to the conclusion back then there was not much in life I was cut out for, and when I was able to provide somewhat of a living for my family being a retail manager, well, when that ended, I was just not prepared after nineteen years. I tried with Sears for six years and when that store closed unexpectedly in a August, again, I languished. I so feigned starting anew. A one year stint with Florida Power was the latest venture I undertook and that was a year ago.
And so another year has gone and the return has not taken place. Will I ever return?
There was a time when my friend Roger was living, that in times like these, he would come over, like clockwork, and we would plan for the next days long ride. There was a purpose, an anticipation, a looking forward to it. It would often take 70 to a 100 miles to sort things out, but by the end of the ride, things were usually put back in perspective and they did not seem quite so out of balance.
It is going on nearly three years since Roger passed on on that terrible night in October when Allen his son in law gave me that broken phone call, that he was gone. Never to return.
And so I attempt myself to return. In the wanting so much wanting others in my life to return, it grows more and more difficult with each passing day.

White Horse

And the heavens opened and behold a white horse. Rev. 19:11.

Just like that. In a moment, a twinkle of the eye. Has your heaven opened and your white horse appeared? We await in anticipation the coming, the deliverance from our myriad earthly entanglements, sorrows, hurts and failures.
The rocking horses are stored away, the springs silent with the riding of the little one. The loved one by this time three years ago lay resting in the ground, beholding the rider of the white horse. The knee and leg that bucked to the tune of ride a horse to town grows limp and a little more lame. Once, the legs could gallop and leap at near steed speed.
And lately we sit beneath the heavens, awaiting their opening. His coming. Not upon the fiery end of time.  Simply anticipating the coming to comfort, the coming to answer, the coming to just sit beside, to break bread.
Life for most of us consists in dwelling in rickety seats, cane frayed in need of repair. The perfect plans so long ago plotted out discarded as the once loving child is prodigal, the friend once so near writing you away, saying you have revealed true colors. The people you thought you would always worship in harmony with not even caring you exist or sit in exile.
And more, much more. Too much to dwell upon. Too painful. Most of us upon our own Emmaus Roads, weary in the journey. Awaiting the stranger to come along beside and open our understanding, to explain the
scripture, to warm the heart to a burning point.
Even so,whether upon a white horse, or upon a burrow, come.

all nightmare long

i got my first boat when i was one. it was a sailing ship. i carried it everywhere i went. it took me across oceans. later, when i was a little older, i outgrew the sailing ship. i got me a canoe. it was white. it held everything i owned. i left home. i sailed around Chunky pond. i found i was hungry. i returned home. it wasn't long. i grew tired of home. i struck out on my own. this time it was in a Mohawk. it was green. it was seventeen feet long. it held everything i owned. i paddled down the Suwannee. i tried my hand at photography. it was pretty. the spotmatic had a screw in lens. a needle meter. then. then i thought i needed a nikon. kodachrome. so i bought one. a chrome FM. took film. got some fast bayonet lenses. then. thought i needed them. that was what the press used. i wanted to walk in their shoes. and i did. for awhile. but that was then. it came to an end. by then. i had a kayak. kept it out back. on a rack. it was blue. costs only two hundred from Walmart. It was a start. Solo. you know. that was way we now had to go. oh, i still had the canoe. two. and even another yellow sea kayak. in case i ever went to sea. again. like when, i was one. but i knew that day would probably never come. but its in the cradle. if ever i am able. to go. its not slow. like the blue kayak. out back. but lately. i been using a cattle trough.galvanized. still it rusts. and in waves, its rough. and often. when i am sleeping all nightmare long. i think of my ship long gone. and wish often for home. now gone. as the trough gently rocks me.

Dogwood in Mist

This was the photograph of the four chosen. I cropped out the property marker, took out the piece of white debris, applied the ortonish affect which blurs and boosts the scene. This was right down from the house along Price Creek Road. I was heading down to take photographs of the lilies in the ditch. The dogwood barked so loudly I just had to stop.

Pleasant Hill

There is a certain quirk about Facebook that would tend to drive one mad, if one wasn't already mad. How is it that one can comment, "it should be an award winner" and yet it gets only two likes? Then, one posts a lame snap shot and it goes viral? There is no rhyme or reason to what drives interest.
This photograph was taken in October of 2012 on our trip to West Virginia and Kentucky. We spent an afternoon at the Shaker Village at Pleasant Hill outside of Wilmore, Kentucky. A wonderful place to spend several days. One day was just not long enough for all the possibilities I saw. I lamented being on 'vacation' and having to vacate so soon. I always tell myself, someday, I shall return alone, but I never will. Time and places and funds are just too short and too long at the same time.
These draft horses were grazing and as we left to return to Wilmore, Lexington and on home to Florida, I stopped in the car and shot from the window from the highway. I took this one and three others. This one was the best, the first snap, with all the horses heads up. And so we moved on. Sometimes it is best to shoot once, get it right and move on. When I tend to fuss over a shot and take many, I always return and use the first one of the series. Go with first principal, so said Hannibal Lecter to Clarise in Silence of the Lambs.