On this US Thanksgiving Day, in the midst of pandemic and loss, I give thanks for the simple beauty we find along the way.
Sunday evening we managed to get a bunch of us together for an outdoor communion service on the little rise behind the church.
The Yellow Ski Trail winds its way up and down the hills and ridges around the golf course.
Looking north over the reeds at the south end of Eastman Lake.
If I want a long walk at Durand Eastman Park that does not follow the lakes, I take the yellow ski trail.
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.
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.
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.