Going Around in Circles

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The circle is such an attractive shape. Even if I had the ability to speculate why, I wouldn’t get into that here (books and books about it), but the ghost of all that speculation — geometric, psychological, occult and esoteric — hangs around it. Around, indeed. Around and around, circles draw the eye and they draw my eye, maybe more than most any shape.

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Even when they’re not particularly beautiful, circles compel attention.

perfect-circle-patio-orname

invoking all those ideas about them — unity, fullness, ripeness, oh we could go on and on.

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and we could remark about their usefulness

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but wouldn’t that be redundant?

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and beside the point?

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But the circle would still draw the eye.

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Even when it’s not quite there.

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A Farewell To Geese

goose-in-chargeDo I photograph geese a lot? I photograph geese a lot. Perhaps for the same reason people climb mountains or rob banks. They’re there. Or here. And then they leave, but only for a while. Despite their Canadian nomenclature, they don’t seem to like the pond as well when it’s frozen over. Which brings to mind a picture of a goose in ice skates. Never mind. I would certainly photograph that if it appeared. Meanwhile,

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geese-splashingthere’s what geese really do.

goose-bullyinggeese-crossing-roadincluding hold up traffic. Ave, vale, guys. We look forward to seeing you again soon.

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The Pond Again

pond-at-its-bestWhatever the season, I like to go and look at the pond, and sometimes take its picture.

fall-on-the-pondIn the Fall, which is fast upon us here, it has a quality of stillness that’s different from other times of the year.

pond-busySome things are closing down. geese-in-a-gaggleThe geese will leave for a while, probably come back around March. And this picture (from a year ago) reminds me what’s coming.

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More About Geese

 

goose-divingEarly Spring Duende
(for Judy Longley)

I”m out here looking for Canada
Geese. Is that anything like
a wild goose chase? I only want
to shoot them with
my camera and think
about duende
                       as they stiff-walk on the dead
grass, take off wildly
honking, hit the water
awkward, put their heads in
the freezing cold and shake
their oily feathers like
trash. Wings tucked, necks erect,
two of them and a duck
arrow across this pond, where
the water, today,
is gray-green and winter’s mourning
still hangs
from the trees. They don’t know
I want their picture. If they knew,
they’d have no idea
why. These frequent tourists
are out looking for their life. I’d have
to say, so am I.

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