I walked down to the Irondequoit Bay outlet one day last week. These three are looking south from the north end of the bay. The bridge in the distance was completed in 1969. I have been over and under it many times. Two different worlds.
The Lake Ontario and Irondequoit Bay water levels are high, but nearly as high as it has been. Hopefully the pump can sit idle this season.
As is my practice, I saved the last frame for home. The afternoon light was bouncing off something bright on the other side of the neighbor’s fence. I decided to try to capture it.
Marge’s is a popular watering hole, especially in the summertime when her guests like to walk around the beach in their bare feet.
I am a racist. Racism is deeply embedded in the white psyche. I have been a privileged white male for nearly seventy years. But I know better.
I walked down to the Irondequoit Bay outlet a few days ago. For part of the way I walked along the bluff with its old road markers.
There were flowers everywhere.
It is remarkably easy to find the Weltur film advance knob when reaching for the focus knob. There is, unfortunately, no way to wind the film back outside of a black bag.
It was a single-ship mission, ferrying an Army photographer around the Ft. Richardson, Alaska operations area. A week later there appeared in flight operations an envelope from the photographer with pictures he had taken, unbeknownst to us, of each crew member.
The last frame on the roll of sixteen is a photograph of a solitary tulip in front of our house. It seemed an appropriate post for today, not so much for the direct symbolism as for the questions it raises.
Took the Welta Weltur out last week for the first time in nearly four years. It was a dreary sort of afternoon in Durand Eastman Park, but still lovely.