Figure 1 – Early October on the pond (c) DE Wolf 2018.

It is October. So, despite the rain and fog my friend and I ventured to the Wildlife Refuge to walk about the pond and take in the early color and the mud. It was singularly cold, wet, grey and spectacular – a world cast for the most part in subdued pastels. Because of the rain, I chose to only bring my IPhone and otherwise just enjoy our solitude. Figure 1 captures a fallen and decaying tree partly submerged and ultimately merging with the pond. The grasses have turned and there is the subtle hint of color in the foggy draped background.

Figure 1 – The white rose, Concord, MA, (c) DE Wolf 2017.

Christmas is, of course, a colorful time of year and is meant to challenge the grey December bleakness. The traditional colors are red and green, silver and gold. To be different, I thought I would offer something different today – a pure white rose.  I have tried this type of image before and am invariably unhappy at some level with the results. Ah well! I will point out that a white rose while complementing winter on one hand is like the colors of Christmas diametrically opposed to it on the other hand. The white rose speaks to spring and summer – to purity and rebirth. In winter it remains the symbol of Persephone still trapped in the underworld.

The relationship of the albino rose to its carmine relatives it but a matter of … Well, perhaps Shakespeare said it best in Henry VI.

“Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red
And fall on my side so, against your will.”

Canon T2i with EF-S18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 IS STM lens at 55 mm, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE Mode, 1/50 th sec f/9.0 with -1 exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – Tufted titmous, Sudbury, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2017.

Before we get too far into winter, I wanted to post the photograph of Figure 1. Just after Thanksgiving I put up mu bird-feeder for the winter and literally within minutes it was swarming with birds. One of my favorite feeder birds is the little greyish blue tufted titmouse, Baeolophus bicolor, shown in the photo. I can, of course not resist reference here to Gilbert and Sulivan’s Mikado.

“On a tree by a river a little tom-tit
Sang “Willow, titwillow, titwillow”
And I said to him, “Dicky-bird, why do you sit
Singing ‘Willow, titwillow, titwillow'”
“Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?” I cried
“Or a rather tough worm in your little inside”
With a shake of his poor little head, he replied
“Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!”

Well, yesterday we had our first snowfall of the season and the titmice (or mouses) (I will not go into that argument again) are scurrying about very busily. Their size make them very hard to photograph well. But you have to love the little Elvis bouffant and the jet black eyes, that speak so well to their reptilian origin.

They will be outside my window all winter now flit to and from the feeder and foraging for fallen seeds in the snow. One cannot help but admire their ability to endure the vicious Northern winter.

Figure 1 – Pine needles shed, Stow, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2017.

First, a reminder to all of you in the Boston area who can make my show Thursday night, it will be great to see you all.

You can always learn from nature – and “things are not always as they seem.” I came upon this little bush in the woods the other day and was intrigued photographically by the little dried pine needles glistening in the light. I thought that I was looking at a dying pine tree. But in fact, on closer examination, I realized that what I was seeing were needles being shed from the canopy and getting caught upon the twigs of a leafless shrub. The result is Figure 1.

It is, in fact, the case that pines and other evergreens do participate in the annual shed. It is just that they hold onto a particular crop of needles for several years before dropping them. This autumnal release is part of the forest’s life cycle. I remember the comparative mythologist Joseph Campbell talking about how when you reach the end of your life, it is time to give in to the shedding of leaves. So the pine needles falling to the ground, here caught for a few moments, as forests and trees measure time, is a symbol of the recuring mythic trilogy of birth, death, and resurrection.

There are few places more calming than a pine forest. No better place to walk silently than on the needle carpet. It is certainly the case that there in a pine barren the world is both simple and explained. There we may be closest to the ambiguity of mortality and immortality.Henry David Thoreau remarked that “Ever little pine needle expanded and swelled with sympathy and befriended me.”

Canon T2i with EF100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS USM at 100 mm, ISO 800 Aperture Priority AE Mode 1/100th sec at f/7.1 with -2 exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – The sun breaks into the Pine Barren. (c) DE Wolf, 2017, Stow, MA.

I posted last week about Light in the Forest, but I’d like to pick up the theme again with today’s Figure 1. It captures that moment when the sun suddenly floods the pine barren, and you witness it like a mini-Stonehenge as if caught between two giant limbs. It is, needless-to-say, a photographic challenge in terms of dynamic range. In the moment you squint at it, and all the grey tones seem to collapse into nothingness. There is the sensation of fuzzy darkness. And most curiously there is the sense of silence. How is it that the suppression and collapse of tonality tricks the senses into feeling that you are sound deprived as well.

My mind immediately raced to images of the so-called Manhattan henge effect. I never expect less than magic in these particular woods. For some reason there are very few birds on this side of the forest. It is as if they defer to this fundamental magicality. Magic exists, expresses itself most strongly, where nature and our minds resonate.