Tag Archives: reflections

Creative Friday: Rime and Mist

Late last week, after days of snow and freezing temperatures, we finally had a much needed thaw. But before the thaw began, I took a Friday morning walk out to Jackson Lake, a spot I have visited often in the past year. I hadn’t planned to go, but something in the light, and in the scent of the air, told me I had to. I grabbed my camera and monopod, and hurried through the woods behind our house. I am so very glad I did.

The trees around the lake were rimed with frost, and a mist drifted through the surrounding forest and across the water’s surface, lending a ghostly cast to the entire scene. I was in photographer’s heaven. I took a lot of photos, some okay, some pretty memorable. Here are a couple of the best.

I don’t expect that we’re quite done with winter here on the Cumberland Plateau. But this past week had a springlike feel, and it may be that magically frosty mornings like this one are finished, at least for a number of months. I suppose we’ll see.

I wish you a magical weekend. Stay safe. Be kind to one another.

Jackson Lake with Frost and Mist, by David B. CoeJackson Lake with Frost and Mist II, by David B. Coe

Creative Friday: More Snow Photos!

This has been an unusual winter for us. We’ve had several snowfalls, none of them huge, but almost all of them significant enough to turn our pretty little town into a wonderland. This past weekend was no exception. A snowfall Saturday night into Sunday morning frosted tree limbs and houses, and then lasted for a couple of days before melting away.

The first morning, Nancy and I got up early and walked around our neighborhood, enjoying the fresh snow. The second morning dawned sunny and cold, but warmed quickly. As I took my walk on our rails-to-trails path, a fine mist seeped into the forest, hazing the sun and lending a mystical quality to the light and shadows.

These are just a few of the images I captured on those morning walks. I hope you enjoy them. We have more snow in our forecast, so maybe I’ll have more images for you next week.

Have a safe, wonderful weekend. Be kind to one another.

Winter Reflections, by David B. Coe Snow and Morning Sun, by David B. Coe Snow and Mist I, by David B. Coe Snow and Mist II, by David B. Coe

Creative Friday: A Photo, and Thoughts About My Mom

I took this photo back around Christmas, while on a photo walk with my wonderful friend, John Willis. Like me, he is an avid amateur photographer, and he gets out on photo walks almost daily. Before our walk, he had told me that for a period of a few weeks around the Winter Solstice, in late afternoon, the trees and angled sunlight and reflections at Lake Cheston, in our little town, created a striking pattern of striated light and shadow.

As you can see, the man is true to his word.

Today is my mother’s birthday. She would be 99, if she was still with us. She would have loved this photo and would have been fascinated by the light at the lake that day. She was a photographer, too. Mostly, she liked to take pictures while traveling with my father. And travel they did. To Rome and Paris, to Egypt and Israel, to Peru and the Canadian Rockies and all over the Western U.S.

She was curious and lettered, a voracious reader, a lover of all the arts. But there was nothing she loved more than family, than spoiling her grandchildren and catching up with her own kids. She would have had all kinds of questions about this photo — about the place and the light and my friend. And from there she would have had questions about the town, the university, and Nancy’s place in it. And the girls and what they were doing, and my latest book and my next project.

In my mind, I often carry on long conversations with both her and my Dad. And so, with your permission, I will end this short piece, and spend some time conversing with my the memory of my mother.

Wishing you all a wonderful, safe weekend.

Cheston Solstice, by David B. Coe

Creative Friday: A Rare Treat

A week ago this morning, we woke up to a few inches of fresh snow. Now, this may not seem like a big deal to you, but for us, down here in Tennessee, snow is a too-rare treat. Even when we do get a nice snowfall, it usually vanishes within a day or so. Not this time. It fell wet and fluffy, and then dropping temperatures solidified it. We had snow on the trees for days. It was glorious — a welcome distraction from less savory goings-on in Washington.

These photos are from that first beautiful morning. The water shot is of a small shed on the property of a neighbor. I’ve actually always thought the structure was a bit of an eyesore, but on this day, in the snow and mist, it added a nice touch to my photo.

The two trail photos are from the rails-to-trails path where I take my morning walks. You’ll notice that there are two sets of footprints in the photos, one on the right side, heading away from me, and one on the left, harder to see, coming toward me. Those are Nancy’s. She had gone running on the trail about an hour before I took my walk. We were the only people to brave the trail that morning.

Wishing you a wonderful weekend filled with beauty and peace.

Trail Snowfall II, by David B. Coe Mist and Snow Reflections, by David B. Coe

Photo Friday: The Bench

It first appeared sometime this past summer. It hadn’t been there, and then, suddenly, it was.

Initially, I have to admit, I resented it. I like our views of the little pond near our house. I like to get photos that have no manmade objects in them, and this bench sat right in the middle of the south shoreline of the pond.

But as the summer progressed and turned to fall, I warmed to the bench. For one thing, it’s simple, tasteful. It meshes nicely with the scenery. More important, it was placed in what is, unarguably, a lovely place to sit and ponder and enjoy the beauty of our neighborhood. As my emotions became ever more roiled during the course of the fall, I took to sitting on the bench more and more. It became a refuge of a sort.

I don’t know who put it there. I have an idea, but I’m not certain, and I haven’t had the opportunity it ask. It is there now. Really, nothing else matters.

Except this: Its placement, in a location that makes it available to all, was far from the intrusion I first thought it might be. It was, and continues to be, a gift, anonymous and generous. It was an act of kindness in the midst of a year during which we have needed such things desperately. So, to whoever put it there, thank you.

Wishing you all a wonderful weekend. Stay safe, be kind to one another.

The Bench, by David B. Coe

Photo Friday: Reflections of Fall

Yesterday, I hiked out to a pair of lakes near our house — ones I have photographed several times before this year. I was hoping to find calm waters, interesting clouds, and a bit of fall color. I wasn’t disappointed.

Fall in the South is… different from what I’m used to. On the one hand, compared to the foliage I saw in my youth, living in New York and then in New England, the colors here are somewhat muted. We just don’t see the fiery reds and oranges that my brother boasts of in Upstate New York. On the other hand (there is ALWAYS an other hand), I also recall autumn in the north being fleeting, a moment of brisk air and clear skies and stunning leaves, which all too quickly gave way to the drear of winter.

Most years, that’s how spring is down here. It’s winter, then we get a couple of lovely warmish days and everything blooms, and then, too soon, it’s 85 degrees and humid. But fall in the south seems to last forever. It may not be as colorful, but we have week after week of cool nights, pleasant days, and brilliant blue skies. Certainly that has been the case this year. The lingering fall has offered some solace and pleasure in an otherwise difficult year.

In any case, I took a bunch of photos and these were, if not the absolute best, certainly representative of the most successful images. I hope you enjoy them.

Have a wonderful weekend. Stay safe. Be kind to one another.

Foliage Reflections, Jackson Lake, by David B. Coe Foliage Reflections, Lake Dimmick (Wide Angle), by David B. Coe Foliage Reflections, Lake Dimmick, by David B. Coe

Photo Friday: Three Years Ago This Weekend

Three years ago this weekend, we were in Massachusetts at Wachusett Meadow, a Massachusetts Audubon Society wildlife sanctuary, for a memorial service honoring my brother, Bill. This glorious site was one of his favorites in the world, and we dedicated a bench with a brass plaque commemorating him. He died earlier in 2017, but this weekend coincided with his birthday, and seemed the perfect time to say goodbye.

As you can see, it was a gorgeous fall day — cool, breezy, brilliantly sunny. This was at the height of autumn hawk migration, which Bill loved. He and his love, Sandy, used to come out to the sanctuary to watch for Broad-winged Hawks, Cooper’s and Sharp-shinned Hawks, American Kestrels, and other raptors. I had a sense all that morning as we prepared for the service, that Bill would find some way to make his presence felt during the day. I’m not usually prone to such thoughts. It was pretty uncharacteristic for me to believe such a thing.

But sure enough, as we concluded the service, a Cooper’s Hawk swooped over a nearby ridge and down to this lake where it began to circle and climb, its wings still, sun angling off its tail. I had held my emotions pretty much in check throughout the day, but seeing that hawk, feeling my brother’s… I don’t know, spirit, I guess, in its arrival, I fell to pieces. It was good for me, really. Cathartic.

It was a hard day, but a special one — a day I’ll never forget.

Have a good weekend all. Be kind to one another, hug those you love, and stay safe.

Wachusett Meadow Fall, by David B. Coe

Photo Friday: On Our Golden Pond

It’s not quite fall here on the Cumberland Plateau, but the days are cooling off, the nights are crisp and lovely, and the sunlight is taking on that autumn quality.

Earlier this week, late on a still, golden afternoon, I walked down to the pond near our home and snapped this photo.

My life does not feel very peaceful these days. I am struggling, to be honest, and I am desperately in need of the sort of calm conveyed by this photo. I wish I could bottle it, and give myself a small dose whenever necessary. Sadly, life doesn’t work that way.

I wish all of you a peaceful weekend. Be safe, be kind to one another.

Pond Reflections, by David B. Coe

Photo Friday: Who Is That In the Cloud?

Good morning! Another week is ending, which means it’s Photo Friday here at the blog. Today’s photo was taken during an early morning walk a week or so ago. I had only my phone with me, but the image came out well, capturing the majesty of that cloud, the stillness of the lake, and that lovely light-limned edge of cloud reflected on the water’s surface.

I see a face in the cloud. I wonder if you do, too. I haven’t been able to decide who it looks like. Suggestions?

Wishing you a safe, healthful, lovely weekend.

Morning Cloud Reflection, by David B. Coe

Photo Friday: My Lake Reflections Addiction

The first step to overcoming a problem is admitting we have one.

I have a problem.

I am utterly addicted to the lake near our home, which has been the subject of far too many of my Photo Friday posts of late. Here is another image, captured there just before sunset about a week ago. The water was still, allowing me to use those gorgeous reflections, and the sun was gilding the new foliage on the poplars, maples, and oaks surrounding the lake.

You can see pollen on the water’s surface, and that might actually be the short-term solution to my Lake Jackson addiction. The pollen has only gotten worse in the intervening days, rendering the water somewhat less conducive to reflections and such. So this might be my last image from this spot for a little while. We’ll see. Already I’m thinking that thunderclouds reflected in late summer might make a stunning photo. And then the leaves will start changing. Oh, and late fall brings fog. And imagine this place in the snow…

–Sigh– I’m doomed.

Have a great weekend all. Stay safe and be good to one another.

Golden Light, Lake Jackson, by David B. Coe