Looking eastward at the point where the CT River empties into the Long Island Sound, seen on the far right of the photograph.
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CT
Nope, just bare ground here in Old Saybrook at the end of January 2019; this photo was taken in 2011, 6-7 miles to the northwest.
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A meadow? Moor, savanna, pasture, heath, grassland, shielding, veldt? A public golf course?
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“Supreme Father Kirpal gave only this message, and even the wind also teaches us this: if you keep walking while doing the Simran, the destination comes to you by itself.” Sant Ajaib Singh
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This one is hard to look at, but it reflects the strange, harsh and transient beauty that high noon brought to this narrow alleyway (thirty minutes later, the sun had passed over, and the scene was flat). I finally found a way into this photo without bringing on a headache (LOL), via the area where the horizontal rows of cement blocks are interrupted. That provides some psychological meaning as well as resting place for the attention to come back to, making it easier to drift off to other parts of the image. This one is not my usual cup of tea, though it does bring up the question of what (and how) we seek, and perhaps find, in any art.
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A week or so ago, there were a couple of warm days here, and not coincidentally, a fog bank that settled in for nearly the whole time (see two posts below also).
The owners of this cottage, Laurie and Eric, were out on a nearby beach looking for sea glass when I pulled over to take a few photographs. It turns out this was their actual home for a year while a larger structure elsewhere on the property was being renovated, and that living there “..was one of the happiest years of our lives”. We talked about simplicity, and I mentioned Henry David Thoreau, who wrote from Walden Pond: “I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my mind was all undusted still, and threw them out the window in disgust.”
We truly don’t need much.
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