Sun-gilded landing
Is mirrored in pastel waters,
While unhurried musings drift
Toward the creek’s final bend.
sea
Sailboat and Lighthouse, February 3, 2016, 7:14 a.m., Saint Augustine Harbor
I am a break-of-day photographer who lives at the edge of land in St. Augustine, Florida. Since moving here, I have become drawn to moored sailboats in our small harbors that open into the vastness of the Atlantic. My attraction is related to a notion I have of man’s boundless curiosity that has historically driven him to undertake dangerous, far-ranging seagoing adventures.
The best time to capture this mood with my camera, I have learned, is during the brief period before and after the sun rises on days of partly clear skies and gentle winds. The sun’s light is not blindingly bright then, and its position is low, horizontal to objects on the water and beneath the clouds, resulting in deepened colors, highlighted shadows, long reflections in still waters, and, when I am lucky, an arresting photo.
A Hard Choice, February 11, 2016, 7:45 a.m.
If I had to choose, I would take the ketch, which is moored farther away from me toward the bay’s eastern shore, for I am partial to the lines of older boats and especially so to two-masted ones. But – honestly? – any one of them would suit my purpose at this particular moment.
Seduction, January 21, 2016, 7:00 a.m.
On at least one star-filled morning each month, I can be found elbow-supported, wooden-railing leaning at the end of the Lighthouse Pier where I gaze toward the sand-duned line along the southernmost end of Salt Run. There, by the light of a sun that has yet to crest those sandy ridges, night’s quiet transformation into day occurs so swiftly that my brain can but register its changes as stop motion animation: changes in the sky where yellow intrudes upon dark charcoals, diluting them into steely blues; changes that brighten and polish smooth patches of water so that channel markers and mooring floats might reflect upon their states; and changes that shear night’s veil guarding a secured ketch till the boat’s emerging beauty seduces me once again.
Bridge of Lions, January 24, 2016, 7:29 a.m.
The sun rises to the south in St. Augustine during the winter. On cloudless mornings then, once the sun clears the trees that line the shore on Anastasia Island, it brightens and burnishes the south side of the Bridge of Lions in a manner that brings to my mind the bridge over River Itchen by the gates of the Royal Court of Arthur.
בְּרִיאָה *
Topping the protective dune, we froze, speechless in wonder to see the birth of the day laid out before us.
*Creation
Note to Self
When you write, write.
When you make love, make love.
When you fish, fish.
Going Home
Sunrise stroll ending
Fresh brewed coffee waiting –
Good-morning being
Manifestus
I will never know the breadth of God,
Nor the height, nor the depth.
Yet, I pause in awe of dawn’s majesty
Some early morning walks by the sea.
Surfer
I hurried to his side as soon as I saw him standing by the water’s edge. He looked to be in serious trouble. He was bent over, face down, palms on knees. He breathed heavily, noisily as he inhaled, his mouth O-shaped, lips extended. His body moved with his breathing.
He must have sensed my presence because eventually he spoke, but head still facing the sand and only when exhaling, his words whisper-riding each puff of air. I had to move closer and bend further down to hear them.
– Big wave!
– Got tossed!
– Board tore loose!
– Rip current!
– Back in!
– Got board!
Without looking up, he pointed to a surfboard that lay in the sand some paces away.
I asked him then what I could do to help him, but he shook his head. Eventually, his breathing slowed. He pushed himself up off his knees. He adjusted his suit. He looked at me and smiled briefly. Then he walked slowly to his surfboard, picked it up, and tucked it under his left arm. He walked back into the surf.
Vilano Images 