New photography prints available now with or without white matte.
Take a look.
New photography prints available now with or without white matte.
Take a look.
For days now, two hens have been brooding in the same nesting box. Their body language is different every time I go to the coop.
Could you turn around? The view isn’t pretty!
Boy, I try to improve the view and then you sit on me! What’s up with that?
I’ll tell you what’s up with that! You’re taking up all the room. I need a break!
You’re on my back again, and now my head is stuck in the egg tray.
That’s a good place for it!
Stop trying to make up!
Hey! Help me keep an eye on the hen next door. She might try to squeeze in.
The other morning, when I looked up from the kitchen sink and saw sunrays drift among a faint fog through the silver maples, I ran for my camera. I knew it would be months before fog and the sun’s rays meet up again. We had very little fog this past winter, and this was a moment not to be missed. I had to run, camera in hand, down the driveway before nature’s magic disappeared behind the trees. As I looked through my camera’s LCD screen, I could see the visiting light, shadowy lines, and soft mist quickly disappear from sight. Within seconds the attributes that had created the scenes below were gone. When I turned around, white vapor hovered over the green pasture in the distant valley between rolling hills.
I suppose this was a small farewell to winter and the last of nature’s moisture until summer passes and we enter the cold season once again.
This morning I watched the autumn light
and felt its warmth on my body like a hug and a kiss.
I gawked at the season’s hues,
studied how one color offsets another,
then yearned to travel the world
so I could pocket God’s mysterious creations . . .
the simple and the complicated wonders of nature.
My pockets would be full, no doubt,
and my eagerness with little or no self-control,
for every day I would take out autumn’s light
and hold it in the palm of my hand,
not once, not twice, but more times than I could count.
I would hold spring’s brilliant blossoms,
unbelievable sunsets, weird and strange creatures,
only to marvel and repeat this question,
“How’d you do that God?
How’d you do that?”
–©Dianne Marie Andre 2013
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